Obediently the hawkmaster's boy took the lure and began to whirl it over his head; again Romilly loosed the hawk, watched her fly high, and descend to Romilly's whistle to the flying bait. Twice more the maneuver was repeated, then Romilly let the hawk finish her meal in peace, before hooding her and setting her back on the block. She stroked her again and again tenderly with the feather, crooning nonsense words of love to her, feeling the sense of closeness and satisfaction from the fed hawk. She was learning. Soon she would fly free and catch her own prey, and return to the wrist...
"Go and saddle Windracer," she said, glumly adding, "I suppose you must use my sidesaddle."
The groom would not look at her.
"I am sorry, damisela - The MacAran gave strict orders. Very angry, he was."
So this, then, was her punishment. More subtle than a beating, and not her father's way - the delicate stitches set by Luciella's hand could be clearly seen in this. She could almost hear in her imagination the words her stepmother must have used; see, a big girl like Romilly, and you let her run about the stables, why are you surprised at anything she might do? But leave her to me, and I will make a lady of her....
Romilly was about to fling at the groom, angrily, to forget it, a sidesaddle was an insult to any self-respecting horse . . . but on her arm Preciosa bated in agitation, and she knew the bird was picking up her own rage - she struggled for calm and said quietly, "Very well, put a lady's saddle on her, then." Anger or no, sidesaddle or no, Preciosa must be habituated to the motion of the horse; and a ride on a lady's saddle was better than no ride at all.
But she thought about it, long and hard, as she rode that day. Appeal to her father would be useless: evidently he had turned responsibility over to Luciella, the new riding-habit had been only a signal showing which way the wind now blew. No doubt, a day would come when she would be forbidden to ride at all - no, for Luciella had told her of his plans to give her a good horse. But she would ride as a lady, decorously because no horse could do anything better than a ladylike trot with a lady's sidesaddle; ride cumbered in skirts, unable even to school her hawk properly; there was no proper room for a hawk as there was on a man's saddle where she could carry the block before her. And soon, no doubt, she would be forbidden the stables and hawk-house except for such ladylike rides as this. And what could she do about it? She was not yet of age - she would be fifteen at Midsummer, and had no recourse except to do as her father and guardians bade her. It seemed that the walls were closing about her.
Why, then, had she been given this laran, since it seemed that only a man had the freedom to use it? Romilly could have wept. Why had she not, then, been born a man? She knew the answer that would be given her, if she asked Luciella what she would do with her Gift; it is, the woman would say, so that your sons will have it.
And was she nothing but a vehicle for giving some unknown husband sons? She had often thought she would like to have children - she remembered Rael as a baby, little and cunning and as soft and lovable as an unweaned puppy. But to give up everything, to stay in the house and grow soft and flabby like Luciella, her own life at an end, living only through her children? It was too high a price to pay, even for babies as adorable as that. Furiously, Romilly blinked back tears, knowing that the emotion would come through to hawk and horse, and disciplined herself to quiet.
She must wait. Perhaps, when her father's first anger had cooled, he could be made to see reason. And then she remembered; before Midsummer, Darren would be home, and perhaps he, as her father's sole remaining heir, could intercede for her with her father. She stroked the hawk with its feather to quiet her, and rode back toward Falconsward with a glimmer of hope in her heart.
CHAPTER THREE
Ten days before Midsummer, on Romilly's fifteenth birthday, her brother Darren came home.
It was Rael who saw the riders first, as the family sat at breakfast on the terrace; the weather was so fine that Luciella had given orders for breakfast to be served on that outdoor balcony overlooking the valley of the Kadarin. Rael had taken his second piece of bread and honey to the railing, despite Luciella's gentle reprimand that he should sit down nicely and finish his food, and was hanging over the edge, throwing crumbs of bread at the broad leaves of the ivy that crawled up the sides of the castle toward the high balcony.
"Look, Mother," he called, "there are riders, coming up the path - are they coming here, do you think? Father, do you see?"
The MacAran frowned at the child, raising his cup to his lips. "Hush. Rael, I am talking to your mother-" but Romilly abruptly knew who the riders were.
