"Well, at first it was because you had so many misconceptions about the faie," replied Seregil. "You seemed to think we were all great mages or nectar-sipping fairy folk."
Alec's cheek went hot as he recalled the childish fancies he'd shared with Seregil in their first days.
Seregil shot him a sidelong grin. "Oh, you northern barbarians do have some strange notions. Anyway, I decided I'd better let you get used to me first. Then I got sick."
He paused, looking a little sheepish himself. "I've been meaning to tell you since we got to the city, really, but—I don't know. The right moment just didn't seem to come. What I said to Nysander is sort of true; I am proud of you for figuring it out on your own. What else would you like to know?"
What wouldn't I like to know! thought Alec, wondering how long this strange humor of Seregil's would last. "How old are you?"
"Fifty-eight, come Lenthin month. In the reckoning of my race, that doesn't make me all that much older than you, though I've certainly had more experience. It's difficult to draw comparisons between Aurлnfaie and human ages; we mature differently. Under Aurлnfaie law, I'm not old enough yet to marry or hold land." He chuckled softly. "For the most part, I've done very well for myself in Skala."
"Because you're related to the Queen?"
"To some degree, though it's a very distant and threadbare tie. Just enough to have gotten me an introduction and a place as a high-class servant.
Lord Corruth, consort to Idrilain the First, was a cousin of my grandmother's mother. My claim to Skalan nobility is a tenuous one at best."
Alec'd had hints enough from both Micum and Nysander to know better than to ask Seregil why he'd left Aurлnen in the first place. "What's it like there, in Aurлnen?"
Seregil rode on in silence for a moment, his face half turned away. Alec feared he'd taken a misstep after all and was about to take back the question when Seregil began to sing.
The language was unfamiliar, yet so liquid, so graceful in the ear that it seemed Alec could almost grasp it—and that if he did it would reveal a depth of meaning his own language could never achieve. The melody, simple yet haunting and full of longing, brought tears to his eyes as he listened.
Seregil sang it a second time, translating so that Alec could understand.
"My love is wrapped in a cloak of flowing green and wears the moon for a crown.
And all around has chains of flowing silver.
Her mirrors reflect the sky.
O, to roam your flowing cloak of green under the light of the ever-crowning moon.
Will I ever drink of your chains of flowing silver and drift once more across your mirrors of the sky?
Looking out across the empty winter fields, Seregil said in a husky whisper, "That's what Aurлnen is like."
"I'm sorry." Alec shook his head sadly. "It must be painful, thinking about your own country when you're so far away,"
Seregil shrugged slightly. "Yri nala molkrat vy pri nala estin."
"Aurлnfaie?"
"An old proverb. 'Even sour wine is better than no wine at all.»
Afternoon shadows were creeping down the hills as Seregil turned from the highroad and led the way onto a stone bridge over a large stream. A flock of swans grazing in the bordering field took flight at their approach, rising into the air with a great beating of wings.
Unslinging his bow with surprising speed, Alec brought down two of the great birds and nudged Patch into a canter to retrieve them.
"Well shot!" Seregil called after him, turning his horse loose to drink. "Just yesterday I was wondering if you were out of practice."
Alec rode back with the birds slung from his saddlebow. "Me, too," he said, dismounting to let Patch drink. "At least I won't come in empty-handed. Are we almost there?"
Seregil pointed up the valley. "That's Watermead. We'll have missed supper but I'm sure Kari won't send us to bed hungry."
A few miles above them they could see open meadows and a cluster of buildings nestled against the edge of the mountain forest. Below the main house flocks of sheep wandered like clouds across the face of the hills.
Darker herds moved across some of the other meadows.
Alec squinted at the distant house, wondering what his reception would be.
"Don't worry. You'll be part of the family in no time." Seregil reassured him.
"How many of them are there again?"
"Three girls. Beka's the oldest. She'll be eighteen in Lithion, I think. You'll spend a good deal of time this week looking down her sword. Elsbet's fourteen and has the makings of a scholar. I expect she'll be entering the school at the Illior Temple soon. The youngest girl is Illia, just six years old and already the mistress of the whole estate."
"I hope Micum's wife doesn't mind having me underfoot," Alec said, still feeling shy.
"Kari?" Seregil laughed. "By now Micum's told her all about the poor orphan boy I've dragged south. I'll be lucky to get you back! As for being underfoot, I doubt there'll be much time for that."
Seregil whistled and Scrub splashed up from the stream. Patch, however, had waded out into the middle and seemed content to remain there despite any urging from Alec. Whistle and call as he might, the mare staunchly ignored him. Giving up at last, he stood scowling on the bank.
"Dark looks won't do it," Seregil chuckled.
"I think you're going to have to get your feet wet."
"I'll wet more than that," Alec grumbled, looking at the brownish slime that coated the rocks of the streambed. Suddenly, however he broke into a grin.
Taking an archer's tab from his purse, he held the bit of leather out and called, "Hey you, Patch!"
The mare's head came up at once, ears forward.
Snuffling loudly, she came close enough to nip at it and Alec snagged her by the head stall.
"You'll spoil that beast," Seregil cautioned, splitting an apple for his own horse. "Teach her to come at your whistle, or you'll have to buy a tannery to keep her."
When they reached the summit of the hill they found the gate of the wooden palisade that surrounded the main house open to them. A pack of enormous hounds bounded out of the shadows as they entered the
walled yard, growling suspiciously until they caught Seregil's familiar scent. He dismounted and one of them, a grey-muzzled old male, rose on his hind legs and rested his paws on his shoulders, looking him in the eye. Others milled happily around Alec, slapping him with their plumed tails and sniffing hopefully at the swans hanging at his saddlebow.
"Hello, Dash!" Seregil rubbed the hound's head affectionately before pushing him off. Wading through the pack, he led the way to the door.
Kari was the first to see them as they entered the main hall. The tables had been pushed back against the walls for the night, and she and her women sat spinning around the central fire. Meeting her eyes across the room, Seregil caught a fleeting glimpse of the old apprehension: No, it's too soon, we've only justgotten him back.
That look had given him a degree of satisfaction in the early days, before the rivalry between them had mellowed into friendship. Now it saddened him a little that his sudden appearance still evoked the same flash of resentful alarm.
Before he could reassure her, however, a bundle of dark braids and flying skirts streaked from the direction of the kitchen. Dropping his saddlebags, he scooped Illia up and received a resounding kiss on the cheek.
"Uncle! Look, Mother, Uncle has come after all!" she cried, kissing him again. "But you can't take Father away with you, you know. He's promised to take me riding tomorrow."
Seregil looked down the length of his nose at her. "Now, that's a fine welcome."
"Illia, where are your manners?" Kari laid her distaff aside. She was dark like her daughter, with a gentle oval face that belied her brisk manner.