Chapter 1
"I give you the
ability to Become, that you might understand the world and your place in it. I
give you Understanding, that you might be one." -Caelyrima, Mother Chimera
She rode
Northwest for the first time in her life. She had been North, into the
Mistwood, more times than she could count, but never on the King's Road. And,
most certainly, not with such an entourage. Hunting was a different matter,
with different accoutrement; a different kind of wagon entirely, for holding
camping gear and returning with fresh meat for the castle. Hunting was a matter
of a week's roughing it deep in the Mistwood just a few miles from her beloved
cliff-side home in the Mistwood Reach, sometimes farther if the hunting was not
as good. This... this was almost a travesty. Three wagons holding furnishings
and numerous trunks, plus two handmaidens currently riding in a carriage lady
Petra felt certain she should be riding in. However, so long as lady Petra was
in that carriage and it was not pouring rain, Lady Caelerys Maral would not be
in it.
Lady Petra was
an old friend of her father's, one of those stern and nosy widows that were
affable enough with her late husband's friends, but with inflexible and
distasteful ideas of how young women should comport themselves. The only
daughter of Duke Elyas Maral, Caelerys had ideas of her own and they did not
mesh with some of the more rigid, new philosophies of the Elder Church; of
which lady Petra was a devout supporter.
Caelerys was
fair-skinned, pretty in an oval way, with eyes of the most vivid, deep
sapphire. Her hair was the almost black of the northern blackwood, but glints
of deep red could be seen when the sun finally shone upon it. Mostly it flowed
freely down her back, drawn from her face with combs. She wore a split skirt
and riding leathers, as if this were an ordinary ride, even though she knew it
was not. At least she could pretend for a while. Beneath her, Wraith sensed her
shifting mood and danced sideways.
The silver
buckskin mare wanted to run. She was tired of this lacklustre pace. Riding was
serious business, not this drudgery which seemed, to her, to have no purpose.
Caelerys tightened her knees and wrapped the reins once more around her gloved
hand, leaned forward and gave the mare a pat on her neck in apology. Soon, she
promised.
She looked
behind her. Four days back, past the trailing wagons and the small army of men,
lay Taluscliff, her home. A home she might never see again. Already she missed
the cool, salty wind off the cliffs of the palisade, the rust-brown basalt
columns that rose in sweeping spires by the sea; the northern moors where she
would ride and hunt small game with her falcon, Tempest, who was overhead,
somewhere. Already she missed her father, the occasional visits of her uncle,
and even her rather brash, youngest brother, Vyncet.
It occurred to
her that, at a more reasonable pace, it would only take her two days to get
back.
With a sigh,
she turned forward again, settling back into her seat and casting her mind to
what lay ahead: the city. Not just any city: The City, DragonsPoint on the
King's Bay. The largest gathering of humanity in Elanthus. The prospect
overwhelmed her. She could face a charging boar and keep her wits about her,
but unknown people terrified her.
At least there
were two people in DragonsPoint she would know: Willam, her eldest living
brother and father's heir, and Janem, Master Smith and Maral subsequent. One she
barely knew, the other she missed sorely. Willam had gone to Court when he was
ten, hostage to the King's Justice after their eldest brother, Landyn had
attempted a mad rebellion against the crown in father's absence. She barely
knew Willam, and Landyn had been killed the year she was born. Janem... she
smiled, thinking warmly of him, with his flashing dark eyes and dark brown hair
and ready smile. She had grown up with him.
Mace rode up
along-side her, a smile on his lined face. He ran a hand through grizzled hair
where it rebelled against the loose queue he wore it in. "It is good to see you
smile, little bird."
Mace was the
Master Bowman of House Maral and he had been calling her 'little bird' since
she was five. She smiled more in spite of herself. Of all her father's men,
Mace was her favourite. He had taught her all she knew of the bow and the hunt.
"It won't
last," she warned.