"It is Darren," she cried, and flew to the railing. "I know his horse - I am going down to meet him!"
"Romilly! Sit down and finish your food," Luciella scolded, but Romilly was already out the door, her braids flapping against her shoulderblades, and flying down the long stairway. Behind her she heard the clattering of Rael's boots, and laughed at the thought of Luciella's disquiet - the peaceful meal had been disrupted for good, this time. She licked her fingers, which were sticky with honey, and went out into the courtyard, Rael behind her; the boy was hanging on the big gates, calling to the yard-men to come and open them.
"It is my brother Darren - he is coming!"
Good-naturedly, the men came and began to tug on the doors, even before the sound of the horses' hooves reached them; Rael was a favorite, spoiled by everyone. He clung to the gates, laughing, as the men shoved them under him, and waved his arm excitedly at the riders.
"It is Darren, and there is someone with him, Romilly, come and see, come and meet him!"
But Romilly hung back a little, suddenly shy, conscious of her hastily-braided, crooked hair, her smeared fingers and mouth, the bread and honey still in her hand; she flung it quickly to the yard-dog and rubbed her kerchief over the sticky smears on her mouth. Why did she feel like this? It was only Darren and some friend he had made at the monastery. Darren slid from his horse and Rael was clambering all over him, hugging him, talking so fast he could hardly be understood. Darren laughed, set Rael down and came to take Romilly into his arms.
"You have grown, sister, you are almost a woman."
"It's her birthday, Darren, what did you bring her?" Rael demanded, and Darren chuckled. He was tall and thin, his red hair clustered in thick curls over his eyes, his face had the indoor pallor of a winter spent among the snows of Nevarsin.
"I had forgotten your birthday, sister - will you forgive me? I will have a gift for you at Midsummer," he said.
"It is gift enough that you have come today, Darren," she said, and pain struck through her; she loved Darren, but Ruyven was the brother to whom she had always been closest, while Mallina and Darren had always shared everything. And Ruyven would not come home, would never come home. Hatred for the Towers who had taken her brother from her surged within her, and she swallowed hard, nicking away angry tears.
"Father and Luciella are at breakfast," she said, "Come up to the terrace, Darren; tell the condom to have your saddlebags taken to your room." She caught his hand and would have drawn him along, but he turned back to the stranger who had given his horse to the groom.
"First I want you to know my friend," he said, and pulled the young man forward. "Alderic of Castamir; my oldest sister Romilly."
Alderic was even taller than Darren, his hair glinting with faint copper through gold; his eyes were steel-grey, set deep beneath a high forehead. He was shabbily dressed, an odd contrast to the richness of Darren's garments - Darren, as the eldest son of Falconsward, was richly clad in rust-colored velveteen trimmed with dark fur, but the cloak the Castamir youngster wore was threadbare, as if he had had it from his father or even his grandfather, and the mean edging of rabbithorn wool was coming away in places.
So he has made a friend of a youth poorer than himself, no doubt brought him here because his friend had not the means to journey to his home for the holidays. Darren is always kind. She put kind welcome, too, and a trace of condescension, into he
r voice, as she said, "You are welcome, dom Alderic. Come up and join my parents at breakfast, will you not? Darin-" she beckoned to the steward, "Take my brother's bags to his room, and put dom Alderic's things in the red chamber for the moment; unless the Lady Luciella gives other orders, it will be good to have him close to my brother's quarters."
"Yes, come along." Darren linked arms with Romilly, drew Alderic with them up the stairs. "I cannot walk if you hang on me like that, Rael - go ahead of us, do!"
"He has been missing you," Romilly said, "And-" she had started to speak of their other brother, but this was to bring family matters out before a stranger; she and Darren would have time enough for confidences. They reached the terrace, and Darren was enfolded in Mallina's arms, and Romilly was left to present Alderic of Castamir to her father.
The MacAran said with grave courtesy, "You are welcome to our home, lad. A friend of my son has a friend's welcome here. Are you akin to Valdrin Castamir of Highgarth? He and I were in the guard of King Rafael before the king was most foully murdered."
"Only distantly, sir," said Alderic. "Knew you not that Lord Valdrin was dead, and his castle burnt about his ears with clingfire because he sheltered Carolin in his road to exile?'
