Andrew watched Ellemir running toward the gate. How like she was to Callista — the same tall slenderness, the same coppery-golden hair, the same gray eyes, dark-lashed, level-browed — but so different, Ellemir, from her twin! With a sadness so deep he did not know it was envy, Andrew watched Ellemir run to Damon, saw him slide from his saddle and catch her up for a hug and a long kiss. Would Callista ever be free enough to run to him that way?
Callista led him toward Leonie, who had been carefully assisted from her saddle by one of her escorts. Callista’s slim fingers were still resting in his, a gesture of defiance, a deliberate breaking of taboo. He knew she wanted Leonie to see. Damon was presenting Ellemir to the Keeper.
“You lend us grace, my lady. Welcome to Armida.”
Andrew watched intently as Leonie put back her hood. Braced for some hideous domineering crone, he was shocked to see that she was only a frail, thin, aging woman, with eyes still dark-lashed and lovely, and the remnants of what must have been remarkable beauty. She did not look stern or formidable, but smiled at Ellemir kindly.
“You are very like Callista, child. Your sister has taught me to love you; I am glad to know you at last.” Her voice was light and clear, very soft. Then she turned to Callista, holding out her hands in a gesture of greeting.
“Are you well again, chiya?” It was enough of a surprise that anyone could call the poised Callista “little girl.” Callista let go of Andrew’s hand; her fingertips just brushed Leonie’s.
“Oh, yes, quite well,” she said, laughing, “but I still sleep like a nursery-child, with a light in my room, so I will not wake to darkness and think myself again in the accursed caverns of the catmen. Are you ashamed of me, kinswoman?”
Andrew bowed formally. He knew enough of Darkovan manners now not to look at the leronis directly, but he felt Leonie’s gray eyes resting on him. Callista said, with a little thrill of defiance in her voice, “This is Andrew, my promised husband!”
“Hush, chiya, you have no right to say so yet,” Leonie rebuked. “We will speak of this later; for now I must greet my host.”
Recalled to her duty as hostess, Ellemir dropped Damon’s hand and conducted Leonie up the steps. Andrew and Callista followed, but when he reached for Callista’s hand she drew it away, not deliberately but with the absent habit of years. He felt she did not even know he was there.
The Great Hall of Armida was an enormous stone-floored room, furnished in the old manner, with benches built in along the wall, and ancient banners and weapons hung above the great stone fireplace. At one end of the hall was a fixed table. Near this, Dom Esteban Lanart, Lord Alton, was lying on a wheeled bed, flattened against pillows. He was a huge, heavy man, broad-shouldered, with thick, curly red hair liberally salted with gray. As the guests came in he said testily, “Dezi, lad, put me up for my guests,” and a young man seated on one of the benches sprang up, skillfully piled pillows behind his back and lifted the old man to a sitting position. Damon had thought at first that the boy was one of Esteban’s body-servants, then he noticed the strong family resemblance between the old Comyn lord and the youngster who was lifting him.
He was only a boy, whiplash thin, with curly red hair and eyes more blue than gray, but the features were almost those of Ellemir.
He looks like Coryn, Damon thought. Coryn had been Dom Esteban’s first son, by a long-dead first wife. Older than Ellemir and Callista by many years, he had been Damon’s sworn friend when they were both in their teens. But Coryn had been dead and buried for many years. And he had not been old enough to leave a son this age — not quite. The boy is an Alton, though, Damon thought. But who is he? I’ve never seen him before!
Leonie, however, seemed to recognize him at once. “So, Dezi, you have found a place for yourself?”
The boy said with an ingratiating grin, “Lord Alton sent for me, to come and make myself useful here, my lady.”
Esteban Lanart said, “Greetings, kinswoman, forgive me that I cannot rise to welcome you to my hall. You lend me grace, Domna.” He caught the direction of Damon’s gaze and said offhandedly, “I’d forgotten you don’t know our Dezi. His name is Desiderio Leynier. He’s supposed to be a nedestro son to one of my cousins, though poor Gwynn died before he could get around to having him legitimated. We had him tested for laran — he was at Arilinn for a season or two — but when I needed someone around me all the time, Ellemir remembered he was home again, and so I sent for him. He’s a good lad.”
Damon felt shocked. How casually, even brutally, Dom Esteban had spoken, in Dezi’s very presence, of the boy’s bastardy and his poor-relation status! Dezi’s mouth had tightened but he kept his composure, and Damon warmed to him. So young Dezi also knew what it was to find the warmth and closeness of a Tower circle, and then be shut out from it again!
“Damn it, Dezi, that’s enough pillows, stop fussing,” Esteban commanded. “Well, Leonie, this is no way to welcome you under my roof after so many years, but you must take the will for the deed and consider yourself bowed to, formally welcomed, and all courtesies duly done, as I should indeed do if I could rise from this accursed bed!”
“I need no courtesies, cousin,” Leonie said, coming closer. “I only regret to find you like this. I had heard you were wounded, but did not know how serious it was.”
“I didn’t know either. It was a small wound — I’ve had deeper and more painful ones from a fishhook — but small or large, the spine was damaged, and they say I will never walk again.”
Leonie said, “It is often so with spinal injuries; you are fortunate to have the use of your hands.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so. I can sit in a chair, and Damon devised a brace for my back so that I can sit without drooping like a baby too small for his high chair. And Andrew is helping to supervise the estate and the livestock, while Dezi is here to run errands for me. I can still run things from my chair, so I suppose I am fortunate, as you say. But I was a soldier, and now…” He broke off, shrugging. “Damon, my lad, how went your campaign?”
“There is little to tell, Father-in-law,” Damon said. “Such catmen as are not dead have fled to their forests. A few made a last stand, but they died. Beyond that, nothing.”
Esteban chuckled wryly. “It is easy to see you are no soldier, Damon! Even though I have reason to know you can fight when you must! Some day, Leonie, it will be told everywhere, how Damon bore my sword into Corresanti against the catmen, linked in mind through the matrix — but another time for that! For now, I suppose if I want details of the campaign and the battles, I will have to ask Eduin; he knows what I want to hear! As for you, Leonie, have you come to bring my foolish girl back to her senses, and take her back to Arilinn where she belongs?”
“Father!” Callista protested. Leonie smiled faintly.
“It is not as easy as that, cousin, and I am sure you know it.”
“Forgive me, kinswoman.” Esteban looked abashed. “I am remiss in hospitality. Ellemir will show you to your rooms — damn the girl, where has she gone to now?” He raised his voice in a shout. “Ellemir!”
Ellemir came hastily through the door at the back, wiping flour stained hands on a long apron. “The maids called me to help with the pastries, Father — they are young and unskilled. Forgive me, kinswoman.” She dropped her eyes, hiding her floury hands. Leonie said kindly, “Don’t apologize for being a conscientious housekeeper, my girl.”
Ellemir struggled for composure. She said, “I have had a room made ready for you, my lady, and another for your companion. Dezi will see to the housing of your escort, won’t you, cousin?” Damon noted that Ellemir spoke to Dezi in the familiar mode, that of family intimacy; he had also noticed that Callista did not. Damon said, “We’ll see to it, Ellemir,” and went with Dezi to make the arrangements.