“Go with Lynette. I will join you soon.”
She followed Lynette up a stone stairway beyond the hall, into a wide, bright room. A warm fire snapped on the hearth; two little girls with Lynette’s hair lay in front of it, chattering. A baby wailed in a cradle; Lynette caught it up in one arm, and flung aside the hangings around a bed.
“Lara, Marnya, go and play outside. Sh, little Byrd. Sybel, lie down, if you want to. I will send for food and wine.”
Sybel sat down on the bed. “Thank you. I am tired.” She rose again a moment later, restlessly, and went to a window. In the distance, beyond the Sirle Forests, she could see the blue-white peak of Eld Mountain glistening against the sky, and knew that far cape of snow curled about a white hall with strange, wondrous animals. Lynette said behind her,
“I know. I felt sad, too, so long ago, leaving my own home in South Hilt. I hope you will be content here. I am glad, for Coren’s sake, you came, though I never expected it, not when you gave Tam to Drede.”
“I had to. He wanted his father.”
“I understand. People like Eorth and Herne have thick heads—they could never understand how you could give a child given to you by Sirle to Drede. To them the whole world is divided by those two names.” She propped the quieting baby on her shoulder. Then she smiled at something in Sybel’s eyes. “Do you want to hold her? She is my youngest.”
Sybel smiled. “You knew my wanting before I did. Coren does that, too.” She took the baby, sat down in a chair beside the fire. Gold-brown eyes stared up at her, wary. “Tam was so tiny once… And I was so ignorant. Coren says there will be a ceremony, a witnessing, today. What will I have to do?”
“Nothing. Just appear beautiful and ready before the Lord of Sirle, his brothers and their wives and children; Rok will join you, and we will have a feast afterward to celebrate. Did you bring something to marry in?”
“No. I have so few things. I never wanted anything special before.”
Lynette eyed her curiously. “You live so simply. Are you going to write to Lord Horst of Hilt to tell him you are marrying Coren?”
“Why?”
“He is your grandfather,” Lynette said patiently. “You and Rianna were kin; his daughter was your mother.”
Sybel’s brows rose thoughtfully. “So. But I doubt if he would care for my kinship, since Ogam called my mother to him the same way he called Ter of Gules. But that is something to remember.” She caught Lynette’s startled look and smiled. “I did not have a gentle upbringing, like Rianna. If I say anything that disturbs you, tell me. I have known very few people. I did not expect to enjoy them so much as I have today.”
Lynette nodded. “I will,” she promised. “When I first saw you, I thought of Rianna, and I felt a wrench at my heart, remembering Norrel. But now I think you are something quite different from Rianna. Her eyes were shy and sweet, and yours are…” She stared vaguely into them, searching for a word. Sybel shifted. “Coren says they are black as Drede’s heart.”
Lynette blinked. “Coren says such things? Why do you marry him, then?”
“I do not know. Perhaps because I could not think of anything else I would rather do.”
Lynette nodded, her eyes smiling. She took Byrd, laid her back down in the cradle. “I will go down and see that your things are brought up.”
She left. Sybel rose after a moment in the silence, poured herself wine. She leaned over the cradle, touched Byrd’s cheek with one finger. Then she turned, pacing restlessly, listening for Coren’s step. She heard voices in the yard below, boys’ voices, shouting, echoing off the stones in some part of the house. She wandered into the hall, cup in hand and heard, from somewhere within the silent stones, Coren’s voice saying,
“No.”
She went toward it. Down the corridor, a door stood open; she heard the murmur of men’s voices. She stopped at the doorway, her eyes brushing over the long room, searching for Coren. She found him near the fire at the other end. Then slowly, as they spoke, she put names to the five men around him.
“Coren, she is here. Why else would you have brought her here, if not for this?” A slow-voiced man, taller than them all, his hair bright gold, his eyes green as Gyld’s wings, asked plaintively. Coren, his voice edged slightly, yet patient, said,
“Eorth, because I love her. Think of her as any other woman here—”
“But she is not as any other woman here,” Ceneth said. “Do you think she would be content being treated as such? She has powers; she must use them. Why not for us?”
“Against Drede? I have told you. And I have told you. She wants no war against Tamlorn.”
“So? We can put Tamlorn on the throne of Eldwold as easily as Drede can.”
“With that woman,” a square, weathered man with taut silver hair said, “we can gain support from Hilt—even from Niccon. No one would dare oppose us.”
“Bor. No.”
“Coren,” Rok said, “you went there in autumn for this very thing; to persuade her to come here. You have done it—”
“Not for this! Rok, two days ago, I almost lost her; she was called, harassed by some powerful wizard, and I thought I would never see her again. When she came back, I swore that if she came here, no one would trouble her, try to use her against her will.”
“Coren, no one wants to use her against her will. We do not want to make her unhappy here,” Bor said. “But surely you can speak to her—not right away, but eventually, when you are easy with each other, settled—”
“I thought that was what you wanted most in life.” A small, wiry man looked back at Coren out of his own blue, glittering eyes. “Revenge for Norrel’s death.”
There was a short silence. Coren, his face taut under his blazing hair, said, “I thought so, too. But now I would rather spend the energy of my thoughts on the living. I gave up everything for her—including my hate. I had to. I cannot explain that to you. Many strange things have happened to me in that white house of hers, and the strangest is that now I would rather think about Sybel than Norrel. If you must war against Drede, you will have to do it without Sybel. This I promised her. If you cannot do it, then you will drive us both out of this house.”
There was a murmur of dissent. Rok’s hand dropped briefly on Coren’s shoulder. “Do not think so little of us. We are all restless, hungry lions—if you toss us a scrap of hope, we will tear it apart with talking. We will not trouble Sybel, if that is how she feels, though you must know how great the temptation is.”
“I know. I know.”
Ceneth added, “And she will serve great purpose, if only to brighten our house and alarm Drede.”
Coren nodded. He glanced around at the silent ring of faces. “I should not trust any of you. But I do. I must. Wait until you see her, Eorth, Herne—you will understand how I could promise such a thing.”
“I never will,” Eorth said simply. “But if you say she will not help us, then she will not. I can understand that much.”
“The wonder of it is that she agreed to marry you at all,” Ceneth said, “since she feels that way about Tamlorn and Drede. She must have great courage—or great love—to come into this lions’ den with no one but you to protect her.”
Coren smiled wryly. “She is very capable of taking care of herself. You have seen Ter Falcon.”
“If she can call a Falcon who killed seven men,” Eorth said, “surely she can call Drede. Then we could—”
“Eorth,” Bor grunted. “Be quiet.”