Or fire.
Thinking about fire, she clutched the blanket around her shoulders and shivered.
The gate, a massive shutter of timbers trussed with strips of iron, stood open. The men guarding it hailed Geraden in a way that suggested they knew where he had gone, and why. Houseldon wasn’t a place for people who liked secrets.
As he and Terisa rode through the gate, Geraden asked the guards, ‘Where’s the Domne?’
One of them shrugged. ‘At home? With that leg, he doesn’t get around as easily as he used to.’
Geraden nodded and led Terisa down the main street of the village.
She wanted to ask what was wrong with the Domne’s leg, but she was too busy looking around. The dirt street was little more than a lane; yet it served as a thoroughfare for wagons and cattle as well as people. If the street had been busy, she and Geraden would have had trouble getting through. This morning, however, they caused most of the traffic themselves: it was composed almost entirely of people who came out to see Geraden – and her.
In contrast to the lane, the square-fronted buildings on either side were substantial: solidly erected as well as large. They had stone foundations, deep porches, windows covered with oiled sheepskins. Working with rough planks and mud plaster, the inhabitants of Houseldon had constructed homes and shops meant to endure; and the characteristic thatch of the roofs was apparently used because it was practical – cool in summer, warm in winter, easy to replace – rather than because it was cheap. In that way, the houses were like the people, who were dressed primarily in tough fabrics and simple styles, intended to last.
The spectators looked at Geraden and studied Terisa with unabashed curiosity. One rowdy spirit – she didn’t see who it was – shouted unexpectedly, ‘Looks like you made a good choice, Geraden!’ but Geraden didn’t react.
He certainly didn’t need to defend himself. Several voices muttered imprecations at the rowdy spirit on his behalf, and one old man said clearly, ‘Hold your tongue, puppy. If you had his problems, you would drown yourself in the Broadwine.’
Just for a second, the gloom in the background of Geraden’s expression lifted, and his eyes sparkled a little.
Terisa was abashed by the realization that she was blushing.
For several minutes, he steered her horse past a number of intersecting lanes and paths – past public watering troughs, a granary or two, a shop that sold foodstuffs and utensils, at least six merchantries which dealt in wool and sheepskins, and one tavern rendered unmistakable by a huge sign over the door that announced succinctly: tavern. Then, without warning, he stopped in front of a house and swung off his mount.
This building was somewhat larger than its neighbors. Apart from its size, however, its only distinguishing feature was the plain, brown-and-russet pennon that fluttered from a pole jutting out of its thatch. Geraden tossed his reins over the porch rail, then turned to offer Terisa a lift down, muttering, ‘This is it.’
There was a woman on the porch. A line of rope ran from one end of the porch to the other, and over it hung a large rug, rag-woven from scraps of wool. The woman held a short flail in one hand, and the air around her was dim with dust: apparently, she had been beating the rug. Terisa was immediately struck by her corn silk hair and sky blue eyes, by the flush of exertion on her cheeks and the strength in her hands. She had the bosom of an Earth Mother and the shoulders of a stonemason, and she propped her fists on her hips to greet Geraden as if she weren’t entirely ready to let him enter her house.
A child only a little bigger than a toddler peered from behind her skirts, then ducked into hiding.
‘You took long enough,’ she said in a voice that directly contradicted the severity of her manner. ‘Da’s been fretting.’
‘Quiss,’ he replied like a man who had forgotten how to laugh and didn’t want to get angry, ‘this is Terisa. The lady Terisa of Morgan. She’s an arch-Imager.’ He seemed to fear that Quiss wouldn’t take his companion seriously enough. ‘After Vagel, she’s the most powerful Imager in the country.’
Quiss raised her blue eyes to Terisa’s face. She didn’t smile, but her gaze felt as friendly as sunshine. All at once, Terisa forgot to be self-conscious.
‘She’s also cold and tired, and probably hungry,’ Quiss pronounced, ‘and she isn’t used to horses. What are you waiting for? Bring her in.’
Terisa smiled helplessly.