"I'll take it,
my lady." He signalled some of the men behind him and one of them galloped past
and out of sight. "About a mile ahead, around that bend, is an inn where we
will stop and eat and ready ourselves for entrance to the city. If you wish to
stretch the fidget out of that filly, now is the time."
Caelerys did
not wait for further invitation, but pressed her knees against the sterling
hide and tore off down the road. Mace kept pace a length behind and she could
hear the hoof-beats of at least two more speeding up.
It was a short
gallop, but exhilarating after four days of wagon pace. Tempest stooped,
levelling out at the last and flying smoothly between the riders, the tips of
her black-flecked wings deliberately brushing Caelerys's ear.
Caelerys was
laughing as they reined in, prancing to a halt in the packed dirt courtyard of
a pretty little stone inn. She and Wraith both had needed that. As she swung
over and dropped from the saddle, a woman in a crisp, starched apron rushed out
to meet them. She seemed momentarily surprised by the unladylike dismount but
carried on as if nothing were amiss. She had seen all sorts upon this road and
had long ago learned to pretend everything was as it should be.
"I have a room
ready for you, my lady, as yer man asked. A bath bein' drawn as we speak and a
dinner on the way up."
Caelerys's
spirits fell almost immediately. This was it, the final stretch. If she ran
now... she could throw herself into the saddle and be away before her men could
remount, ...but Mace would find her. And her family was counting on her. This
was far too important and no Maral had ever fled a battle. Retreated intelligently,
sued for peace when the costs were too great, aye. Run in cowardice? Never. She
would not be the first.
She thanked the
goodwife politely and followed her into the comfortable establishment. The
Mist's End was like any other inn, like the one at the other end of the road at
her end of the Mistwood: a busy common room with fireplace and bar, stairs to
one side and a row of rooms above. Several people eating in the taproom looked
up at her entrance but went back to their food, curiosity satisfied. Only one
watched her for any real length of time. The proprietress led her up the stairs
to a modest room.
Caelerys seated
herself at the small table and allowed a plump maid to serve her a light meal
of stewed capon and warm bread. Two other maids came and went carrying water to
fill a brass tub near the fire. She was almost finished with her food when lady
Petra blew in the room with a scowl of disapproval.
She stared
imperiously at Caelerys from the door for a long moment. Cae remained
unintimidated. She had long ago lost her fear of the widow. The dame decided to
pick her battle. "That is that last meal you will eat that has not been tasted
first. Do you understand?" she demanded frostily.
The heel of
bread fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers.
Lady Petra's
eyes narrowed in triumph. "Yes, Lady Caelerys. Tasted. You are entering into a
viper's nest of intrigue where the physical dangers will not necessarily come
from a man charging you with a sword. Death will be unseen or come in the
night, at unprotected moments."
"But why would
anyone..."
She stepped
into the room and allowed the handmaids and her own lady in waiting to enter.
"Because you stand in their way. Because you became friends with the wrong
person. Because you wore the same colour gown to the same function as another
lady and looked better in it."
Caelerys was
horrified.
"Good. I see I
have finally managed to instil fear in you. You will be living among wild
animals, exposed to every element and predation with only your wits to defend
you. Some of these beasts will be benign. Some openly hostile. Others will seem
harmless and even friendly, only to turn on you in a moment if it suits them.
You must learn the difference."
Cae pushed what
remained of her meal away, no appetite remaining. It was a brutal analogy, but
one she understood. The cold pit in her stomach at the thought of dealing with
strangers grew larger. Mutely, she allowed Fern to draw her to the small
bathtub and wash the dust of the road from her body without getting her hair
wet.
Lady Petra
bustled about, directing the maids what to pull from the trunk that had been
brought up. "Now, as much as I feel a lady should ride, demurely unseen, within
a carriage, in this case, I agree with your father..." She was interrupted by a
large white falcon, as Tempest sailed through the open window and landed on the
edge of the tub. A black peppered feather landed in the water and Cae giggled,
reaching up to stroke the blue beak. Scowling, lady Petra continued. "You
should ride in state at the head of the procession. That bird should be on your
wrist and properly hooded and jessed..."
