Seven

GUNDARON THE SCHOLAR chewed the side of his thumb, hovering just down from where his room’s corridor met the wider passage leading to the great hall. He checked for the third time that he’d wiped all the powdered sugar off the scroll of the first act of Bartyn’s Maid of the Forest. When he’d finally found it, it had been behind his copy of the eighteenth book of the Hahrgis, under a plate of jellied sweets. He cleared his throat, as a little finger of guilt scratched at the back of his mind. Good thing his old tutor hadn’t seen that. Gundaron had never been tidy by nature, and in the two years since he’d left Valdomar, some of the Library’s meticulous discipline had faded. He was still careful with his books-mostly, he thought as he brushed at the scroll again-kept his ink pots and pens clean, even if the cats did play with them. But a plate of jellied sweets on the worktable, that would never have been allowed in Valdomar.

Voices. Gundaron straightened his tunic with a tug, tucked the scroll under his left arm, and walked casually toward the main passage. Caids, he cursed under his breath. There were three women coming toward him, not one. The two in front, bodices laced fashionably tight, sleeves uselessly long, were the Tenebroso’s youngest great-nieces, Nor-eNor and her sister Kyn-oKyn. Even here in the House they followed the latest fashion of carrying dainty handkerchiefs in the Tenebro colors, rather than showing those colors in their clothing. He’d known someone would be coming with Lady Mar, but he’d assumed it would be one of the lady pages, not these two giggling fools.

He inclined his head, as courtesy required, his lips parted, ready to return their greeting-then felt his ears blaze hot as they passed him with identical curled lips and heads turned away. Until yesterday they had at least acknowledged him, so that snub was not so much for his benefit as it was for the newest member of the House walking slowly behind her distant cousins-but not so far behind that she’d missed the little scene, worst luck. Mar-eMar wore a good gown made of fine wool, but even Gundaron could see that the sleeves were last year’s length. Instead of a laced bodice, Mar-eMar wore a tunic like an elderly woman would. A teal-and-black tunic with a thin red stripe on its half-sleeves, no dainty handkerchief for her. He wondered if she realized the clothing the gigglers had picked out for her was hopelessly out of date.

From the whiteness of her face, and the sharpness of the two dots of color on her cheeks, Gundaron suspected that she knew. He swallowed, all doubts suddenly gone.

“Uh, hello, Lady Mar,” he said, stepping forward. As he’d hoped, she stopped, hesitant, her eyes flicking forward to the backs of the two sisters who were leaving her behind. When she turned to look at him, however, Mar-eMar’s gaze was steady. Her hair was the exact shade of the rich brown velvety moss that grew in the Tenebroso’s rock garden, and her eyes were so deep a blue as to be almost black.

“Yes?”

Gundaron blinked. He cleared his throat again. “I am, ah, I’m Gundaron the Scholar. Gundaron of Valdomar.”

“Mar-eMar Tenebro,” she said inclining her head in a short nod. Gundaron thought she might have relaxed just a little.

“I was wondering-I thought-that is, can you read?”

Instantly, the red spots on her cheeks stood out like paint, and a muscle jerked in the side of her jaw as she clenched her teeth.

“Yes,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.

“Oh,” he said, in sudden understanding. “No. That’s not what I meant at all. I only meant to ask if you’d like something to read.” He held out the scroll he’d had under his left arm. “It’s a play, Bartyn’s Maid of the Forest.” When she didn’t move he said. “I have others, if you don’t like Bartyn.”

“A play? To read?” Suddenly her eyes seemed even darker, and she lowered them, looking away from him.

Gundaron swallowed, his throat suddenly thick, and held out the scroll. She took it without looking up again. “Thank you.” If he hadn’t been watching her lips so closely, he would never have known she’d spoken.

“You’re welcome,” he said. He held out his hand, indicating the direction of the great hall. “Shall we…?”

He’d get up early tomorrow and clean up his room, he thought, as she fell into step next to him. He would. Or if not tomorrow, the next day, for certain.

Mar began to think that the meal was never going to end. She’d been seated between her two girl cousins, undoubtedly by someone who thought she’d welcome companions of her own age-and who didn’t know Nor and Kyn very well. They’d come to her room, speaking to her with every evidence of courtesy which, thanks to Parno Lionsmane’s tutoring, she was able to return in kind. As soon as they’d dismissed the lady page who’d been waiting when Mar arrived in her room, however, and seen how few and how poor Mar’s possessions were, their remarks had taken on a different, sharper tone, and Mar began to realize that they were laughing at her. Mar wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of either crying or losing her temper, however. She thought about how little Jarla, the youngest of the Weavers’ daughters in Navra, would have acted if she were in this room, and pasted a smile on her face, made her eyes as wide as possible and cooed over everything the sisters said.

Strangely, watching them snub the Scholar Gundaron had made them less intimidating, not more. There was obviously nothing personal in their attitude toward her; they were snobs pure and simple, and working in the household of the best Weaver in Navra had taught Mar how to deal with those.

Under the guise of moving her goblet of watered wine, Mar managed to look down the table to where the Scholar sat, holding his fork very gracefully in his strong fingers. He was very fair, even his eyebrows showing almost white on his square face, and his eyes were a warm light brown. And obviously he hadn’t let the sisters’ treatment turn him into a snob and bully in his turn. Mar touched the scroll in the wide pocket of her gown. Perhaps, once she had read it, the Scholar would like to hear about her experiences with Dhulyn Wolfshead, who was also a Scholar, in her way.

There were others in the House besides Gundaron of Valdomar who were not of the same mind as Nor and Kyn. When she’d first come into the hall, Mar had looked around the table and found other intelligent and friendly faces. A young man whose golden hair reminded her of Parno Lionsmane had come to her before he sat down and introduced himself as Dal-eDal. But both he and the lady seated next to him, an older woman named Lan-eLan, were too far away for conversation. Gundaron was seated closer, and seemed to be looking at her every time she glanced his way, but he only smiled, blushed, and lowered his eyes. Eventually, he was taken up with the Kir, Lok-iKol, and didn’t glance her way anymore.

Mar forced herself to eat, taking small bites as the Lionsmane had instructed her, not that she could actually taste anything. The last time she’d felt this out of place she’d been six years old, her first meal at the Weavers after her Holding had disintegrated following the fire and the sickness, after the three months she’d spent at the Jaldean Shrine while they found her a foster family.

Where were you people then? Mar thought with a shock that made her put down her fork. Surely the Jaldean priests would have sent word to her House? They’d known who she was; it was one of the reasons it had been easy to foster her. But why hadn’t her House sent for her then?

“Sweetest, you don’t use a fork for this dessert.” Kyn-oKyn’s tinkly voice broke into Mar’s thoughts. “You use this special spoon.”

“Pardon me?” Mar turned to her left, making sure the edge of her napkin caught the plate of custard and cream that had just been put down in front of her, and tipped it neatly into Kyn’s lap.