"No," Grinsa said. "It's not that." "Then what?" Cresenne asked.
He looked at her, their eyes meeting. "I don't know, really. I just find it all… unsettling."
She should have understood. In a way she did, though only vaguely. But mostly, Cresenne felt herself growing impatient with him. Of course
the Southlands weren't perfect. What place was? Everyone they'd talked to had said the same thing: The wars had been over for more than a century. The various realms of the Forelands had battled one another as recently as that, and he wouldn't have thought anything of living there, had that been a choice.
He appeared to read the annoyance in her glance, because he forced a smile and shook his head.
"I'm just being foolish," he said. "I suppose it'll take me some time to grow accustomed to this place." He turned to D'Chul. "Forgive me."
The young man shrugged and grinned again. "There's nothing to forgive."
Cresenne thought he was being more generous than she would have been.
They rode with D'Chul for the rest of that day and for two more before finally coming within sight of the Silverwater Wash. By the third morning, the skies had cleared, though the air remained cold.
"This feels like the Harvest," D'Chul said as they rode that third day, turning his face up to the sky and closing his eyes, as if savoring the touch of the sun on his ghostly skin. "I expect we've seen the last of the warmer days until next year's Planting."
Fine, lacy clouds drifted above them, pure white against the deep blue sky, reminding Cresenne of Harvest days in the Forelands. Some things, it seemed, were the same everywhere.
Late that day, D'Chul guided them to a shallow part of the river where they were able to cross into Qirsi land without first entering an Eandi village. They made camp together one last time, joined this time by several other Qirsi peddlers who were on their way into Stelpana. D'Chul played his lute for them again, and by now Cresenne had learned enough of the songs to join in the singing, which she did without hesitation, despite her poor voice.
Grinsa, as usual, had moved off a short distance with one of the older merchants, with whom he spoke in low tones, looking intent and smiling only occasionally. No doubt he was learning all he could about the Fal'Borna-the man with whom he was sitting had darker skin than any Qirsi Cresenne had ever seen, and she recalled hearing R'Shev say something about the Fal'Borna being a dark-skinned clan. This was one of the things she had come to love about Grinsa: his sense of duty, the determination with which he took care of those he loved.
But she wished that he'd allow himself to have fun, just this once. They were in Qirsi land now, and though she wasn't foolish enough to believe that this simple fact was the answer to all their worries, she couldn't help but feel that the most difficult part of their journey was over. Surely that was cause for celebrating, for taking this one night to be at ease and enjoy their new friends.
Then again, she knew that Grinsa would only rest easy when he had convinced himself that he could keep her and Bryntelle safe. That was his way. Cresenne forced herself to ignore him and trust that he was enjoying himself in his own manner.
The following morning, D'Chul left them. He intended to follow the river southward toward the inland sea, stopping at villages along the way. He recommended that they continue toward the west.
"You're better off now that you're in Qirsi land," he told them, solemnly. "But R'Shev was right when he said that the Fal'Borna are hard. You'll be better off among the J'Balanar. You'll stand out a bit." He grinned. "Unless you have yourselves marked as they do. But they're more likely to welcome you into their settlements. Better still, you could go on to the forest and join the A'Vahl or my people."
"I thought R'Shev said the A'Vahl were arrogant," Grinsa said, smiling.
"They're not as bad as he made out. He did that mostly for my benefit. There's a belief among the other clans that the M'Saaren and the A'Vahl are rivals, probably because we share the woodland, and we fought a couple of wars several centuries ago. The truth is we get along well enough now. The A'Vahl are good people; most of them at least. You could do far worse."
Grinsa stepped forward and embraced the man. "Thank you, D'Chul. You've been a fine guide and a good friend."
"Good luck to you," the lutenist said, smiling broadly.
Cresenne kissed his cheek, surprised once more by how sad she felt to be leaving someone who had been a stranger only days before.
"I'll remember your playing for the rest of my days," she said. "And I'll sing the songs you taught us to Bryntelle. She'll know the words at least, even if I give her only a poor sense of the tune."
D'Chul climbed back onto his cart and picked up the reins. "Farewell," he said. "May there always be open roads before you and kin at your back." He grinned at them one last time. "That's an old Qirsi blessing."
He clicked his tongue at his horse and started away, turning one last time to wave good-bye.
Grinsa and Cresenne watched him go for several moments. Then they climbed onto their horses and began to ride westward. During the time they'd been with D'Chul they'd spoken little to each other. Now that they were alone together, except of course for Bryntelle, Cresenne found that she wasn't certain what to say. She hadn't felt this way around him in a long time, and it made her uneasy. For his part, Grinsa seemed no more inclined to start up a conversation than she was.
Eventually, however, he glanced her way, his expression revealing little. "You've been angry with me," he said.
A faint smile touched her lips and was gone. He knew her so well; better, she sometimes believed, than she knew him.
"I wouldn't say angry," she answered, an admission in the words. "Then what?"
She considered this. "Frustrated," she finally said.
He didn't look at her, and his expression didn't change, but he nodded once, acknowledging what she'd said. She would have preferred it if he'd gotten angry with her. That's probably what she would have done had their roles been reversed. But he always found a way to control his emotions. It was something else that she admired in him, and that she also occasionally found… well, frustrating.
"Are you going to tell me why?" he asked at length.
"I want this to work, Grinsa. I want us to find a home here, somewhere we can be happy, where Bryntelle can grow up proud of who and what she is."
He looked at her. "I want that, too."
She exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. "I know that. But it seems like you're always looking for the next thing that's going to go wrong."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? D'Chul sings us a song, and all you can think about is how the Blood Wars haven't really ended. Last night all of us were laughing and singing songs, but you spent the entire night huddled with that old Fal'Borna peddler talking about who knows what." She shook her head.
"It seems to me that you refuse to be happy."
He smiled sadly. "I'm happy with you and Bryntelle."
Cresenne smiled in return. "I know that. I love you, Grinsa. You know I do. But I'm tired of carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. We did that in the Forelands, and I've had enough of it. I just want to live a quiet life here. Can't we do that?"
"I want to," he said. "But it's not quite that simple. There are matters here that you and I need to discuss, things we have to be ready for." "See?" she said. "This is what I mean. Maybe you and I are just different in this way. I know there are going to be problems, but we can deal with them as they arise. We don't have to let them occupy every waking thought."
He frowned. "I think some problems can be handled that way, but