She ignored him, and tugged impatiently as they crossed the threshold of the stable. Several of the stalls that had been occupied were empty when Blackfoot hauled him back to her loose-box. So luck was with him—it looked like the masculine contingent of Forst Reach had taken themselves off somewhere, en masse. And since Treesa had Stef as a semi-captive provider of entertainment, she wouldn’t be looking for her son.
Vanyel unsaddled the mare and groomed her; evidently she was one of those animals that liked being groomed, as she leaned into his brushstrokes and sighed happily, behaving as charmingly as if she hadn’t spent most of the ride fighting him. While he curried her, Van tried to think of somewhere about the keep he could go to think. What he needed was someplace where he could be found if someone really went looking for him, but a place no one would go unless they really were looking all over for him.
Then it occurred to him: the one side of the manor that hadn’t yet been built on was the side with that relatively inaccessible porch. It was tree-shaded and quite pleasant, but since the only entry was through a pantry, hardly anyone ever used it. It was too open for trysting, and too awkward for anything else. Which meant it should be perfect for his purposes.
Blackfoot whickered entreatingly at him and rattled her grain bucket with her nose.
“You greedy pig—I’m surprised you aren’t as fat as a pony!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Well, you don’t fool me. I know the rules around here, girl, and you don’t get fed until after evening milking.”
She looked at him sourly, and turned her back on him.
“And you don’t get to lounge around in your stall, either,” he told her, as he swung the door to the paddock open. “It’s a beautiful day, now get out there and move that plump little rear of yours.”
He swatted her rump; she squealed in surprise and bolted out the open door. She dug all four feet in and stopped a few lengths into the paddock, snorting with indignation, but it was too late. He’d already shut the door.
He laughed at the glare she gave him before she lifted head and tail and flounced out into the paddock.
Then he turned tail himself, and headed back to the keep, and a great deal of thinking.
• • •
Once he’d fetched his instrument from their room, Stefen expected Treesa to lead him straight to the solar. That room was normally the ladies’ sanctum—or at least it was for all the ladies he knew. But she didn’t head in that direction; in fact, she led him outside and down a path through the gardens. The path was very well-used, and led through the last of the garden hedges and out into a stand of trees that continued for as far as he could see.
“Lady Treesa?” he said politely. “Where in Havens are we going?”
“Didn’t Van tell you?” she asked, stopping for a moment to look back over her shoulder at him.
He shook his head and shrugged. “I am quite entirely in the dark, my lady. I expected you to take me to your solar.”
“Oh—I’m sorry,” she laughed, or rather, giggled. “During the summer we don’t work in the solar unless there happens to be a lot of weaving to do—we come out here, to the pear orchard. No one is working in it at this time of year, and it’s quite lovely, and cool even on the hottest summer days. The keep, I fear, is a bit musty and more than a bit damp—who would want to be indoors in fine weather like this?”
“No one, I suppose,” Stef replied. At about that moment, the rest of the ladies came into view between the tree trunks. They had arranged themselves in a broken circle in the shade, and were already at work. Sure enough, they had their embroidery frames, their cushions, and their plain-sewing, just as if they were working in the heart of the keep. Spread out as they were on the grass beneath the trees, they made a very pretty picture.
They came up to the group to a chorus of greetings, and Lady Treesa took her seat—she was the only one with a chair, an ingenious folding apparatus—which, when Stef thought about it, really wasn’t unreasonable given her age.
Now Stefen was the center of attention; Treesa let her ladies stew for a bit, though they surely must have known who he was likely to be. After an appropriate span of suspense, Treesa introduced him as “Bard Stefen, Vanyel’s friend,” and there were knowing looks and one or two pouts of disappointment.
Evidently Van’s predilections were now an open secret, open enough that there were assumptions being made about what being Vanyel’s “friend” entailed. Stefen ignored both the looks and the pouts, smiled with all the charm he could produce, took the cushion offered him at Treesa’s feet, and began tuning his gittern, thankful that he’d put it in full tune last night and it only required adjusting now. The twelve-stringed gittern was a lovely instrument, but tuning it after travel was a true test of patience.
“Now, what is your pleasure, my lady?” he asked, when he was satisfied with the sound of his instrument. “For giving you pleasure is all my joy at this moment.”
Treesa smiled and waved her hands gracefully at him. “Something fitting the day,” she said. “Something of love, perhaps.”
For one moment Stef was startled. She can’t possibly have meant that the way it sounded. She can’t possibly be alluding to Van and me, can she?
Then a second glance at her face told him that she was just “playing The Game” of courtly love. She’d meant nothing more than to give him the expected opening to flatter her.
Well, then—flatter her he would.
“Would ‘My Lady’s Eyes’ suit you?” he asked, knowing from Vanyel that it was Treesa’s favorite.
She glowed and tossed her head coyly, and he congratulated himself on reading her correctly. “It would do very nicely,” she replied, settling back into the embrace of her chair, not even pretending an interest in her needlework.
Stefen smiled at her—only at her, as The Game demanded—and launched into the song.