Geraden reached up for her hand. His eyes gave away nothing: he was too iron to be dented by Quiss’ manner. Terisa included him with her smile, then lost it because she suddenly began to ache for the Geraden who would have chuckled happily at Tholden’s wife. When he didn’t respond, either to her smile or to her sadness, she took a deep breath for courage and let him help her off the bay.
Her legs began to shake as soon as her feet hit the ground – a consequence of her unfamiliarity with horseback riding – but after she took a step or two the trembling eased. Geraden might have wanted to withdraw his hand, but she didn’t give him the chance; she clung to him as she went up the steps onto the porch.
Still without smiling, Quiss unexpectedly took hold of Terisa’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug, a kiss on the cheek. ‘Welcome, Terisa of Morgan,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about Imagery – but I know Geraden. You are very welcome here.’
Terisa had no reply. An awkward moment passed while she groped for a way to explain how glad she was to be here. Then the child hiding behind Quiss’ skirts broke the silence.
‘Ma, the lady don’t smell good.’
Quiss started to turn. ‘“Doesn’t,” Ruesha. Not “don’t.” And that’s no way to talk to a lady.’
Geraden was faster, however. ‘Imp!’ he barked. ‘Come here. I’m going to paddle your behind until you can’t walk for a week.’
Squealing with an obvious lack of fright, the child sprinted into the house. Geraden followed, thundering his boots on the floorboards as he pretended to run.
This time, Quiss did smile, half in apology, half in pleasure. ‘Ruesha says what she thinks,’ she said, ‘like too many of her uncles.’ Then she wrinkled her nose humorously. ‘But it’s true, you know. You don’t smell good. They must have treated you pretty badly after Geraden got away.’
Terisa was smiling herself; a small trill of music ran around her heart. There was hope for Geraden yet. Perhaps just for a second, he had been surprised out of his defeat. She sounded incongruously happy as she replied, ‘They put me in the dungeon.’
Quiss’ eyes resumed their sky blue sobriety. ‘A dungeon they haven’t cleaned for decades, apparently.’ The bare idea affronted her. ‘Come. I’ll introduce you to the Domne. Then we can go get you a bath. And some clean clothes. That will give his father a chance to try to make sense out of Geraden.’
With one strong arm wrapped companionably around Terisa’s shoulders, Quiss steered her into the house.
The room they entered was so dark that she could hardly see. The only light came from the coals in the hearth, the barely translucent window covers, and the reflection of daylight through the doorway. As her eyes adjusted, however, shapes began to emerge from the dimness: a bulky cast-iron stove beside the fireplace, several doors into other rooms, a rectangular wooden table long enough to seat ten or twelve people.
At the head of the table sat a man with one leg propped on a stool.
‘Did you see Geraden, Da?’ Quiss asked.
‘He went through here,’ a warm voice rumbled. ‘He was too busy trying to beat the spit out of your youngest to talk to his mere father. But he’s back in one piece – and he’s got a woman with him. I gather something good has happened.’
‘I think so,’ said Quiss briskly. ‘Da, this is Terisa – the lady Terisa of Morgan. As soon as you tell her how welcome she is, I’m going to take her and get her a bath and clothes and food. In the meantime—’ She paused significantly before saying. ‘Now that she’s here, maybe he’ll unbend enough to tell you what’s going on.
&n
bsp; ‘My lady Terisa of Morgan, this is the Domne.’
Through the gloom, Terisa saw that the Domne was a tall man, as lean and curved as an axe handle. He had Geraden’s face, and Artagel’s, and Nyle’s, but more so in some way, as if they were attractive yet inaccurate copies of him. The hair on his head was thick, but he had no beard. The silver streaks at his temples were the only obvious signs of his age. Perhaps because the light was weak, he didn’t appear to be more than half as old as King Joyse.
The leg propped on the stool was plump with bandages. He had a pair of canes nearby, but he made no attempt to rise when Quiss introduced him. Instead, he said, ‘My lady,’ in a voice as warm as a hug, ‘you’re welcome in Houseldon – and in my house. If we could do it, we would put on a feast for you, a celebration. But I’m afraid we’re a little too busy. Geraden seems to think we might be attacked. That doesn’t happen every day, and we have to brace ourselves.
