"Will you fly first, sir?"
He smiled and shook his head. "I think we are all as eager as you to see how Preciosa has come through her training."
With shaking hands, Romilly slipped the hood from Preciosa's head, watching the hawk mantling her feathers. Now. Now was the test, not only of her mastery of the hawk, but of the hawk's acceptance of her training, the hawk's tie to her. She felt she could not bear to see this hawk she had loved, over whom she had spent so many anxious and painful hours, fly from her and never return. It flashed through her mind, is this how Father feels now that Ruyven has gone? Yet she must try the hawk in free flight. Otherwise, she was no more than a tame cagebird, sitting dull on a block, not a wild hawk at all. But she felt tears blurring her sight as she raised her fist and felt the hawk balance a moment, then, with a single long wing-stroke, fly free.
She rose on a long, slanting arch into the sunlight, and Romilly, her mind full of anxious thoughts - will she fly well, has this long period of inactivity dulled her flight? - watched her rise. And something in her rose with the hawk, feeling the wordless joy of the morning sun on her wings, the light dazzling her eyes as she winged upward, rose, hovered, soared, wheeled and winged strongly away.
Romilly let out a long breath. She was gone, she would not return.
"You have lost her, I fear," said Alderic at last "I am sorry, damisela."
Loss and pain, and a sharing of ecstasy, battled in Romilly. Free flight, something of her soaring with the hawk . . . and then fading away in the distance. She shook her head. If she had lost the hawk, then she had never really possessed her. She thought, I would rather lose her than tie her to me against her will....
Why cannot Father see that? She knew the thought was Darren's, because of the bitterness. Then he was not head-blind? Or was his telepathy erratic, as hers had once been, coming only rarely and when she was deeply moved .. . her own had strengthened when she had begun working with the animals, but Darren had none of that gift...
So Preciosa was free, and it was all an illusion. She might as well sit quietly in the house and mind her stitchery for all it would profit her to hang about the hawk-house, trying like a man to work with the birds....
And then it seemed that her heart would stop. For through the infinite pain of loss, a thread of awareness stole, high flight, the world laid out beneath her like one of the maps in her schoolbooks, only colored and curiously sharp, with a sight stronger than her own, and little flickers of life coming from here, from there, small birds in flight, small animals in the grass....
Preciosa! The hawk was still in rapport, the hawk had not flown wild! Darren said something; she did not hear. She heard Alderic saying, "Don't waste your voice, bredu, she cannot hear you. She is with the hawk...."
Romilly sat, with automatic habit, in the saddle, upright, silent, but the real part of her soared over the high pasture, keen with hunger, in the ecstasy of the flight. Supernaturally keen, her sight and senses, aware of the life of small birds, so that she felt she was smacking her lips and almost giggled and broke out of the rapport with the absurdity of it, sudden burning hunger and a desire almost sexual in its ferocity ... down. Down on long soaring wings, the beak striking, blood bursting into her mouth, the sudden fierceness of bursting life and death....
Down. Wavering down. She had just enough of her selfhood left to hold out her fist rock-steady, under the sudden jarring stop of a heavy hawk laden with her kin. She felt tears streaming down her face, but there was no time for emotion; her knife was in her free hand as she cut the head away, thrust her portion, headless rabbit, into her wallet with the free hand; all her own awareness was feeding with the greedy hawk on her portion. Alderic had loosed his own hawk, but she did not know; she was weeping outright with love and relief as she slipped the hood on Preciosa's head.
Preciosa had come back. She had returned of her free Will, out of freedom into bondage and the hood. She choked back her tears as she stroked the hawk with the feather, and knew her hands were shaking.
What have I done to deserve this? How can I possibly be worthy of it? That a wild thing should give up her freedom for me . . . what can I possibly do to make me worthy enough for that gift?
Later they ate the apples and sweets that Romilly had brought, before riding back, through the growing light, to Falconsward. As the young people came through the courtyard they saw strange horses being unsaddled there, one with the banners of Aldaran of Scathfell, and knew that the highest-born of the guests had arrived.
Alderic asked, anxiously, "Is it old lord Gareth still Lord of Scathfell?"
