Just for a minute, she considered stopping him – telling him that she had had enough, going her own way. But then she noticed that in his company she did very little except smile; he filled her alternately with amusement and affection. He was perfectly capable of distinguishing precisely between good workmanship and bad, sensible husbandry and careless, forethought and its absence; but he liked everybody around him; he loved the details he expounded for her. The more he talked, the more gentle and companionable he seemed. And the more she listened, the more she could feel her tensions and fears going to sleep.
Instead of stopping, she relaxed and let him give her the whole tour.
As a result, the day seemed to evaporate the way complexities did when he analyzed them. He began showing her around a little before noon – and then the shadows were slanting toward late afternoon, and her legs hurt gently with so much walking and standing, and her boots had rubbed a sore place onto one of her toes, and her heart was full of rest for the first time since she could remember. Minick wasn’t just amusing, likable, and meticulous: he was a healer. Somewhere in Houseldon, she knew, preparations were being made for battle – but they didn’t come near him; he seemed to carry peace with him wherever he went. Now, she thought, all she needed was one really good night’s sleep, and then she would be ready to start thinking again.
So when he brought her back to the Domne’s house and started to say goodbye, she didn’t want him to leave. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked to forestall him.
This time his grin was shy in a new way, self-conscious about things which hadn’t come up before. ‘I like to go home before supper,’ he murmured, ‘and play with the children for a while. It gives their mother a chance to cook. And it uses up some of their energy so they go to bed more easily.’
The thought of this earnest brown man playing with his children delighted her – and reminded her that during the whole afternoon he hadn’t said anything personal about himself or his life. Maybe he would have considered it presumptuous to talk about himself. Impulsively, because he had done her so much good and hadn’t asked her for anything, she leaned forward and thanked him with a quick kiss.
His eyes widened; he stared at her for a moment. Then he ducked his head as if he were blushing.
‘I think I’m not going to tell my wife you did that,’ he said softly. ‘She might not be pleased.’ It was obvious that he was enormously pleased. ‘I like her to be pleased. She’s the only other woman who’s ever been so patient with me.
‘Goodbye, Terisa.’
After he left, she went up the steps, across the porch, and into the bustle of Quiss’ cooking. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much. Clearly, those muscles needed the exercise.
The scene in the front room stopped her as soon as she came through the doorway.
Quiss was stirring what looked like enough stew to feed half of Houseldon. Her cheeks were red from heat and exertion; sweat made her hair stick to the sides of her face in streaks. Behind her, servants clattered around the room, setting platters, utensils, and pitchers on the table, bringing pots and tureens and trays from a back kitchen Terisa hadn’t seen – and talking to each other loudly through the din. The Domne and Tholden sat together at the end of the table, discussing something intently, raising their voices to make themselves heard. In one corner of the room, a boy perhaps fifteen years old and a girl somewhat younger were arguing hotly; but the only part of their discussion Terisa could make out was the part that went: Did so. Did not. Did so! Did not! Another boy, this one no older than eight or nine, sat near Tholden trying to sharpen a wooden sword with a piece of tile for a whetstone. A third, still-younger boy used a stick the size of a club to experiment with the resonant qualities of a tin washbasin.
For a second, the clamor seemed so intimidating – so at odds with the peace inside her – that Terisa almost turned away. Nothing in her life with her parents, or in her life alone, had prepared her for a home where people acted like this.
But then Quiss raised her head, saw Terisa, and smiled.
Quiss’ pleasure changed the meaning of the din altogether. Or changed the way Terisa saw it. All this noise and activity wasn’t angry, distressed, or alarmed, didn’t represent pain: it was just loud. As soon as Quiss smiled, Terisa knew that Tholden’s wife was in her element, flourishing precisely because her family and her household were so busy, so noisy; so full of themselves and each other. And then Terisa understood that the tumult was just another form of peace – hot and hectic, of course; not particularly restful to a novice like herself; but completely without fear.
