As my walls shall shelter you,

So my sword will defend you.

As my food shall strengthen you,

So my strength will serve you.

As my hearth shall warm you,

So my heart’s blood is yours.

That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? Those were the words I would have to ponder as I weighed Messire’s loyalty to his oath against my own actions.

A shout from the water broke the stillness of my reflections.

“You don’t have much longer to make up your mind,” I said gently.

“What? No, I know.” Temar sighed heavily.

“To make up his mind about what?” asked Livak, as she came up to us and slid herself inside the circle of my arm.

“Should I stay or should I go?” Temar looked up at her.

“Roll a rune for it,” Livak shrugged. “Anyway, no decision’s ever final, is it? Come to Zyoutessela with us. Messire D’Olbriot’s invited you, hasn’t he? If you don’t like it, you can be on the next ship heading this way.”

“Which won’t be before the spring next year.” I thought I had better add a note of realism to Livak’s cheerful unconcern. I looked at Livak, a woollen wrap incongruous over her jerkin and breeches. “I know it’s a lot to ask, my dearest, and I don’t expect an answer at once, but do you think you could possibly bear to wear a skirt when you meet my mother for the first time?”