This earned her
a glare from both girl and bird. The way the fowl's dark eyes bored into her
made lady Petra feel as if the beast understood far more of what was said than
was natural. Cae found her back-bone again. "No. There will be no hoods and no
jesses. She is far too well manned to need either. The last time she wore
jesses, she got hopelessly tangled and nearly eaten by a wildcat."
"And if she
gets loose and someone finds her? How will they know she is not a wild bird for
the taking?"
Caelerys
fingered the gold band around the bird's ankle, engraved with her name and
house. "This. And I would be surprised if anyone could catch her. And no one
else can fly her."
"That is
because you have spoiled her," she sniffed. "I swear that bird is more pet than
hunter. You've ruined her."
Cae laughed,
stroking the white breast feathers, admiring the scattering of black. "She
should be. But she isn't. She protects me."
Lady Petra
sighed, turned back to the task at hand, aware she would never win this fight.
"You will ride side-saddle, the hawk on your wrist..."
"Falcon."
"You will...
what?"
"Falcon.
Tempest is a gauvan, a very rare falcon, not a common hawk."
The brown eyes
narrowed. Cae gave a tiny shrug of her head, rose from the water and stood to
be rinsed.
Lady Petra
watched as Fern poured a last ewer of warm water over the girl's nubile young
body, assessing her while she had the chance. Caelerys was a woman flowered,
she knew, but she also knew many young girls who flowered before they bloomed.
The dukes' daughter, however, was blooming. She had the height of her family,
tall for a girl of just seventeen, but with the appearance of petiteness, and
none of the coltish awkwardness one expected at that age and height. There was
silent strength in her arms and legs, a criminally athletic body for a girl,
but she was healthy and curving and soft, ...and still growing.
As the girl
accepted the towel Fern wrapped around her, rubbing herself dry, lady Petra
nodded to herself. She would gain maybe a few more inches in height over the
next two years, still acceptably shorter than most men, and there would be no
need for padding her bodice, or corsetry for trimness and posture.
The old dame
continued. "You will ride at a sedate pace through the street of DragonsPoint
up to the castle where you shall meet your brother Lord Willam. You will be
courteous."
"Always," Cae
said, began dusting her naked body with a small fur wand with a glistening
powder from a little leather bag. The warm scent of honey filled the air.
"You will not
speak unless spoken to and you will comport yourself as the eldest daughter of
a Great House should. Now, the coronation of King Rorlan will be in seven days.
Lord Willam will present you before the king and bring forth the gifts your
father has sent with you. You will then mingle with the members of court,
making yourself presentable and noticeable."
"What's the
point if I can't talk to them?" came the muffled voice from within folds of
heavy blue silk.
"They will
speak to you if you approach. Your father says you are to make a list of your
impressions of the men," she added, her tone conveying her true feelings about
the idea and Caelerys's capacity to intelligently comply. "You and I will go
over that list before it is sent on to your father, and I will inform you which
of the men are, in fact, eligible. You are to convey to the new king your
father's condolences upon the untimely death of his brother and generally make
yourself available. You are here to make a suitable match to the advantage of
your House."
Caelerys
sighed, running her hand across the silk bodice with its high collar,
embroidered silver netting and seed pearls sewn at the junctures. It was the
finest dress she owned. "I know my duty, lady Petra. Father has already told me
what he needs of me. I know what is expected. I may be young, but I am not so
foolish or silly as you seem to think me," she said firmly, sitting to allow
lady Petra's lady in waiting to dress her hair. "I have no intention of falling
in love with the first pretty face or kind gentleman to pay attention to me. I
will look for a suitable match, and withhold my affections until such time as
negotiations are done. Only then will I consider love." Caelerys had very firm
ideas of what she was looking for and what she would settle for, but she kept
these to herself. She knew that, for every nursemaid and bardic tale of love
against all odds, there were ten that ended in tragedy and heartache. No, she
kept her heart locked tightly away and would not give it lightly.