Smiling back at Quiss, she came forward to meet the noise.
‘I understand you spent the afternoon with Minick.’ Quiss was nearly shouting, but Terisa could hardly hear her. ‘The whole afternoon? Letting him show you around?’
Terisa nodded.
‘Good for you. I knew I liked you as soon as I saw you. He’s your friend for life. Most people aren’t willing to listen to him that long.’
‘They ought to give it a try.’ Terisa tried to speak loudly enough to be audible. ‘He’s nice.’
It was Quiss’ turn to nod. ‘Fortunately, his nieces and nephews dote on him.’ She indicated the children at the other end of the room. ‘I mean, fortunately for them.
‘If his wife weren’t so shy, he’d be here tonight. I know it saddens him sometimes that he can’t spend more time with us. But I think the poor woman panics every time she sets foot outside her house.’ Quiss started to laugh, but Terisa couldn’t hear what her laughter sounded like through the noise. ‘They must have had a rousing courtship.’
Terisa grinned again, then raised her hands to rub the muscles in her cheeks.
A serving woman appeared in front of her, carrying a foaming tankard on a tray. ‘Do you like ale? My husband brews for the Domne. You won’t find a better ale in the Care.’
‘Thanks.’ Terisa didn’t know anything about ale, but she knew she was thirsty; she accepted the tankard and sampled it. The serving woman watched her while she discovered that the ale had a bite which wasn’t quite sour, wasn’t quite bitter, but which seemed to be both. After a second taste, however, the flavor had improved dramatically. Soon it became wonderful. She beamed her approval, and the serving woman went away delighted.
‘Terisa!’ Tholden gestured to her. She went over to him, and he pulled out a chair for her. ‘Sit down. I want to tell you what we’re doing to get ready. Maybe you can think of something I’ve forgotten.’
The Domne looked a little skeptical; he may have been sensitive to her general bewilderment. Nevertheless he nodded as if he also wanted to hear what she might say. At once, Tholden began to describe his specific arrangements for the possibility of battle.
She couldn’t absorb them. In fact, she only heard every third word; the rest of his explanation was lost in a chorus directed at the Domne: Da, it’s her fault, No, it’s his fault, she did it first, he did it first! And she couldn’t help noticing that even the Domne appeared more interested in the bickering of the children than in Tholden’s preparations. Feeling vaguely irresponsible – but not enough to worry about it – she said once, ‘Maybe it’ll be quieter after supper,’ then drank her ale and stopped trying to listen.
The chaos of getting supper ready seemed to approach a climax as an inner door burst open and a squall of children blew into the room. They were all about Ruesha’s size and age – too many of them too close together in age to belong to any one family. Or any three families. They were all buck naked, full of glee, and glistening with water. And they were followed by Geraden, dripping copiously. He had a couple of towels in his hands, but they were too wet to be much use.
‘Come back here, you little monsters!’ he roared. ‘I’m going to towel you until your heads fall off!’
Squealing with delight, small, naked bodies scattered in all directions.
Terisa hadn’t seen Geraden for most of the day. She looked at him eagerly, and saw at once that he
was still clenched and dour, knotted inside himself. Perhaps for the sake of the children, however, he had pushed his hardness into the background. Or perhaps they elicited that response from him involuntarily: perhaps it was something they did for him, rather than he for them.
It was enough. She could wait for more until they had a better opportunity together. Giving him her best smile, whether he noticed it or not, she relaxed and let the clamor continue to grow on her, like a milling and vociferous form of contentment.
Quiss, Tholden, and the servants snatched up wet children indiscriminately; soon all of Geraden’s victims were caught in adult arms. Stifling a laugh, Quiss said to one of the serving women, ‘Your boys are responsible for this.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ the woman protested in tart amusement. ‘I’m sure Ruesha is the cause. She’s the most notorious truant in Houseldon. Ask anyone.’
