“The bronze for your complexion, the gold for your hair, and the green for your eyes,” Mistress Meolorne murmured. “It was designed by the Gods especially for you.”
Inos looked again at the miraculous fabric that enveloped her. She had never owned anything like this before. She had not known that such material existed. What a gown it would make! Gold dragons on green fields and fall foliage… Whenever she moved the dragons shimmered, as if about to fly. Aunt Kade would be ecstatic over it and delighted that Inos was taking an interest in clothes at last. And her father would certainly not object, for she must expect to start playing her part in formal functions soon, as she neared her coming of age. She would ask Kade to advise her on the design.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Inos said firmly. “I absolutely must have it. How much is it?”
2
No one had ever suggested that Mistress Meolorne might be a sorceress, but the thought occurred to Inos as she panted up the last alleyway that led to the castle. Three and a half gold imperials? How had she ever been bewitched into agreeing to pay so much for a mere swatch of silk?
Aunt Kade would have hysterics.
Aunt Kade must not be allowed to find out.
The best strategy was certainly for Inos to go to her father at once and explain that she had saved him the trouble of choosing a birthday gift for her. True, her birthday was still some time off. Also true, he had never given her anything worth three and a half gold imperials—not close, even—but she was growing up and she needed such little luxuries now. Surely he would understand when he saw the silk itself and she explained why she had chosen it and why it was so suitable. He would be pleased that she was beginning to take more of an interest in ladylike matters… Wouldn’t he?
She had some jewelry of her own that she might be able to sell—if she was able to sneak back into the town again. She might raise a half imperial that way. A straight “three” would sound a much neater, rounder sort of number.
Father would understand, of course, that the only alternative was his dear daughter’s tragic suicide from the highest battlements. Possibly she could live without the silk—she had managed so far—but she could certainly not endure the shame of having to return it. So he would congratulate her on her good taste and see that the money was sent as she had promised.
Wouldn’t he?
She reached the top of the lane and paused to catch her breath, and also to reconnoiter the courtyard. There was only one gate to the castle and it opened into this cobbled outer court. Now there was no wagon in sight to provide cover, only a few ambling pedestrians. The summer sun was high enough to smile in over the ancient stone walls and brighten the pigeons that strutted around, cleaning up the horse droppings. Relics of winter snow bled quietly to death in corners. A man-at-arms was standing as rigid as his pike beside the gate, with two mangy dogs snuffling aimlessly beside him. Within the big arch of the entrance, nosy old Thosolin would be lurking in his guard room.
It was none of Thosolin’s business, she decided firmly. Whether or not he had the right to stop her going out, he certainly could not stop her coming in. She did not recognize the petrified man- at-arms, but he looked as if he were taking his job unusually seriously and so would not interfere. She squared her shoulders, adjusted the silk below her arm, and began to march.
She had every right to go into the town by herself, and if she chose to do so in shabby old jodhpurs and a leather doublet that might have been thrown out by one of Inisso’s stablehands, well, that was certainly not Thosolin’s business either.
She wondered who the guard on the gate was, he must be somebody new. It was not until she had almost reached the arch that—
“Rap!”
He rolled his eyes in alarm and almost dropped his pike. Then he came even more stiffly to attention, staring straight ahead, not looking at her. Inosolan bristled angrily.
His cone-shaped helmet was too small, sitting like an oversize egg in the nest of his unruly brown hair. His chain mail was rusty and much too large. His very plain face was turning from brown to pink, showing up his freckles.
“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded. “I thought you were off on the mainland.”
“I’m just back for a couple of days,” he muttered. His eyes rolled warningly toward the guard room door.
“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” She put her hands on her hips and inspected him crossly. “You look absurd! Why are you dressed up like that? And what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the stables?”
Pudding, the gang had called Rap when they were all small together. He’d had almost no nose then, and not much more now. His face was all chin and mouth and big gray eyes.
“Please, Inos,” he whispered. “I’m on guard duty. I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
She tossed her head. “Indeed? I shall speak to Sergeant Thosolin about that.”
Rap never suspected a bluff. “No!” He shot another horrified glance toward the guard room.
He had grown, even in the short time he had been gone, unless it was those stupid boots. He was taller than her now by quite a bit, and the armor made him seem broader and deeper. Perhaps he did not look quite so bad as she had thought at first, but she would not tell him so.
“Explain!” She glared at him.
“A couple of the mares had to come back.” He was trying not to move his lips, staring straight through Inos. “So I brought them. I’m going back with the wagons. Old Hononin had nothing for me to do, with the other ponies away.”
“Ha!” she said triumphantly. “Well, you still aren’t doing anything very much. You will take me riding after lunch. I’ll speak to the sergeant.”
A mixture of fury and stubbornness came over his face, wrinkling his wide nose until she half expected the freckles to start popping off like brown snowflakes. “Don’t you dare!”
“Don’t you speak to me like that!”
“I won’t ever speak to you again!”
They glared at each other for a moment. Rap as a man-at-arms? She remembered now that he had expressed some silly ambition to play with swords. It was an idiotic idea. He was tremendously good with horses. He had a natural gift for them.
“What good do you think you’re doing standing here with that stupid pike?”
“I’m guarding the palace!”
Inos snorted before she remembered again that snorting was not regal. “From what? Dragons? Sorcerers? Imperial legions?”
He was growing very angry now, she was pleased to see, but he made a great effort to answer civilly. “I challenge strangers.”
Tommyrot! She suppressed another snort; and there, as if sent by the Gods, a stranger came strolling across the yard toward the gate.
“Right!” Inos said. “Challenge this one.”
Rap bit his lip. “He doesn’t look very dangerous.”
“Challenge! I want to see how it’s done.”
He clenched his big jaw angrily. “Stand back, then!” As the stranger drew near, Rap swung his pike to the level, took one pace with his left foot, and demanded loudly, “Who goes there—fiend or froe?”
The young man stopped, raised his eyebrows, and considered the question. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?” he asked in a pleasant tenor.
Rap turned very red and said nothing, waiting for an answer.
Inos suppressed a snigger, letting just enough escape that Rap would know it was there.
“Well, I’m not a fiend.” The stranger was quite young, slim, and not very tall, but a blond jotunn nonetheless. Anyone less like a fiend Inos could not imagine. He wore a brown wool cloak with the hood back, a leather doublet, and rather baggy brown hose. She decided that his clothes were all too big for him, which made him seem shabbier than he truly was. He was fresh-faced and scrubbed and clean—a point of note in Krasnegar—and the sun blazed on his white-gold hair.