Feeling suddenly both helpless and angry, Alayna said, “I wish you had said something earlier. Before we went to Thendara.”
“Why, would you have taken me with you? A last holiday for the dying woman? A chance to see the city, the delights of the court? To say goodbye? Of course I kept it from you. I did not—I do not ever—want your pity.”
“No, I did not mean that, not at all. Dimitra. When I was in Thendara, I had another miscarriage, even worse than the one you and Jerana nursed me through. Much worse. The leroni of Hali Tower saved me, and I thought— They can sense sickness we cannot detect by ordinary means, and they have methods of healing far beyond the skill of a village midwife.”
Dimitra closed her eyes. The lines of suffering in her face deepened. “It is too late.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know the distance to Thendara and the impossibility of such a journey at this season. I understand you mean well, vai domna, but please keep your good intentions, as well as your pity, to yourself. Let me live out the time left to me in peace.”
“I will do that, but only after you have heard me out. I know perfectly well that even if you were in good health, you could not travel to Thendara over passes that are snow-blocked for the winter. Nor is there time to send some hardy messenger there and back before next year’s spring thaw. But there is a place much closer—within our reach—where a Tower-trained healer might reside, one who might be willing to come here to you.”
“What do you mean? What leronis?”
“I mean Aldaran. We have lost our leronis, but they may still have one among them.”
Dimitra shook her head. “Lord Scathfell would never permit such a thing.”
“On the contrary, Lord Scathfell has promised me that if you are well enough, and if you are willing, he will send to Aldaran, imploring their aid.” Gwynn had said nothing about imploring, but it sounded better this way.
“He would do this for me, after everything?”
“I honestly do not know if he has agreed to do this for you or for me, Dimitra. Either way, I am not ready to give up, not when there is still hope, and I am willing to do this for you.”
Ruyven departed for Aldaran within the hour.
The snow had stopped falling overnight, and the morning air was unseasonably mild, as if the urgency of the mission had tempered winter itself. Wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, Alayna, along with Gwynn and Perdita, and Zefano, and, it seemed, half the castle staff, stood on the steps above the courtyard to bid Ruyven and his escort farewell. Although no formal announcement regarding Ruyven’s mission had been made, everyone seemed to know. Alayna found the crowd unexpectedly touching. Dimitra might not have been universally liked, but she had been an essential part of the castle household for a long time.
“How long will it take for an answer?” Alayna slipped one gloved hand into the crook of Gwynn’s elbow. “I know you said a tenday, but is there no hope Ruyven might return more quickly?”
He pulled her hand closer. “If this weather holds, and if there are no mishaps on the trail, and if Aldaran welcomes him instead of clapping him into the darkest dungeon . . . and if the answer is speedy, one way or another—”
“A simple answer was all I asked for,” she exclaimed, laughing, “not a litany of everything that could go wrong. Please, I have enough to contend with without stuffing my head with fearful imaginings.”
“I would not have you worry without cause.”
“Oh, only with cause?”
“Then it is not worry, my love. It is prudent concern. But all the concern in the world cannot hurry travel through the mountains. I doubt we will see Ruyven before a tenday or so.”
The lightness of their banter and the glint in his eyes suggested that the time might be passed very pleasantly.
Just past midday on the fourteenth day, Alayna was sitting with Dimitra when she heard the sound of running feet and the clamor of voices in the corridor outside. She set down the book she had been reading aloud and went to the door. Shayla was there. She paused in midstride and managed a curtsy.
“’Tis Dom Ruyven—he’s returned, vai domna! Word’s just come from one of the valley sentries.”
“Has Lord Scathfell been informed?”
“Aye, my lady. The whole castle’s abuzz with it.”
Alayna found Gwynn in the front hall, talking with Zefano and a man in riding leathers and soldier’s cloak. “Is it true? Ruyven has returned? Is he—did Aldaran send anyone?”
“Get yourself to the kitchen for a hot meal,” Gwynn handed the rider a small purse. “You have my thanks.”