Lady Petra
studied her, seemed satisfied. "You might do after all." She softened, nibbling
upon what was left of Cae's lunch. "This is not to say that you won't come to
love your husband. The Eldest knows I hated mine."
Caelerys turned
to look at her. "Then why did you agree to light the candle?"
"Because it was
what my family required. House Reynelds is a knightly house at best, and House
Petra a minor but impoverished one. My family had the money, Petra had the
status. I came to love him in the end. Even his more noxious habits became
dear. I am a creature of comforts, my lamb, and my mother was ambitious.
...Leave a little hanging around her temples, Marigold. It frames her face nicely."
She smiled, a surprisingly warm expression. "Don't worry, little one. Your
father will not likely marry you to someone loathsome."
The air had
chilled a little by the time Caelerys was as ready as she could be made, and a
fog had begun to rise out of the Mistwood. When she finally descended the
stairs, everyone in the common room stopped to stare. What had slipped upstairs
had been a bright cheeked, rough young girl. What came down was a beauty. The
silk flowed after her like a cloud, the perfect shade of blue to bring out the
jewel-tone of her sapphire eyes. The collar encircled her throat like a
necklace of metallic lace and pearl, expounding her innocence. Not even the
white leather pad strapped to her left shoulder detracted from the vision of the
demure Lady of Court.
Outside, the
rest of her entourage had caught up and were taking a short rest. Cartyr, the
head of the cadre, was dividing the men between the caravan, which would follow
later, and the Lady's honour-guard. Even the aged Mace caught his breath as
Caelerys stepped out of the door into the courtyard.
A stable boy
led Wraith to a mounting block and held her. The mare had been brushed until
she shone like metal and stood there with her head and ears up. Her saddle had
been changed to the dreaded side-saddle, and Caelerys allowed Mace to take her
hand and lead her over. Wraith tossed her head as she approached and Cae
noticed that tiny silver bells had been attached to her bridle by sapphire
ribbons. Cae strongly suspected Wraith was playing with them, dancing
rambunctious just to hear them ring. Mace handed her into the saddle and Cae
adjusted her skirts. Tempest waited until she was settled before dropping onto
the leather pad. Thankfully, she refrained from picking at her hair.
The men who
were to ride with her mounted quickly as Cartyr shouted. Two of them taking
their places just ahead of her, the Maral banners at stirrup. A breath of wind
lifted the deep blue fabric, unfurling the rampant white stag of her House and
Caelerys took a deep breath. This was it. Cartyr took point, his men falling in
behind the lady, and Mace rode beside her, bow in hand. She knew he would drop
back when they came to the great bridge, but she took comfort in his presence
whilst she had it.
The mist held
onto the day as they rode out of the wood an hour later. It trailed after them,
cloaking the procession in an aura of mystery and fey pageantry, as if
reluctant to relinquish them from its enchanted grip. The few people on the
road made way for them, and even the low estates, bringing in livestock or
tending fields, stopped to watch them pass. The standard-bearers' mail gleamed
in the afternoon light, and the lady herself seemed to float across the ground
on a horse of brushed silver.
They paused at
the top of the hill which gave Caelerys a moment to absorb the sight before
her. Mace stepped his horse up beside hers, spoke softly, "DragonsPoint, little
bird. Jewel of the Western Sea. The centre of humanity in Elanthus."
"It looks like
it houses half of it," she breathed. She tried to take it all in, and couldn't.
The green hill sloped a little less than gently down to the river, though the
road wound more softly against the side of it. The broad river was filled with
barges and small boats and spanned by a bridge the size of a village. The
bridge was massive and towered, guarded by two stone dragons that held up the
massive front gate, and by two smaller bronze ones on the city side. Beyond
that, she could see the curve of King's Bay and the masts of a sea of ships
breaking up the skyline. The city itself curved along in between river and bay
and rose in an uneven sprawl. The walls were high and of a pale, greenish stone
and pierced by one or two smaller gates, which had what looked like drawbridges
for docks. At the far end of the city, upon a hill, rose a castle in a dark
green stone with white slate roofs and many coloured pennants.