‘But don’t worry about that right now. I’ve wanted him to bring a woman home with him for a long time. That’s the benefit of sons. When they marry – or only fall in love – or merely feel like flirting a bit – they bring their women home with them. Quiss is a good example. If she were my daughter, and Tholden was someone else’s son, she would have left to go with him, and we would have been lost without her.’
At that, Quiss snorted affectionately. ‘Sons, is it? Is that why you treat Ruesha like she’s worth the weight of her three brothers in fine brandy?’
The Domne didn’t deign to acknowledge this jibe. Noticing the direction of Terisa’s gaze, he explained, ‘A hunting accident. I’m afraid I finally have to admit that I’m not a young man. Occasionally, packs of wild pigs wander into Domne from the Care of Termigan. I’d be willing to let them wander, but unfortunately they can trample an entire cornfield overnight, so we’re forced to hunt them. This time, one of my sons had the bad sense to suggest that I was getting too old to hunt wild pig. The truth must be told, Quiss, it was Tholden. Naturally, I insisted on leading the hunt myself.
‘When the boar charged, my thrice-cursed horse panicked and threw me. Then at last I had to admit that indeed I have put on a few years since my youth. I simply wasn’t spry enough to prevent the pig from sticking his tusk in my leg.
‘It heals slowly, alas,’ he sighed. ‘Another sign of age.’
Almost at once, Terisa found that she liked the Domne. The relaxed way he talked put her at ease, made her feel more welcome than any elaborate speech or feast; made her feel at home. ‘My lord,’ she said impulsively because she didn’t have any other words for her gratitude, ‘I’m very glad to be here.’
‘“My lord”?’ the Domne returned humorously. ‘I hope not. The last time a woman insisted on calling me “my lord,” I had to marry her to make her stop.’
Smiling, Terisa asked, ‘What should I call you?’
‘“Da,”’ he answered without hesitation. ‘It’s probably presumptuous of me, but I like it. My sons refuse, of course. Another benefit of sons – they keep me humble. In the name of my dignity. If I have any – which I doubt, sitting here half crippled because I wasn’t able to get out of the way of a pig. But the rest of my family won’t call me anything else.’
‘Da,’ she murmured experimentally. It had a nice sound. She had never called her own father anything except Father.
‘Thank you,’ said the Domne as if she had done him a favor.
‘Come, Terisa.’ Quiss put an arm on Terisa’s shoulders again. ‘If I let you stay, he’ll keep you talking until lunchtime. That’s a “benefit of sons” he doesn’t mention. When they were small, he always had someone to listen to him. They taught him bad habits. Any daughter with sense in her head would have known better.’
The Domne nodded gravely. ‘We can talk later, Terisa, when you’ve had a chance to rest and refresh yourself.
‘If you find Geraden,’ he added to Quiss, ‘tell him I want to see him. I refuse to be ignored all morning merely because Ruesha wants to play.’
‘Yes, Da,’ Quiss replied in a tone of gently mocking subservience. With her arm, she took Terisa out of the room.
Almost immediately, they encountered a serving girl in the hall. Quiss instructed her to bring hot water for a bath, then to fetch Geraden for the Domne. The girl bobbed an acknowledgment, and Quiss and Terisa walked on.
The house was big – bigger than Terisa had realized. Behind its wide front, it seemed to sprawl for a considerable distance. Beyond the room where the Domne sat, the windows were open, letting light and spring air into the hall, and she found that she could see the grain in the polished hardwood of the floor, the fitted planks of the walls. Here she realized for herself how strong the odor of the dungeon was on her – realized it because everything around her smelled of soap, beeswax, and old resin. Years of wear and polish had brought out a glow from the floorboards down the center of the hall, and that warmer hue seemed to mark the way ahead like a path, a way of making sure that no one got lost.
Quiss took her past a door that stood slightly ajar. As they crossed the opening, a plaintive voice called out, ‘Quiss! In the name of decency!’ The tone of the appeal was both lugubrious and funny. ‘I’m dying.’
‘And about time, too,’ muttered Quiss without stopping – or letting Terisa pause.
‘Who was that?’ Terisa asked in surprise.
Then she was surprised even further to see Quiss’ entire face turn red.