‘They’re all monsters!’ growled Geraden. ‘They’re all going to suffer horribly when I get my hands on them!’ Doing his best wild gorilla imitation, he began stalking children.
With the help of three or four servants, he succeeded in herding his fugitives from torture and cleanliness out of the room.
If he hadn’t been so busy – and if she hadn’t been so comfortably settled with her tankard of ale – Terisa would have gone after him. She felt an unaccountable desire to kiss him far more seriously than she had kissed Minick.
He came back after a while to join his family – and half a dozen men who arrived in the meantime – for supper. These men were the leaders of teams which had been organized to perform various functions during the defense of Houseldon. As soon as the meal was over, and the table had been cleared, the talk turned to the subject that seemed to be uppermost in everyone’s mind, except Terisa’s: what kind of attack was coming, and when, and how to meet it.
Geraden described a few of the uses of Imagery which Master Eremis had already made against Mordant; and the men quickly lost whatever self-confidence they had brought with them to the Domne’s house. Finally, one of them asked almost timidly, ‘Is there anything you can do?’
He shook his head. ‘Not until I get a chance to make a mirror.’
‘But how can such things be fought?’ another man inquired. ‘What can we do?’
‘We’re already doing it,’ the Domne said flatly, as if he were sure. ‘Everything that can be done. We’re doing it.’
Without looking at her, Geraden added, ‘Just hope the lady Terisa is wrong. Just hope he gives us a little time. Today we got ready. Tomorrow I’ll fire up a furnace and start mixing sand.’
To her own surprise as much as anyone else’s, Terisa got up and left the room.
She didn’t want to hear it, that was all: she just didn’t want to hear it. She was too recently come from Orison – from the Castellan’s distrust and Eremis’ cunning and Gilbur’s violence. She hadn’t had any sleep except for the short rest which had come over her unexpectedly in the grass below the Closed Fist. And the sense of peace inside her was fragile; it would collapse if she let herself get caught up in the anxiety of Houseldon’s defenders, if she let herself get caught up in her own concern for Geraden. Sleep, that was what she needed, not all this talk. In the morning, she would be readier – maybe braver.
Nodding to the servants she encountered along the way, she retreated to Artagel’s room.
It was dark. For a moment, she thought about asking someone for help; then she remembered where one of the room’s lamps was. On a small table at the head of the bed. She went to it by the light from the open door, picked it up and brought it back to the doorway. Another lamp hung on the wall outside; she used it to light the lamp in her hands. When it was burning brightly, she entered the room again and closed the door.
A second lamp lit from the first helped fill the room with a comforting yellow glow. Amazing how nice Artagel’s cot looked in that light. She visited the bathroom, then took off her clothes and doused the lamp she had set across the room. The early spring chill in the air encouraged her to get into bed immediately, cover herself with clean sheets and sweet blankets.
At once, she knew she was right: this was what she needed. As soon as her head reached the pillow, the peace inside her seemed to rise up and swell outward. It reached through the house growing quiet around her; it reached out to Geraden and the men trying to plan Houseldon’s survival; it reached up into the deep heavens and across the Care toward Domne’s mountains.
Silence and rest spread so far in all directions that they carried her away.
She went to sleep in such sudden contentment that she forgot to extinguish the lamp on the small table at the head of the bed.
That was what saved her from rousing the household and embarrassing herself unnecessarily, that forgotten lamp. In the dark, she might have lost her head; might have screamed.
For the second time in her life, after she had been asleep for a while she felt herself being kissed.
A strong mouth began to nibble on her lips; a tongue slipped between them, searching for hers. A hand just cool enough to call attention to itself found her hip under the blankets, then rose in a long caress across her belly to her breasts. While the tongue probed her mouth more deeply, the hand began to play with her nipples.
