[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
him. Is it true you were in the late war?
Uh . . . which one?
You ve been in more than one? Her eyes widened, then narrowed.
All of them for the last seventeen years, I think.
Page 22
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Well, no. He d sat out the most recent abortive campaign against Ibra in the
dungeons of Brajar, and missed that foolish expedition the roya had sent in
support of Darthaca because he d been busy being inventively tormented by the
Roknari general with whom the provincar of Guarida was bargaining so ineptly.
Besides those two, he didn t think there had been a defeat in the last decade
he d missed. Here and there, over the years, he answered vaguely. He was
suddenly horridly conscious that there was nothing between his nakedness and
her maiden eyes but a thin layer of linen. He twitched inward, clutching his
arms across his belly, and smiled weakly.
Oh, she said, following his gesture. Have I embarrassed you? But Papa says
soldiers have no modesty, on account of having to live all together in the
field.
She returned her eyes to his face, which was heating. Cazaril got out, I was
thinking of your modesty, my lady.
That s all right, she said cheerfully.
She didn t go away.
He nodded toward the pile of clothes. I didn t wish to intrude upon the
family during celebration.
Are you sure . . . ?
She clasped her hands together earnestly and intensified her gaze. But you
must come to the procession, and you must, you must, you must come to the
Daughter s Day quarter-gifting at the temple.
The Royesse Iselle is going to play the part of the Lady of Spring this year.
She bounced on her toes in her importunity.
Cazaril smiled sheepishly. Very well, if it please you. How could he resist
all this urgent delight?
Royesse Iselle must be rising sixteen; he wondered how old Lady Betriz was.
Too young for you, old fellow
. But surely he might watch her with a purely aesthetic appreciation, and
thank the goddesses for her gifts of youth, beauty, and verve howsoever they
were scattered. Brightening the world like flowers.
And besides, Lady Betriz cinched it, the Provincara bids you.
Cazaril seized the opportunity to light his candle from hers and, by way of a
hint that it was time for her to go away and let him dress, handed the
glass-globed flame back to her. The doubled light that made her more lovely
doubtless made him less so. She d just turned to go when he bethought him of
his
prudent question, unanswered last night.
Wait, lady
She turned back with a look of bright inquiry.
I didn t want to trouble the Provincara, or ask in front of the royse or
royesse, but what grieves the
Royina Ista? I don t want to say or do something wrong, out of ignorance . .
.
The light in her eyes died a little. She shrugged. She s . . . weary. And
nervous. Nothing more. We hope she will feel better, with the coming of the
sun. She always seems to do better, in the summertime.
How long has she been living here with her mother?
These six years, sir. She gave him a little half curtsey. Now I have to go
to Royesse Iselle. Don t be late, Castillar! Her smile dimpled at him again,
and she darted out.
He could not imagine that young lady being late anywhere. Her energy was
appalling. Shaking his head, though the smile she d left him still lingered on
his lips, he turned to examine the new largesse.
He was certainly moving up to a better grade of castoffs. The tunic was blue
silk brocade, the trousers heavy dark blue linen, and the knee-length
vest-cloak white wool, all clean, the little mends and stains quite
unobtrusive; dy Ferrej s festival gear outgrown, perhaps, or possibly even
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
something packed away from the late provincar. The loose fit was forgiving of
this change in ownership. With the sword hung at his left hip,
familiar/unfamiliar weight, Cazaril hurried down out of the keep and across
the gray courtyard to the household s ancestors hall.
The air of the courtyard was chill and damp, the cobbles slippery under his
thin boot soles.
Overhead, a few stars still lingered. Cazaril eased open the big plank door to
the hall and peered inside.
Candles, figures; was he late? He slipped within, his eyes adjusting. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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him. Is it true you were in the late war?
Uh . . . which one?
You ve been in more than one? Her eyes widened, then narrowed.
All of them for the last seventeen years, I think.
Page 22
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Well, no. He d sat out the most recent abortive campaign against Ibra in the
dungeons of Brajar, and missed that foolish expedition the roya had sent in
support of Darthaca because he d been busy being inventively tormented by the
Roknari general with whom the provincar of Guarida was bargaining so ineptly.
Besides those two, he didn t think there had been a defeat in the last decade
he d missed. Here and there, over the years, he answered vaguely. He was
suddenly horridly conscious that there was nothing between his nakedness and
her maiden eyes but a thin layer of linen. He twitched inward, clutching his
arms across his belly, and smiled weakly.
Oh, she said, following his gesture. Have I embarrassed you? But Papa says
soldiers have no modesty, on account of having to live all together in the
field.
She returned her eyes to his face, which was heating. Cazaril got out, I was
thinking of your modesty, my lady.
That s all right, she said cheerfully.
She didn t go away.
He nodded toward the pile of clothes. I didn t wish to intrude upon the
family during celebration.
Are you sure . . . ?
She clasped her hands together earnestly and intensified her gaze. But you
must come to the procession, and you must, you must, you must come to the
Daughter s Day quarter-gifting at the temple.
The Royesse Iselle is going to play the part of the Lady of Spring this year.
She bounced on her toes in her importunity.
Cazaril smiled sheepishly. Very well, if it please you. How could he resist
all this urgent delight?
Royesse Iselle must be rising sixteen; he wondered how old Lady Betriz was.
Too young for you, old fellow
. But surely he might watch her with a purely aesthetic appreciation, and
thank the goddesses for her gifts of youth, beauty, and verve howsoever they
were scattered. Brightening the world like flowers.
And besides, Lady Betriz cinched it, the Provincara bids you.
Cazaril seized the opportunity to light his candle from hers and, by way of a
hint that it was time for her to go away and let him dress, handed the
glass-globed flame back to her. The doubled light that made her more lovely
doubtless made him less so. She d just turned to go when he bethought him of
his
prudent question, unanswered last night.
Wait, lady
She turned back with a look of bright inquiry.
I didn t want to trouble the Provincara, or ask in front of the royse or
royesse, but what grieves the
Royina Ista? I don t want to say or do something wrong, out of ignorance . .
.
The light in her eyes died a little. She shrugged. She s . . . weary. And
nervous. Nothing more. We hope she will feel better, with the coming of the
sun. She always seems to do better, in the summertime.
How long has she been living here with her mother?
These six years, sir. She gave him a little half curtsey. Now I have to go
to Royesse Iselle. Don t be late, Castillar! Her smile dimpled at him again,
and she darted out.
He could not imagine that young lady being late anywhere. Her energy was
appalling. Shaking his head, though the smile she d left him still lingered on
his lips, he turned to examine the new largesse.
He was certainly moving up to a better grade of castoffs. The tunic was blue
silk brocade, the trousers heavy dark blue linen, and the knee-length
vest-cloak white wool, all clean, the little mends and stains quite
unobtrusive; dy Ferrej s festival gear outgrown, perhaps, or possibly even
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
something packed away from the late provincar. The loose fit was forgiving of
this change in ownership. With the sword hung at his left hip,
familiar/unfamiliar weight, Cazaril hurried down out of the keep and across
the gray courtyard to the household s ancestors hall.
The air of the courtyard was chill and damp, the cobbles slippery under his
thin boot soles.
Overhead, a few stars still lingered. Cazaril eased open the big plank door to
the hall and peered inside.
Candles, figures; was he late? He slipped within, his eyes adjusting. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]