‘Stead. One of the sons Da seems to value so highly. He hasn’t had a woman since a tinker broke his collarbone, and he wants me to bed him. As soon as he learns you’re here, he’ll get the same idea about you.
‘Take my advice,’ Quiss continued primly. ‘Have nothing to do with him. He’s the only one of the Domne’s sons who has no sense at all. Personally, I won’t even let the serving girls go in his room. A groom and one of the shearers are taking care of him.’
Terisa made an effort to keep from laughing. ‘What does he think he can do – with a broken collarbone?’
Quiss stopped in the hall and gave Terisa the full force of her bright blue eyes. Softly, she said, ‘You must not have much experience with men. It isn’t what he thinks he can do. It’s what he thinks you can do.’
Her expression, however, suggested that she wasn’t listening to herself – that her own thoughts had gone in a different direction. She had become grave, almost somber; perplexity knotted her brows. ‘Before yesterday,’ she murmured, ‘none of us knew you existed. Then Geraden arrived out of nowhere, breathing fire about a possible attack and at the same time acting like all the heart and hope had been beaten out of him. He said he left a woman behind who was probably being tortured because she was his friend. Now that I see you, it seems astonishing how little he actually told us about you.
‘He never mentioned that you could have any man you wanted.’
Terisa bit back an impulse to ask, Is that really what you think? She wanted to believe that she was pretty; and Quiss’ opinion seemed to have tremendous value. But Tholden’s wife obviously wanted to get reassurance, not give it. She wanted to believe that Geraden wouldn’t be hurt anymore. Deliberately, Terisa put her questions aside.
‘They put me in the dungeon,’ she said, ‘because I wouldn’t tell them where he was. He rescued me when my old life was going nowhere. He’s risked himself for me any number of times. He even tried to fight the High King’s Monomach for me once.’ Quiss was impressed; but Terisa didn’t stop. ‘He’s the only reason I’m alive – the only reason I’m here. Even if I didn’t like him so much, I wouldn’t be interested in anybody else.’
Certainly not Stead, who sounded suspiciously like Master Eremis.
That was what Quiss wanted to hear. She didn’t smile – apparently, she rarely smiled when she was happy – but warmth shone from her. ‘Then I’ll stop worrying about him and leave him to you. If anybody can get him out of the pig wallow he’s in, you can.’
Briskly, she moved Terisa again in the direction of
a bath.
Three turns, two doorways, and another long hall brought them to a bedroom with a low, flat cot that contrasted strangely with the rest of the furnishings: the heavy armchairs and the sturdy washstand. ‘This is Artagel’s room,’ Quiss explained. ‘It’s relatively private, but I can get you a softer bed if his cot is too hard. I don’t know how he sleeps on it. Sometimes I think he may actually be as tough as he thinks he is.’
‘I’ll try it and let you know,’ said Terisa. The bed in her former apartment had had the firmest mattress she could find.
‘The advantage,’ Quiss went on, ‘is that you get your own bathroom.’ She pointed at the other door to the room. ‘Why don’t you get started? There’s water – and the hot water should be here in a minute. I’ll go find you some clothes.’
Terisa agreed gratefully. As soon as Tholden’s wife left, she closed the bedroom door, pulled off her boots, and went into the bathroom.
It had no running water – apparently the Care of Domne didn’t know as much about plumbing as Orison did – but clay pipes had been set in the floor to carry bathwater and waste away. Which explained, now that she thought about it, why she hadn’t seen water, not to mention sewage, standing in the ditches alongside Houseldon’s streets: underground drains. And that perception, in turn, made her laugh softly at herself. Her time in Orison, and Elega’s attempt on the reservoir, had taught her some strange lessons. The woman she used to be would never have noticed plumbing or drains unless they didn’t work.
As Quiss had said, however, there was water, plenty of it in a vat beside the wooden bathtub.
Instead of filling the tub right away, however, Terisa went back into the bedroom, sat down on Artagel’s hard cot, closed her eyes, and tried to absorb the fact that she was here and safe; that she had finally made her way to a place where she could feel the sun’s warmth in the wood of the wall beside the bed, and where the people around her were moved by simple things like family and friendship and wool, rather than by treachery, ambition, and revenge.