“My lord.” With a bow, the man departed, ushered away by Zefano.
Gwynn turned to Alayna. “Be easy, my wife. Not only has our friend Ruyven yet again fulfilled his duties admirably, but the party returning with him rides under the Aldaran banner.”
Relief swept through her. Edric had not refused them.
Gwynn assured Alayna that it would be the better part of a day before they could expect Ruyven and the Aldaran party to arrive. Minutes dragged on, mounting into hours with infuriating reluctance. Alayna did her best to not inflict her own impatience on anyone else. She played her rryl while Perdita sang, attempted to concentrate on needlework, and delivered the news to Dimitra.
The arrivals passed through the gates just as the eastern horizon turned inky. Light still shone in the west, but in the shadows ice had begun to form. Alayna waited at Gwynn’s side on top of the castle steps, Perdita standing behind her shoulder. Together they watched the riders file past, their horses blowing and lathered with a last effort to reach their destination before full night. The torches placed around the courtyard flickered in the gusting wind. First came Ruyven and his guards, two of Scathfell’s finest, then a man in a cloak of Aldaran colors.
Gwynn stiffened. For a moment, Alayna was unable to believe what her eyes told her: Edric had not sent someone from his household. He had come himself.
Even before Ruyven had clambered down from his horse, Edric dismounted and bounded up the steps. He moved with surprising agility for someone who had just completed an arduous ride in freezing weather. His riding cloak flared out behind him like the wings of a gigantic bird. Reaching the topmost step, Edric inclined his head a salute proper from one lord to his equal. “Vai dom.”
“My Lord Aldaran,” Gwynn sounded overly formal, not yet quite recovered from his surprise. “If you come in friendship, you are welcome here.”
“Vai dom, I do. Lady Scathfell,” with a bow, then to Perdita, “Vai damisela.”
“Thank you for coming,” Alayna said. “I only hope it is not too late to help my lady-in-waiting.”
Ruyven, having taken a moment to smooth his hair and straighten his cloak, approached. “Lord Scathfell, I bring a Tower-trained healer, as requested.” He sounded weary.
“You have fulfilled your mission admirably, my friend.” Gwynn clapped Ruyven on the shoulder. “Go to your well-earned rest. We’ll talk later.”
Gesturing for Edric and Alayna to accompany him, Gwynn passed through the massive double doors. “I must confess, I expected you to send your household leronis.”
“Both my mother and I trained in a Tower,” Edric replied. “Since she feels the cold more strongly with the passing of her years, the hardship of the journey ought rightly to be borne by me.”
“I have not heard of the heir of any great estate studying sorcery. My own father harbored deep suspicions about the practice.”
“Given our history, he had good reason. But laran is not sorcery, although the common folk call it so. It involves not only innate talent but discipline of mind. For those of us who possess that Gift, to neglect its mastery is to place not only ourselves but everyone around us at risk.”
Alayna caught a flash of emotion on Gwynn’s face and knew he was thinking of how much he had
lost because of laran. His brother, his parents, what should have been a safe and happy childhood. Many of Scathfell’s families also had cause to grieve their fathers and sons. And those were not the only ones. Dorilys—my kinswoman, Edric’s kinswoman—had perished, as well Aldaran’s own soldiers. How easily loss could turn to fear and fear to anger. But now the two families had real hope of building trust instead.
They paused in the entry hall for servants to take away their cloaks. Gwynn turned to Edric. “You must have had a hard ride to arrive so soon. Have you need of rest or refreshment?”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Edric replied, “but I had better examine the patient to determine the seriousness of her condition. I understood from Dom Ruyven that she was deteriorating rapidly. I would have been here sooner, except one of the horses went lame.”
Alayna imagined a horse and rider making their way along the side of a steep hillside covered with pockets of snow, then going down suddenly—the horse heaving itself to its feet, standing on three legs, the rider dusting snow from his jacket. How badly—? she started to ask before realizing that she did not want to know if a horse, who took no sides in any feud, had lost its life in the effort to save Dimitra’s.