Her eyes flew open. In one quick glimpse, she saw the curly hair and intent brown eyes of the man kneeling beside the cot to embrace her; she saw that he wasn’t Master Eremis or Castellan Lebbick, wasn’t Gilbur or anyone else who terrified her. So she didn’t scream. Instead, she swung her arms with all her strength in an effort to fling him away.
One of her elbows caught him squarely on the collarbone.
With a muffled yelp, he fell off her, sprawled to the floor. His arms tried to protect the bandages over his ribs and around his shoulders, but the fall sent a jolt through his fractured bones. For a moment, his back arched in real pain. Then he went limp on the floorboards.
Looking up at her and panting carefully as the pain receded, he murmured, ‘Terisa,’ in a wounded tone, ‘what’re you doing? I just want to make love to you. You don’t need to hurt me.’
Now that she could see his whole face, she couldn’t mistake his resemblance to the rest of the Domne’s sons. Judging by his bandages, his cracked or broken ribs and collarbone, his crooked features, he must be Stead.
Glaring down at him angrily, she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I thought you had too many broken bones to get out of bed.’
He gave up sounding wounded and experimented with a smile instead. ‘So did I. But that was before I saw you in the hall – outside my door. So I waited until everyone was asleep. Then I gave it a try. I guess a man can stand almost anything if he wants to badly enough.’
When she didn’t reply, he asked, ‘Will you help me up? I really am hurt, and the floor is hard.’
Fortunately, he was wearing a pair of light cotton sleeping trousers below his bandages. If he had been naked, she might have had trouble keeping her composure. Under the circumstances, however, she was able to look at him squarely and say, ‘If you try to get up, I’m going to kick you until you wish you hadn’t.’
But as soon as she said that she nearly started laughing. She had once threatened to kick Geraden. In fact, she had kicked him. To make him stop apologizing.
‘That isn’t kind,’ Stead protested. His expression was lugubrious for a moment. But then another thought occurred to him, and he grinned. ‘On the other hand, it might be worth it. You won’t be able to get out of that bed to kick me without letting me see what you look like. The way you walk makes me think you must look glorious.’ His grin sharpened. ‘I’ve never been turned down by a woman who let me catch even a glimpse of her breasts.’
‘In that case’ – her desire to laugh was getting stronger – ‘I won’t kick you. I won’t get out of bed at all.’ Stead looked astonishingly like Geraden trying to do an imitation of Master Eremis – with limited success. Keeping herself carefully covered with her blanke
ts, she sat up and indicated the lamp. ‘I’ll just throw burning oil at you.’
Stead didn’t appear to take this threat very seriously. ‘No, you won’t.’
In an effort to stifle her mirth, she glowered back at him. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘You don’t really want to hurt me.’ With no arrogance at all, he explained, ‘What you really want is a man.’
She stared at him. ‘I do?’
He nodded. ‘Every woman does. That’s what men and women are for. First they want each other. Then they get into bed and enjoy each other.’
That sounded dangerously plausible. She countered by asking, ‘What about Geraden? He’s your brother, after all. And I came here with him. Don’t you consider him a man?’
‘Ah, Geraden.’ Stead’s smile seemed genuinely affectionate. ‘Of course I consider him a man. If you want my opinion, he’s the best one of us all. Oh, he isn’t half the farmer Tholden is. He isn’t half the shepherd Wester is. He isn’t half the swordsman Artagel is. And he sure doesn’t know anything about women. But he’s still the best.
‘But that’s not the point, is it?’ he continued rhetorically. It was remarkable how little arrogance he had in him, how little assumption of superiority. He didn’t belittle anyone. ‘The point is, you don’t consider him a man.’
Terisa’s mouth fell open. She closed it with an effort. Suddenly, the situation wasn’t funny anymore. ‘I don’t?’
‘You came here with him. He worships every inch of you. If you thought of him as a man, you’d be in his room right now.’ Nothing in Stead’s tone suggested the slightest criticism of Geraden – or of her. His view of the situation was essentially impersonal.
‘There must be someone else you want.’
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