"He is not, my lord; Gareth of Scathfell is not more than forty-nine," said Romilly. Alderic looked relieved, and Romilly intercepted a questioning look between Darren and Alderic. Alderic said shortly, "He might well know me by sight."
"Do you not trust to the laws of-" Darren began, frowned in Romilly's direction, and broke off, and Romilly, bending her head over her hawk, thought; what kind of fool do they think me? I would need be deaf, blind, dumb and head-blind as well, not to know he is allied in partisanship to Carolin in exile, perhaps the young prince himself. And I know as well as he why my father must get no word of it.
"True; Old Gareth died three winters gone, sir," Darren said, "and was half-blind at that. Will all of the folk of Scathfell be here, Romilly?"
Romilly, relieved that the tension had passed, began to recite the grown sons and daughters of the middle-aged lord of Scathfell; his Heir, yet another Gareth ("But they call him Garris, in lowland fashion," she added), "Dom Garris is not wed, he has buried three wives; I think he is only in his thirtieth year, but looks older, and is lame with a wasting disease of one leg."
"And you dislike him," said Alderic, and she grinned, her impish smile. "Why, how could you possibly know that, Lord Alderic? But it is true; he is always fumbling the maidens in corners, he was not above pawing at Mallina last year, when she had not even put up her ban-...."
"Lecherous old goat!" Darren said, "Did Father know?"
"None of us wanted a quarrel with neighbors; Luciella only told Mallina and me to keep away from him if we could do so without being uncivil. Then there is Dom Edric, who is blind, and his wife Ruanna, who keeps the estate books as well as any man. And there are the young twins, Cathal and Cinhil, they are not so young either - they are Ruyven's age; twenty-two. And Cathal's wife, who was one of my childhood friends - Darissa Storn. Cinhil is not wed, and Father once spoke of betrothing us, but nothing came of it, which gladdened my heart - I would not want to live at Scathfell, it is like a bandit's hold! Though I would not mind being close to Darissa, and Cinhil is a nice enough boy."
"It seems to me you are over young to be wedded," said Alderic, and Darren laughed. "Women marry young in these hills, and Romilly is fifteen. And, I doubt not, she thinks it long till she is in a home of her own, and out from Luciella's guidance - what's the ancient saying, where two women rule a hearthfire, the thatch may burn with the sparks flying . .. yet I think Father could do better for Romilly than a younger son, a fourth son at that. Better lady in a cottage than serving-woman in a castle, and when Dom Garris weds again - or if old Scathfell should take a wife - Cinhil's wife would be lowest of all, not much better than waiting-women to all the rest. Darissa was pretty and bright when she was wedded, and now she looks ten years older than Cathal, and all out of, shape with bearing children."
"I am in no haste to marry," Romilly said, "And there are men enough, I suppose, in these hills; Manfred Storn is Heir to Storn Heights, and he is about Darren's age, so it's likely, when I am old enough to many, Father will speak to old Lord Storn. The folk of High Crags will be coming too, and they have a couple of unmarried sons and daughters, it's likely that they will marry Rael into that kindred, or me." She shrugged. "What does it matter, after all? Men are all alike."
Alderic chuckled. "By those words I know how young you are, Mistress Romilly - I hope your father does not seek to have you married till you are old en
ough to distinguish between one man or another, or you may awaken some day and discover you are married to the very last man on earth you would have sought for husband. Shall we go in the house? The sun is high, and your stepmother said something of a festival breakfast - and I smelled the cooks making spicebread as we passed the kitchens!"
Romilly only hoped, now, that she could get up to her room unobserved, to change her clothing and bathe before the festal meal. But, coming around a corridor, she almost bumped into a tall, pale, fattish man with fair hair, coming from the big bathing-room with hot pools, fed by volcanic springs. He was wrapped in a loose robe and his hair was damp and mussed; he had evidently gone to soak away the fatigue of riding. Romilly curtseyed politely as she had been taught, then remembered that she was wearing breeches - curse it! If she had gone on about her business he might simply have taken her for an out-of-place servant boy on some errand. Instead his pale flabby face tightened in a dimply creased smile.