“We were able to pack the leg with snow to control the swelling, and let the horse rest for the night,” Edric said, as if he had sensed her question. “The next day, it was recovered enough to go slowly, without additional weight.”
“I’m glad no greater harm was done,” Gwynn said.
“Yes, we were fortunate. Cold was our ally instead of our enemy.”
“If you will follow me, Lord Aldaran,” Alayna said, “I will conduct you to my lady-in-waiting.”
Edric bowed again to Gwynn, then he and Alayna hurried up the stairs, Perdita close behind. Alayna said nothing though she longed for news of Kyria and her unborn children—or had they come into the world already? But she dared not ask while they might be overheard. Yet when she paused at the outer door to Dimitra’s quarters and glanced up at Edric, it felt as if all her longing had risen to her eyes and threatened to spill out.
“Perdita,” she said in as clear a voice as she could imagine, “would you be so kind as to bring a basin of warm water, in case it is required?”
“At once, my lady.” Perdita dropped a graceful curtsy and hurried away.
Bending close, Edric said in a voice that was barely a whisper, “She’s well, as are our sons.”
Relief and delight washed over Alayna, with an image of Kyria lying in bed on sheets so white they glowed, her face suffused with joy, cradling a swaddled baby on either side. “And are you married?”
Edric gave her a look of undisguised joy. “Let’s go in,” he said.
She lifted the latch. Dimitra was seated in her little sitting room, on the chair before the fire. She was fully, properly dressed, but pain had incised new lines in her face. As Alayna and Edric entered, she made as if to rise. Her face contorted with effort. Alayna could hear the rasping of her breath from across the room.
“Please remain as you are, domna. I am Edric Aldaran, once of Tramontana Tower, and I have come to offer you my aid. That is, if you give your consent.”
“Vai dom. I did not expect—I did not—” Dimitra tried to swallow, her throat working.
“We may not have expected Lord Aldaran to come himself, but he is here, and he is certainly qualified.” Alayna poured out some watered wine and held it out to her. “No more nonsense. Edric, what do you need to begin?” If Dimitra had noticed the use of his personal name, she gave no sign.
Edric explained that it would be better if Dimitra lay down, for purposes of monitoring her and determining the exact nature and extent of her illness. Together they helped Dimitra to her feet and into the bedroom. There was no need for her to disrobe, and Alayna placed an extra pillow under her knees and tucked the comforters around her.
“Where should I stand?” she asked Edric as he brought in a straight-backed wooden chair from the sitting room.
“It would actually be better if you left us. I need all my concentration for this work. If you could—” He broke off as a tap on the outer door heralded the arrival of Sadhi. Between them, they sorted out that Sadhi would remain in the sitting room with the door closed.
“My lady,” Edric began, “if you would arrange to have food sent up, that would be a valuable service. Like all laran work, monitoring requires a great deal of energy that must be replaced, especially if I am to attempt healing work afterward. Sweetened pastries or dried fruit and nuts, if you would, but no meat or cheese. And jaco, not wine.”
Alayna liked the straightforward way he communicated his needs. He must have learned it at the Tower, for there was none of the arrogance, the entitlement of a great lord in the way he spoke.
Kyria, a wife and mother—two beautiful babes—
“I’m sure the kitchen can manage,” Alayna said. “You’ll find the jaco here surprisingly good. I’ll go down to the kitchen,” she offered, since Perdita had not yet returned.
At the bottom of the stairs, Gwynn stepped out from around a corner. She smiled at him. “It’s quite wonderful, more than I—than we—hoped for,” she said. “He’s with Dimitra now, with Sadhi as watchdog against castle gossip. We should have news soon.”
She made as if to continue on, but Gwynn blocked her path. “You seem to be on friendly terms with Lord Aldaran. I had not realized you two spent any amount of time together in Thendara.”