By the third song he had grown to like Treesa quite a bit, and not just because she was so breathlessly flattering to his ego, nor because she was Vanyel’s mother. As Van himself had said, she had a very good heart. When he paused to rest his fingers, she asked him for news of Medren, and not just out of politeness’ sake. Ignoring the sidelong glances of her ladies, she asked him several questions about her wood’s-colt grandson after Stef’s initial answer of “he’s fine.”
“Has he gotten advanced from his Journeyman status?” she asked, after several close inquiries to the state of Medren’s health and progress—a question voiced wistfully, or so it seemed to Stef.
He paused for a moment to think, as the breeze ruffled his hair and sent a breath of cool down the back of his neck. “Not when we’d left, my lady,” he replied, “But I honestly don’t think it’s going to be much longer. He’s very good, my lady, and I’m not saying that just because he’s my friend. The Council of the Bardic Circle is really waiting for the fuss to die down about my getting jumped to Master so quickly before they promote anyone else. And if you want to know the truth, I think they might have been waiting for me to leave so that no one could accuse me of using my influence to get him his full Scarlets.”
“Bard Stefen,” she said, and hesitated, looking at him oddly. This time he was certain that expression was of hope. “Do you think when he gets it, he would be willing to come here for a permanent post?” She smiled, and blushed a little. “I’m perfectly willing to trade shamelessly on his family ties if you think he’d be willing. Forst Reach would never rate a Master Bard, else.”
Stefen pondered his answer for a moment before replying. Treesa was entirely right; Forst Reach was too small a place to demand the attentions of a Master Bard. Certainly there would be no chance for advancement here, under normal circumstances. But Forst Reach was also on the Border, and within reach of the newly-combined “kingdoms” of Baires and Lineas which were now ruled by Herald Tashir. Remarkable things had happened here—in fact, the solving of the mystery
of who slaughtered Tashir’s family was the subject of Medren’s own planned Masterwork—and it was entirely possible that more remarkable things might occur. These were the sort of events that the Bardic Circle really preferred to have a full Bard on hand to record.
Furthermore, Medren had never shown the kind of ambition Stef harbored—he’d never talked about advancing in Court circles or gaining an important patron. It might well be that he’d be happy here.
“I think it might be worth asking him, my lady,” Stefen replied with perfect truth. “And I know that if he wants it, the Circle would grant him leave to be here. Especially if you’d agree to share him with Tashir.”
“I’d share him with anyone if it meant we’d have a Bard here,” Treesa exclaimed. “And Tashir is such a dear boy, I’m certain he’d work out schedules with me so that we wouldn’t both need Medren at the same time. It shouldn’t be that hard even for seasonal celebrations—if I scheduled ours a bit early, and he scheduled his a bit late. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she tapped her lips with one finger, obviously deep in thought. Stefen held his peace until she spoke again.
“Then I’ll request it formally,” she said aloud, and turned to Stef with both hands out in entreaty. “Would you—”
“I’ll speak to him, my lady,” Stefen assured her.
The dazzling smile she bestowed on him showed him something of the beauty she must have had in her prime. He bowed slightly to her, reinvoking The Game before she could get him to promise more than he could deliver. He had the distinct feeling that if she exerted herself, she could do just that.
He heard the sound of hooves on dry ground behind him at that moment, the steps slow and unhurried. He was about to turn to see who was riding out here, when Lady Treesa looked over his shoulder and smiled a second dazzling smile.
“And here is the other reason we meet out-of-doors in fine weather when Vanyel is at home,” she said happily. “Especially if we can get Van to perform for us, or we have some other musician available. Welcome, Lady Yfandes! It would certainly present some difficulties attempting to get you up to the solar, would it not?”
Stefen turned; sure enough, it was Yfandes, who bowed—there was no doubt of it—to Lady Treesa, and whickered with what sounded like amusement. The Companion made her stately way to a spot that had evidently been left empty just for her, and folded herself down to it. That was the only way Stefen could think of the movement—it was a great deal more graceful than the way a horse would lie down, and was strongly reminiscent of a lady slowly taking a seat on the ground while minding all her voluminous skirts.
“Lady Yfandes is as fond of music as I am,” Treesa told Stefen seriously. “When Vanyel finally told me that, the thoughtless boy, I couldn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t be able to join us when she wished.”
Stefen realized then, with a bit of shock, that Treesa was speaking of Yfandes as if she were a lady-guest, and doing so completely naturally. It seemed she had no problem with accepting Yfandes as a “person” and not a horse.
Which is a little better than I can manage at the moment, he thought ruefully. I have to keep reminding myself that she’s not what she seems. And I’m a Bard, so I should know better!
“Well, in that case, my ladies all,” he said, with a slight bow to Yfandes and another special smile for Treesa, “allow me to take up my gittern, and resume amusing you.”
In fact, he was greatly enjoying himself. The entire little group seemed to be enthralled with having the talents of a full Bard at their disposal. Some of Treesa’s ladies were quite pretty, and although Stef had no intention of following up on his flirtations, when they fluttered coyly at him, he preened right back. That was an accepted part of The Game, too. Best of all, none of this was work—he used only the barest touch of his Gift to enhance his performance, hardly enough for him to notice, unlike the deep-trance, draining effort he’d been putting out for the King.