Whatever Cartyr
had been waiting for had occurred. At a signal from him, her escort began
moving forward and Mace dropped back behind her. The road was cleared all the
way to the bridge, and what people were there stared without shame. They drank
in the pageantry, feasting on the details to sustain them in their small hours.
Caelerys caught the wide eye of a small child and smiled. Tempest half spread
her wings, giving a shrill cry of pure pride, much to the child's delight. Cae
turned her eyes forward to the bridge dragons, feeling overwhelmed and doing
her best not to show it.
The guards at
the first gates saluted the banners as they passed unchallenged. And then
Caelerys was beneath the arch of stone claws thirty feet high and feeling the
difference in the sound beneath Wraith's hooves. The world seemed unrooted
suddenly, the sound of it different, almost hollow. She was surprised to see
narrow buildings lining the length of the bridge. They seemed to be small
customs offices and barracks, among other things.
And then she
was out the second, bronze gates and in the city proper and she thought, for a
moment, that her ears would burst. The noise was immense. On her shoulder,
Tempest cried, stepping closer to her neck and spreading her wings protectively
around Cae's head. She shifted her shoulder minutely and the bird began to
settle down, though still complaining. Even Wraith did a twisting side-step as
they entered the wall of living sound.
Two of the
men-at-arms rode up beside her, just far enough back that she could be seen,
but not enough that anyone could take advantage of the opening. People paused
only a breath to stare, getting out of the way of the horses, but otherwise
going about their business. Caelerys had to force herself to calm down. Wraith
was beginning to sense her unease and tossing her head. The bells could barely
be heard over the mass of voices and people. She tightened her grip on the
reins and stared straight ahead, focusing on whatever she could to get her mind
off her fear. There were so many bodies. And, if lady Petra was to be believed,
anyone of them could decide she had offended them and try to kill her. By the
time they were approaching the green gates of the castle, she had decided the
idea was ridiculous. By then, she had something else to occupy her thoughts;
like the sheer size of the building.
Greenstone
Citadel was easily three times the size of her family's great keep, a spare
eleven acres across. It rose in mossy stone high above the large inner
courtyard that was almost a village market of its own; with a blacksmith,
wainwright, large carriage house and stable, and a barracks. Broad, sweeping
steps led up to the massive front doors, stained green with delicate, flat,
golden dragons fastened to it, their bright claws slipped into the crack in
between as if ready to pull them open upon request. There were just as many
people in deep green and yellow livery as were not, and Caelerys noted a young
woman emerging from one out-building with a basket of fresh bread upon her head
who deftly avoided running into another young man from the building next to it
who was laden under smoked hams as easily as if this happened every day.
In all, though
the scale was beyond her, it was not that different from home. The parts of the
village important to a castle's upkeep were just within the castle itself and
not at its feet. When she looked up, it almost reminded her of looking up at
Taluscliff from the beach, just with more spires and peaked roofs, and smoother
walls. She was just taking note of trunks and furniture being moved in through
a side door when a vaguely familiar voice hailed them.
She turned to
look for the voice, saw a tall, broad young man with dark curling locks that
fell to his shoulders calling for his horse. He strode over to her with all the
solemn, noble grace of an emperor stag. While Wraith was a dainty mare, she was
not short. Even so, the man's head came to her waist. She looked down into the
dark blue eyes, set in a handsome, strong face and recognized traces of the
slender young man she had last seen two years ago at Harvest. "Willam?"
He quirked a
smile, "Little sister."