The MacAran swallowed visibly. "Valdrin dead? We were playfellows and bredin," he said, "but Valdrin was always a fool, as any man is a fool who meddles in the affairs of the great folk of the land."
Alderic said stiffly, "I honor the memory of the Lord Valdrin for his loyalty to our rightful king in exile, sir."
"Honor," The MacAran said bitterly, "Honor is of no use to the dead, and to all of his folk whom he entangled in the quarrel of the great ones; great honor to his wife and little children, I doubt it not, to die with the flesh burnt from their very bones? As if it mattered to me, or to any reasonable man, which great donkey kept the throne warm with his royal backsides while better men went about their business?"
Romilly could see that Alderic was ready with a sharp answer, but he bowed and said nothing; he would not offend his host. Mallina was introduced to Alderic and simpered up at him, while Romilly watched in disdain - anything in breeches, she thought, and Mallina willingly practices her silly womanish wiles on him, even this shabby political refugee Darren picked up at Nevarsin and brought home, no doubt to give the boy a few good meals - he looked thin as a rake, and no doubt, at Nevarsin, they feed them on porridge of acorns and cold water!
Mallina was still chattering to the young men.
"And the folk from Storn Heights are coming, and the sons and daughters of Aldaran of Scathfell, and all during the Midsummer-festival there will be parties and hawkings and hunts, and a great Midsummer-dance-" and she slanted her long-lashed eyes at Alderic and said, "Are you fond of dancing, dom Alderic?"
"I have done but little dancing since I was a child," said Alderic, "I have danced only the clodhopper-dances of the monks and novices when they dance together at midwinter - but I shall expect you to teach them to me, damisela." He bowed to her and to Romilly, but Mallina said, "Oh, Romilly will not dance with men - she is more at home in the stables, and would rather show you her hawks and hounds!"
"Mallina, go to your lessons," said Luciella, in a voice that clearly said, I'll deal with you later, young lady. "You must forgive her, dom Alderic, she is only a spiteful child."
Mallina burst into tears and ran out of the room, but Alderic smiled at Romilly and said, "I too feel more at ease in the company of hawks and horses than that of women. I believe one of the horses we brought from Nevarsin is yours?"
"It belonged to-" Darren caught his father's scowl and amended, "a relative of ours; he left it in Nevarsin to be returned to us." But Romilly intercepted the glance that passed between Darren and Alderic and knew that her brother had confided the whole story to his friend. How far, she wondered, had that scandal spread, that the son of The MacAran had quarreled with his family and fled to a Tower?
"Romilly," said her father, "should you not be in the schoolroom with Mistress Callinda?"
"You promised me a holiday on my birthday," Romilly reminded her stepmother, and Luciella said with an ill grace, "Well, as I have promised - I suppose you want to spend the time with your brother. Go, then, if you wish."
She smiled at her brother and said, "I would like to show you my new verrin hawk."
"Romilly trained it herself," Rael burst out, while her father frowned. "When Davin was sick. She waited up all night until it would feed, and the hawkmaster said that father could not have done better himself."
"Aye," The MacAran said roughly, "your sister has done what you would not do, boy - you should take lessons from her in skill and courage! Would that she had been the boy, and you the maiden, so that you might put skirts about your knees and spend the day in scribbling and embroidering within the house-"
Darren flushed to the roots of his hair. He said, "Do not mock me before my friend, Father. I will do as well as I am able, I pledge to you. But I am as the Gods made me, and no other. A rabbithorn cannot be a war-horse and will only become a laughing-stock if he should try."
"Is that what they have taught you among the damned monks?"
"They taught me that what I am, I am," said Darren, and Romilly saw the glint of tears in his eyes, "and yet, Father, I am here at your will, to do my poor best for you." Romilly could hear, as plain as if the forbidden name had been spoken, it is not my fault that I am not Ruyven, nor was it my doing that he went from here.
The MacAran set his massive jaw, and Romilly knew that he, too, heard the forbidden words. He said, scowling, 'Take your brother to the hawk-house, Romy, and show him your hawk; perhaps it will shame him into striving to equal what a girl can do."