"Mistress Romilly," he said, his eyes sliding up and down her long legs, "An unexpected pleasure. Why, what a pair of legs you have, girl! And you have - grown," he added, the pallid china-blue eyes resting on the straining laces of the old tunic pulled over her full breasts, "It will be a pleasure to dance with you tonight, now I have had the delights of seeing what so many women so carefully conceal from their admirers. ..."
Romilly flushed, feeling heat in her face, ducked her head and escaped. Through the scalding heat flooding to her ears, she thought, wretchedly, Now do I know what Luciella meant, that I was too big to run about in breeches - I might as well be naked, the way he looked at me. All her life she had run about in her brother's clothes, as free of self-consciousness or shame as if she were another lad; now, under the man's lustful eyes, she felt as if her body had actually been rudely handled; her breasts prickled and there was a curious crawling sensation lower down in her belly.
She took refuge in her room, her heart pounding, and went swiftly to the washstand, splashing her hot face with cold water to cool it.
"Luciella was right Oh, why didn't she tell me?" she wondered wretchedly, then realized that there was no way to speak of it, and if she had been told, without this experience, she would only have laughed it away. Her hands were still shaking as she undid the laces of the boy's tunic, dropped the breeches to the floor, and for the first time in her life, looked clearly in the mirror and saw her body as a woman's. She was still slender, her breasts scarcely rounded, the hips scarcely more flared than a boy's, and the long legs were really boyish. But, she thought, if ever I wear boy's clothes again, I shall be sure they fit me loosely enough that I truly look like a male.
Through the glass connecting doors to Mallina's room she saw her sister exploring her Midsummer-baskets; like Romilly herself, she had three, which made Romilly turn back to her father's generous basket, with more fruits and sweets than flowers - The MacAran had quite a realistic view of little girls' appetites, which were just as greedy as those of young boys - and the smaller basket she thought was from Darren. Now, examining it closely, she realized that it was filled with garden and hothouse flowers, exquisitely arranged, and with one or two exotic fruits which he must have gotten in Nevarsin, since they did not grow near Falconsward. Then she saw the card, and read in surprise; I have neither sister or mother to receive
Midsummer-Gifts; accept these with my homage, Alderic, student.
Mallina burst into her room.
"Romy, aren't you dressed yet? We mustn't be late for Festival breakfast! Are you going to wear your holiday gown? Calinda is with Mother, will you button the back of my dress for me? What beautiful flowers, Romy! Mine are all garden flowers, though there is a beautiful bunch of ice-grapes, as sweet as honey - you know, they leave them on the trees in Nevarsin till they freeze, like redfruit, and then they lose their sourness and grow sweet. . . Romy, who do you think he is? He looks so romantic - do you think Dom Alderic is trying to court one of us? I would be happy indeed to be betrothed to him, he is so handsome and gallant, like the hero of some fairy-tale-"
"What a silly chatterbox you are, Mally," said Romilly, but she smiled, "I think he is a thoughtful guest, no more; no doubt he has sent to mother a basket as fine as this."
"Domna Luciella will not appreciate it," Mallina said, "Still she thinks Festival Night is a heathen observance not worthy of a good cristoforo; she scolded Calinda because she had Rael making Festival baskets, but Father said everyone deserved a holiday and one excuse was as good as another for giving the farm workers a day of leisure and some well-deserved bonus gifts, and he should let Rael enjoy the Festival while he was still a child - he would be as good a cristoforo as he need, if he was a good boy and minded the Book of Burdens."
Romilly smiled. "Father has said much the same every Festival since I can remember," she said, "And I doubt not he likes spicebread and sweetbaked saffron cakes and fruits as well as anyone else. He quoted from the Book of Burdens that the beast should not be grudged his gram, nor the worker his wage, nor his holiday, and Father may be a harsh man, but he is always just to his workmen." She did up the last button on the gown and spun her sister around. "How fine you are, Mally! But it is fortunate you do not wear this dress on a work day - it needs a maid to do it up for you! That is why I had my festival gown made with laces, so I could do it up for myself." She finished fastening the embroidered cuffs of her under-tunic, slipped the long loose surplice, rust-red and embroidered with butterflies, over her head, and turned for Mallina to tie up her braid at her neck with the butterfly-clasp that modestly hid the neck of her frock.