She reached to
be lifted from the saddle but he shook his head. "Now is not the time, Lady
Caelerys," he said with unusual formality. He stepped back and took his reins
from the approaching stable hand, turned to address Cartyr. "We head to Stag's
Hall now." He threw himself into the saddle of a broad warhorse, a rich brown
with heavy, white-feathered legs and a broad blaze on his wide nose.
Caelerys
frowned, reluctant to re-enter the noise of the city proper. She held her
tongue though, knowing from experience that he would not explain right now. She
rode sedately beside him and wondered about this brother who was nearly a
stranger.
"How was the
ride?" he asked civilly.
"Boring," she
replied.
He chuckled.
"Plenty of excitement here," he conceded. "Maybe not to your tastes."
She cast her
eyes over the packed road and milling people, and, even from the elevated place
where the castle sat, all she could see spreading below her were buildings and
people. "I will miss riding."
"There are
places to ride," he said. "Just beyond the castle, there is a training ground
and a small wood, fields. They have an army to keep in shape, after all. The
tourney will be held there, which is why the streets are so crowded. People
coming for the King's Tournament. There will be events the ladies can enter if
you like. Equestrian and Archery, for instance."
His sister lit
up as he had known she would. "Would I really be allowed?"
"Encouraged,
even. Granted, not the jousting or the grand melee, though there is rumour of a
woman slipping into the lists. The council is battling as to whether or not
there should be any rule against it, and of course, the church wants there to
be."
Caelerys was
suddenly grateful for this brother she did not really know. She realized that
he had put her at ease in spite of being surrounded by hordes of strangers. It
began to dawn on her that there was no need to worry about dealing with them
because she was just another anonymous member of the press. Well, not
anonymous, but certainly nothing was expected of her in the way of social interaction. The mention of the church reminded her of
something unpleasant though. "Will lady Petra be staying with us?"
Willam shook
his head, and Caelerys thought there was a hint of relief at his reply, "No.
She has her own place in town. She will be visiting often though, to make sure
you are properly attired and briefed on courtly manners and that your maids
know what will be expected of them." He hesitated a moment, gave her a sidelong
look. "How do you feel about this... whole thing?"
She took a deep
breath before answering. "I know my duty to the family. I will do my best to
find the best choice for household alliances while still trying to find someone
I can deal with. I would like a friend if nothing else. Have you found a bride,
yet?"
Willam seemed
confused a moment, then caught what she had asked. He cleared his throat and
concentrated on the road ahead of him. "I haven't had the time. DragonsPoint
has been chaos the last month."
Her eyes slid
over the pale grey slate of a stately building, an actual anvil standing at the
top of the marble steps: the symbol of the Eldest and the Divine Right of Man.
The place did not engender comfortable thoughts. "What exactly happened? I had
not heard."
This surprised
him. "Father didn't tell you?"
She rolled her
eyes skyward, "Lady Petra," was all she needed to say.
Willam laughed
softly, clearly a noise he was no longer used to making. He gestured to an
impressive, walled residence off to the right. "Lady Caelerys, welcome to
Stag's Hall."
Two liveried
men threw open the dark wooden gates to admit them to the little courtyard. It
was a great deal smaller than home but of good size. Three stories, a decent
stable and small forge. As she rode inside, the sounds of the city muffled
again; still there, but less intrusive, not unlike the background hum of a
forest full of life, just different beasts. The building itself was grey stone
with dark wood shutters on its narrow windows. Before she knew it, Willam was
lifting her down from the saddle and she had to cling to him a moment, letting
her legs uncramp from the unnatural pose she had been holding for hours. When
she was ready, he took her arm and led her into the house.
It was nice.
Not structured in a way she knew at all, but then, she had lived in a fortress
all her life with occasional stays in a hunting lodge. There was a large foyer,
not unexpected, a solar and a study off to the side and a wide staircase
leading to the upper floors. Between the stairs and the study was a corridor
that led to other parts of the house and he took her down this way first. There
were hallways here, leading to the kitchen and servants' quarters, but what was
of greatest interest to her was a door braced in iron shaped like roses just
past the dining room. It opened into an inner courtyard complete with a broad
kitchen garden and a trellis against one wall where roses had been recently
planted. The late afternoon sun shone against one wall and glinted off broad
glass windows, and nearly all of the third story rooms had balconies.