It was a pity that Van had decided to vanish somewhere, but Stef was getting used to that. Van broods, he thought wryly. And I must admit, he’s had a lot to brood about lately. If I know him, no matter what we managed to build between us last night, he’s going to have to agonize over it before he can accept it. Thank the gods he can’t repudiate a lifebond, or I’d probably spend every night we’re here reconvincing him he’s not going to be rid of me. Of course, that could be quite enjoyable—but it could also be exhausting.
He wondered what the Companion was making of all this. It would certainly help if Yfandes was on his side. He cast a brief glance at her; glowing white against the green of the orchard grass, and obviously watching him, her head nodding in time to his music. There was no doubt that there was a formidable intelligence behind those soft blue eyes.
Maybe the fact that she came out here is a sign that she likes me, he thought, when he couldn’t detect any sign of hostility in her posture or her conduct. I hope so. It would make my life so much easier. . . .
Shortly after his second rest, Yfandes got up—doing so with a quiet that was positively unnerving; nothing that big had a right to move that silently!—and meandered off by herself. Stefen took that as a basically good sign. If Van was having trouble thinking things through, ’Fandes was probably going to him. And no matter what was wrong, Stefen was certain that ’Fandes would help her Chosen get his head and emotions straightened out.
Just as he was about to begin again, Stefen spotted someone coming toward the little group on a wagon-road that bisected the grove of trees. He was moving slowly, and as he neared, Stef could see why; he was carrying two heavy baskets on a pole over his shoulders. A farmworker, then, not someone coming to look for himself or Treesa, and nothing to concern them.
He continued to exchange news of the Court with Treesa, while the other ladies leaned closer to listen, but there was something about the man that vaguely bothered him, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He watched the stranger draw closer out of the corner of his eye and could not figure out what it was about the man that gave him uneasy feelings.
Certainly none of the others seemed to think there was anything out of the ordinary about him. They ignored him as completely as if he didn’t exist.
Then—I thought Treesa said that no one works out here at this time of year. So what’s he doing out here?
He took a second, longer look at the stranger, and realized something else. Something far more alarming.
The man’s clothing was of high quality—actually better than Stef’s own Bard uniform.
What is that peasant doing dressed like that?
The feeling of wrongness suddenly peaked, and Stefen reacted instinctively, flinging himself at Treesa and her chair and knocking both to the ground.
Just in time, for something small, and with a deadly feel to it whizzed over both their heads, cutting the air precisely where Treesa had been sitting—
• • •
Vanyel leaned out over the edge of the balustrade. The granite was warm and rough under his hands, solid and oddly comforting. I want solid things around me, he thought slowly. So much of my life is in flux—so much depends on luck and the things others do. I’d really like to have one point of stability; something I could always depend on.
Or someone. . . .
The balustrade overlooked nothing; bushes were planted right up against it with trees beyond them, and had been allowed to grow until they blocked whatever view there might have been. With trees on all three open sides and the wall of the keep behind him, the porch wasn’t good for much except the occasional lounger.
Sun beat down on Vanyel’s head, warming him even though his Whites were reflecting most of the heat away. He stood so quietly that the little yellow-and-black birds that nested year-round in the branches of the bushes resumed the chatter he’d disturbed when he came out onto the porch, and actually began flitting to sit on the balustrade beside him.
:Brooding again, are we?:
He blinked, and came out of his nebulous thoughts. Yfandes was below him, barely visible through the thick branches of the bushes, a kind of white shape amid the green.
:I suppose you could call it brooding,: he admitted. :It’s about—:
:Stefen, of course,: she interrupted. :I thought you’d probably had enough time to stew over it and make your insides knot up.:
:Huh.: He raised an eyebrow. :Dead in the black. Am I that predictable?:
:On some topics, yes. And I expect by now you’ve laid to rest the fact that you’re lifebonded, and that he really does love you on top of that. And that you love him. So what is it that’s turning you inside out?:
He sighed, and looked up at the clouds crossing the cerulean sky. :Danger, love. To him, and to me. To me, because he can be used as a hostage against me. To him, because he’s going to be in harm’s way as soon as it’s obvious we’re a pairing. I don’t know that I can afford that kind of liability, and I don’t know that it’s right to put him at that kind of risk.:
Yfandes withdrew for a moment. :Well, as to the first—he’s assigned to Haven, and a very valuable commodity, even with the Healers learning how to duplicate what he does. They still have to be in physical touch, and their subject responds best if both parties are in a trance. Try conducting negotiations that way, and see how far it gets you!:
He chuckled at the mental image that called to mind.
:So far, Stef’s the only answer to keeping Randi on his feet and functioning when he’s in pain,: she continued. :And as such, he’ll have the best guards in Haven. And as for your second question—Stefen’s a grown man. Why don’t you ask him if he’s willing to take the risks that come with being your lover? My bet is that he’s already thought about them, and accepted them as the price he pays for having you.:
He pushed away from the balustrade and folded his arms across his chest. :Do you really think so?: he asked, doubtfully.
The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy Page 91