Mallina turned to choose a flower for her hair from the baskets. "Does this rose-plant suit me? It is pink like my dress . . . oh, Romy, look!" she said, with a scandalized half-breath, "Saw you not, he has put golden-flower, dorilys, into your basket!"
"And so what, silly?" asked Romy, choosing the blue kireseth blossom for her knotted braid, but Mallina caught her hand.
"No, indeed, you must not, Romilly - what, don't you know the flower-language? The gift of golden-flower is - well, the flower is an aphrodisiac, you know as well as I do what it means, when a man offers a maiden dorilys...."
Romilly blushed, again feeling the lustful eyes on her. She swallowed hard - Alderic, was he too looking at her with this kind of greed? Then common sense came back. She said crisply, "Nonsense; he is a stranger to these hills, that is all. But if that kind of talk is commonplace among silly girls, I will not wear the flower - shame to them, for it is the prettiest of all the flowers, but do you choose me a flower, then, for my braids."
The sisters went down in their finery to the family feast, bearing with them, as custom dictated, the fruits from their festival baskets to be shared with father and brothers. The family was gathered in the great dining-hall rather than the small room used for family meals, and Domna Luciella was there, welcoming her guests. Rael was there in his best suit, and Calinda in a new gown too, dark and decent as suited her station, but well-made and new, not a shabby or outworn family castoff; Luciella was a kind woman, Romilly thought, even to poor relations. Darren wore his best clothing too, and Alderic, though his best was sombre as befitted a student at Nevarsin, and bore no trace of family colors or badges. She wondered who he was, and kept to herself the thought that had come to her, that he might well be one of the king's men, exiled, or even the young prince . .. no, she would say nothing; but she wished that Darren had trusted her with his secret.
The middle-aged Gareth of Scathfell, as the man of highest rank in the assembly, had been given the high seat usually assigned to The MacAran at his own table; her father had taken a lower place. The young couples and single men and women were at a separate table; Romilly saw Darissa seated beside Cathal and would have joined her friend, but her stepmother gestured to an empty seat left beside Dom Garris; Romilly blushed, but would not incite a confrontation here; she took her seat, biting her lip and hoping that in the very presence of her parents he would say nothing to her.
"Now, clothed as befits your beauty, you are even more lovely, damisela,'' he said, and that was all; the words were perfectly polite, but she looked at his pale slab of face with
dislike and did not answer. But after all, he had done nothing, the words had been polite enough, what could she say, there was no way she could complain of him.
There were delicacies of every kind, for this was breakfast and mid-day meal in one; the feasting went on for some time, and before the dishes were cleared, the musicians had come in and begun to play. The curtains had been drawn back to their furthest to let in the midsummer sun, and the doors flung open; the furniture in the lower hall had been moved away to clear it for dancing. As Darren led his sister out for the first dance, as custom demanded, she heard them discussing, at the high table, the men that had been sent out to seek the exiled Carolin.
"It's nothing to me," The MacAran said, "I care not who sits on the throne; but I'll not have my men bribed to be thief-takers, either. There was a time when MacArans ruled this as a kingdom; but then, we had little to do but keep it by force of arms, and I've no wish to make my lands an armed camp, and the Hasturs are welcome to rule as they will; but I curse their brotherslaying wars!"
"I had heard word that Carolin and his older son had crossed the Kadarin," Lord Scathfell said, "No doubt to seek refuge with my cousin of Aldaran - there is old hatred between the Hastur-kin and the Aldarans."
Her father drew up his mouth in a one-sided grin. "None so keen at the hunting of wolves as the dog with wolf blood," he said, "Were not the Aldarans, long ago, come from that same Hastur-blood?"
"So they say," Lord Scathfell said with a grim nod, "I put no stock in all those tales of the children of Gods . . . though, the Gods know, there is laran in the Aldaran line, even among my own sons and daughters, as among yours; have you not one son in a Tower, Dom Mikhail?"