A decent-sized
aviary took up one corner, filled with the soft chirring of nesting toomi, the
dull brown and grey little birds used for carrying messages. Caelerys had
always been fond of them. They mated for life, and so complete was their
devotion that the male would find the female no matter where she was, even if
she was sent to a different aviary, even one he had never been to before. The
wives were kept safe in household aviaries and the husbands were delivered to
the various places where urgent messages were likely to be sent from. Once
released, message tied to their leg, they headed straight for their wives. If
you wanted to silence a house, you killed the females. The males, strangely,
would never return to the nest, either losing their way or out of instinct.
Somehow they always knew, and very often did not survive long themselves. The
unattractive little birds were used as the symbol for lasting marital unions
and were often given as wedding gifts.
Willam stood
back and watched his sister tour the garden. He had been told she was a fairly
accomplished herbalist and hoped the garden would be to her liking. He had
ordered the roses planted because he wasn't sure if she would be happy with
nothing pretty to look at. In fact, beyond that she was pretty, shy, well-read
and a more than decent huntress, he knew next to nothing about this dark-haired
girl who was now his responsibility. She had stopped to examine the roses,
peering under a few of the leaves and frowning.
"We can have
whatever you wish moved out to make room for more flowers," he told her. "Just
make a list. We have not had a lady in residence in a very long time, so all we
have had need of was a kitchen garden."
"Who tends it?"
she asked.
"We don't have
a gardener. The kitchen staff have been maintaining things since they are the
ones using it. They asked permission to use the space and I granted it."
"And now you
are taking it back," she said, the slightest hint of reproof in her voice. "No.
No need. It will suit my purposes as is. If I could have this patch over here
for some specific, more medicinal flowers and herbs, I will be happy. But you
might want to consider a dedicated gardener, or at least one who's main
responsibility is the garden with light duties elsewhere. Some of what I'll
want requires a knowing hand. And they need to stop dead-heading the roses,"
she said, fingering a cut stem. "I know it makes them produce more blooms, but
the hips are too useful."
It was moments
like these that one found it hard to remember how young she was. "As you wish,
little sister. Just give a list of what you want done to Fennel. She's been
managing this end of things. Any other changes you want, tell her. She'll ask
me if she feels it needs approval." He gave her a long look, not wanting to say
it but feeling the need, "Just don't turn the house upside down."
She looked over
at him, frowning. "Why would I do that?"
He looked
uncomfortable. "Because girls... want things and need them a certain way, need
to feel in control of a house and this one runs smoothly right now..."
She set her
hands on her hips and tipped her head in that bird-like way he remembered from
the few times he had come home. "And what, pray tell, gives you that idea?"
"I've seen it
happen. Woman moves into a house, no matter her age and sweeping changes are in
the offing."
She decided to
be uncharitable. "I'll let you know." She lifted her head, looking over to the
aviary. "Jelma, tyet!" she called sternly in Old Vermian. The falcon lifted her
snowy head guiltily, launched herself from the top of the tall cage and sailed
easily back to her leather-cased wrist. She landed gingerly, being careful. She
bobbed and twisted her head in apology. Caelerys sighed and relented, stroking
her in her favourite places. She looked up to realize her brother was frowning
at the bird. "What?"
"I had
forgotten about her. I can have a mews built, but it'll have to be in the main
courtyard if she's going to bother the toomi."
"If that is all
that's bothering you, don't worry about it," she smiled. "She sleeps in my
room. I brought her stands. She'll likely be tagging along behind me no matter
where I go anyway. And don't worry about the toomi. She will leave them alone,"
she said the last directly to the bird who sighed.
Willam shook
his head and reached for his sister's free hand. "Let me show you the rest of
the house."