Darren opened his mouth to speak, but Romilly nudged him in the ribs, as if to say, Let us go while we can, before he says worse. Darren said, muffled, "Come along, Alderic, unless hawks weary you," and Alderic, saying something courteous and noncommittal, bowed to The MacAran and to Lady Luciella and went with diem down the stairs.
For the last few days Preciosa had been placed on her block among the already-trained hawks; moving quietly, Romilly slid gauntlet on wrist and took up the bird, then returned to the two young men.
"This is Preciosa," she said, pride swelling her voice, and asked Darren, "Would you like to hold her for a moment while I fetch the lures and lines? She must learn to tolerate another's hand and voice-"
But as she moved toward him, he flinched away, in a startled movement, and Romilly, sensing how the fear in him reverberated hi the bird-mind, turned her attention to soothing Preciosa, stroking her with a feather. She said, not reproving, but so intent on what she was doing that she did not stop to think how her words would sound to another, "Never move so quickly around a hawk - you should know that! You will frighten her - one would think you were afraid of her!"
"It is only - I am not used to be so close to anything so large and so fierce," Darren said, biting his lip.
"Fierce? Preciosa? Why, she is gentle as a puppy dog," Romilly said, disbelieving. She beckoned to the hawkmaster's boy. "Fetch the lures, Ker-" and when he brought them, she examined the bait, frowning and wrinkling up her nose.
"Is this what you have for the other hawks? Do you think they are carrion feeders? Why, a dog would turn away from this in disgust! I have orders that Preciosa was to have fresh-killed meat, mice if nothing better was available from the kitchens, but nothing as old and rank as this."
"It's what Davin had set aside for the birds, Mistress Romilly."
Romilly opened her mouth to give him the tongue-lashing he deserved, but even before a sound was out, the hawk on her wrist bated furiously, and she knew her own anger was reaching Preciosa's mind. She drew a long breath and said quietly, "I will have a word with Davin. I would ask no decent hawk to feed on this garbage. For now, go and fetch me something fresh-killed for my bird; if not a pigeon, take one of the dogs and find mice or a rat, and at once."
Darren had drawn back from the frenz
ied flapping of wings, but as Ker scuttled away to obey orders, he said, "I see that working with the hawk has at least given you some command of that temper and tongue, Romy - it has been good for you!"
"I wish Father would agree to that," Romilly said, still stroking Preciosa with the feather, trying to calm her. "But birds are like babies, they pick up the emotions of those who tend them, I really do not think it is more than that. Have you forgotten when Rael was a babe, that nurse Luciella had for him - no, I cannot bring her name to mind just now - Maria, Moyra, something of that sort - Luciella had to send her away because the woman's older son drowned, and she wept when she saw Rael, and it gave him colic, so that was when Gwennis came to us-"
"No, it is more than that," said Alderic, as they moved out of the darkness of the hawk-house into the tiled courtyard, "There is a well-known laran, and it appeared first, I am told, among the Delleray and MacAran folk; empathy with hawk and horse and sentry-bird ... it was for that they trained it, in warfare in the days of King Felix. Among the Delleray folk, it was tied to some lethal genes and so died away, but MacArans have had the Gift for generations."
Darren said with an uneasy smile, "I beg you, my friend, speak not of laran so freely when my father is by to hear."
"Why, is he one who would speak of sweetnut-blossom because snowflakes are too cold for him?" Alderic asked with a grin. "All my life I have heard of the horses trained by The MacAran as the finest in the world, and Dom Mikhail is one of the more notable of MacAran lords. Surely he knows well the Gifts and laran of his house and his lady's."
"Still, he will not hear the word spoken," said Darren, "Not since Ruyven fled to the Tower, and I blame him not, though some would say I am the gainer by what Ruyven has done .. . Romilly, now while Father is not by, I will say this to you and you may tell Mallina secretly; I think Rael is too young to keep it to himself, but use your own judgment. At the monastery, I had a letter from Ruyven; he is well, and loves the work he does, and is happy. He sends his love and a kiss to all of you, and bids me speak of him again to Father when I judge the time is right."