“Yes,” said Karadoc, coming forward and putting a hand on Tier’s head as he used to when Tier was a boy. “There have been Rederni who were mages before. Seraph will harm no one.”

The crowd dispersed, and Bandor took Alinath to their room to talk, leaving only Karadoc, Tier, and Seraph.

“See that you come by the temple tonight,” said the priest. “I don’t like to keep a lie longer than necessary.”

Tier grinned at him and hugged the older man. “Thank you. We’ll stop by.”

When he left, Tier turned to Seraph. “You can stay here with me and be my wife. Karadoc will marry us tonight and no one will know the difference.” He waited, and when she said nothing, he said, “Or I can do as I promised. We can leave now and I’ll go with you to find your people.”

Her hand tightened on his then, as if she’d never let it go. She glanced once around the room and then lowered her eyes to the floor. “I’ll stay,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”

PART TWO

CHAPTER 3

When Seraph reached the narrow bridge, the river was high and the wooden walkway was slick with cold water from the spring runoff. She glanced across the river and up the mountainside where Redern hung, terraced like some ancient giant’s stone garden. Even after twenty years, the sight still impressed her.

From where she stood, the new temple at the very top of the village rose like a falcon over its prey. The rich hues of new wood contrasted with the greys of the village, but, to her, that seemed to be merely an accent to the harmony of stone buildings and craggy mountain.

Seraph crossed the bridge, skirted the few people tending animals, and headed for the steps of the steep road that zigzagged its way up the mountain face, edged with stone buildings.

The bakery looked much as it had when she’d first seen it. The house was newer than its neighbors, having been rebuilt several generations earlier because of a fire. Tier had laughed and told her that his several times great-grandfather had tried to make the building appear old but had succeeded only in making it ugly. Not even the ceramic pots planted with roses could add much charm to the cold grey edifice, but the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting from the chimney gave the building an aura of welcome.

Seraph almost walked on—she could sell her goods elsewhere, but not without offending her sister-in-law. Perhaps Alinath would be out and she could deal with Bandor, who had never been anything but kind. Resolutely, she opened the bakery door.

“Seraph,” Tier’s sister greeted her without welcome from the wide, flour-covered wooden table where her clever hands wove dough into knots and set them on baking tiles to be taken back to the ovens for cooking.

Seraph smiled politely. “Jes found a honey-tree in the woods last week. Rinnie and I spent the last few days jarring it. I wondered if you would like to buy some jars to make sweet bread.”

Tier would have given it to his sister, but Seraph could not afford such generosity. Tier was late back from winter fur-trapping, and Jes needed boots.

Alinath sniffed. “That boy. If I’ve told Tier once, I’ve told him a thousand times, the way you let him wander the woods on his own—and him not quite right—it’s a wonder a bear or worse hasn’t gotten him.”

Seraph forced herself to smile politely. “Jes is as safe in the woods as you or I here in your shop. I have heard my husband tell you that as often as you complained to him.”

Alinath wiped off her hands. “Speaking of children, I have been meaning to talk to you about Rinnie.”

Seraph waited.

“Bandor and I have no children, and most probably never will. We’d like to take Rinnie in and apprentice her.”

Seraph reminded herself sternly that Alinath meant no harm by her proposal. Even Travelers fostered children under certain circumstances, but it seemed to Seraph that the solsenti traded and sold their children like cattle.

Tier had tried to explain the advantages of the apprenticing system to her—the apprentice gained a trade, a means to make a fair living, and the master gained free help. In her travels, Seraph had seen too many places where children were treated worse than slaves; not that she thought Alinath would treat Rinnie badly.

So, Seraph was polite. “Rinnie is needed on the farm,” she said with diplomacy that Tier would have applauded.

“That farm will go to Lehr, sooner or later. Jes will be a burden upon it and upon Lehr for as long as he lives,” said Alinath. “Tier will not be able to give Rinnie a decent dowry and without that, with her mixed blood, no one will have her.”

Calm, Seraph told herself. “Jes more than carries his own weight,” she said with as much outward serenity as she could muster. “He is no burden. Any man who worries about Rinnie’s mixed blood is no one I want her marrying. In any case, she’s only ten years old, and marriage is something she won’t have to worry about for a long time.”

“You are being stupid,” said Alinath. “I have approached the Elders on the matter already. They know that scrap of land you have my brother trying to farm is so poor he has to spend the winter trapping so you have food on your table. It doesn’t really matter that you have no care for your daughter; when the Elders step in, you’ll have no choice.”

“Enough,” said Seraph, outrage lending unmistakable power to that one word. No one was taking her children from her. No one.

Alinath paled.

No magic, Tier’s voice cautioned her, none at all, Seraph. Not in Redern.

Seraph closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to cleanse herself of anger, and managed to continue speaking more normally. “You may talk to Tier when he returns. But if anyone comes to try and take my daughter before then…” She let the unspoken threat hang in the air.

“I agree,” said a mild voice from the kitchen. “Enough badgering, Alinath.” Bandor entered from the baking room door with a large bowl of risen dough. “If any of Seraph’s children want to apprentice we’d be glad to have them here—but that’s for their parents to decide. Not you or the Elders.” He nodded a greeting toward Seraph.

“Bandor,” managed Seraph through her rage-tightened throat. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’ll have to excuse Alinath,” he said. “She’s been as worried about Tier as you are. I’ve told her that it’s not fair to expect a man trapping in the wild to come home on time every year. But he’s her brother, and she frets. Tier’s only a few weeks late. He’ll show up.”

“Yes,” Seraph agreed. “I’d best be going.”

“Didn’t I hear you say you had some honey?” he asked.

“Jes found some in the woods last week. I brought a few dozen jars with me,” she answered. “But Alinath didn’t seem interested in it.”

“Hummph,” said Bandor, with a glance at his wife. “We’ll take twelve jars for half-copper a jar. Then you go to Willon up on the heights, and tell him we’re paying a copper each for anything you don’t sell to him. He’ll buy up your stock for that so he can compete. Yours is the first honey this spring.”

Without a word, Seraph took out her pack and pulled out twelve jars, setting them on the counter. Just as silently, Alinath counted out six coppers and set it beside the jars. When Seraph reached out to take the money, the other woman’s hand clamped on her wrist.

“If my brother had married Kirah”—Alinath said in a low voice that was no less violent for its lack of sound—“he’d have had no need to go to the mountains in the winter in order to feed his children.”

Seraph’s chin jerked up and she twisted her wrist, freeing it. “It has been near to two decades since Tier and I married. Find something else to fret about.”

“I agree,” said Bandor mildly, but there was something ugly in his tone.