“Good heavens, Gwynn, don’t tell me you’re jealous! You’re entirely mistaken. I never thought of him that way. Never could, given that I am a married woman. Don’t you remember that he traveled with us—me and Kyria, and Ruyven as well—on our way here? We didn’t know who he was at the time, of course. He said travelers keep their families and alliances to themselves, that the conditions of the trail are the real enemies, not one another. Besides, it was all perfectly proper, with Ruyven looking after us. I’m sure I told you.”
“I suppose you did. Or Ruyven did. I was taken somewhat aback when Aldaran himself turned up.” This was as close to an apology as Gwynn would offer, and Alayna knew not to press him. “I wouldn’t have believed him that trusting, to place himself in my power,” he said, adding, “or foolhardy, as the case may be. Where are you off to now, all in a hurry?”
“To the kitchen, to make sure he has something to eat when he finishes his work.”
“This is why you have a companion and servants, not to go scurrying about the castle on menial errands yourself.”
“In my judgment, this should not wait. Perdita’s already fetching warm water, if you must know.” Alayna took advantage of Gwynn’s hesitation to circle around him and continue on her way. She was not surprised when he came with her. “Apparently,” she said, “such work can drain the healer, and if he is able to actually treat Dimitra, we want him to be fit, don’t we? Are you expecting something to go wrong?”
“He certainly has earned your friendship.”
“And not yours?” Alayna stopped at the door that led to the kitchen area and whirled to face him. “He’s here as your guest, Gwynn-Alar, and at your behest. You may have no care for the honor of Scathfell, but I most certainly do!”
To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. “My spitfire wife, or should I say, my conscience?”
When he leaned forward to kiss her, she did not pull away.
“I won’t detain you from your duties as lady of the castle,” he said. “You to the kitchen to provide what our guest requires, and I to Ruyven for his report. We will leave Lord Aldaran to his work.”
Alayna lay awake, wondering if Edric had begun, and if he had, what was going on. Time passed, although whether quickly or slowly, she could not tell. Her only measures of time were Gwynn’s rhythmic breathing and the beating of her own heart. She turned from side to side, careful to not wake him. Once or twic
e, when her thoughts went to Edric, images of him came to mind, and she saw that his features were almost inhumanly composed. Blue light flickered across his face. Of the room beyond, and in particular Dimitra, she saw nothing.
She must have drifted back to sleep because the next thing she knew, the drapes had been drawn back to admit the brilliant morning sun. She was alone, although warmth still clung to the other side of the bed. When she got up, she found Perdita had brought hot water for washing, and had laid out the gray tunic and underdress.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want breakfast, but there’s fresh jaco in the sitting room, my lady.”
“Thank you,” Alayna said, slipping into the clothes. “I’d like to see if there’s news about Dimitra first.”
A short time later, she found Edric and Ruyven in conference with Gwynn in the men’s parlor. The remains of a simple breakfast lay on the table between them. Shadows ringed Edric’s eyes, and gray tinged the skin around his mouth. He wore the same clothing as yesterday, only more rumpled.
“Vai domna.” Edric inclined his head.
You look as if you haven’t slept all night. “What news?”
“Your lady-in-waiting is indeed seriously ill, but with the blessings of the gods, not beyond hope. The tumors have spread to other areas of her body, most notably her lungs. One of these had almost blocked a major airway, which accounts in part for her lack of energy. I feared that if left unchecked, it might cause the lung to collapse. In her weakened condition, it might precipitate a crisis. Rather than risk it, I dissolved the tumor immediately.”
Edric looked weary, as might any man who had undertaken a mountain journey in winter and then worked through the night.
Gwynn was saying, “. . . our gratitude for your efforts on behalf of one of our own.”
Alayna felt a rush of relief so intense, it almost brought her to tears. With great effort, she maintained control. At the same time she petitioned any god who might be listening that this opening between Scathfell and Aldaran, this softening of Gwynn’s anger, might be the turning point in the generation-long feud.