The Shadow Isle (21 page)

“That’s the body of the letter, Your Highness,” Neb said. “Though there’s rather a lot of formal farewells and good wishes for your health and the like.”

“We can skip all that now,” Dar said. “Later I’ll have you write an answer.” He turned in his chair, gestured to Salamander, then spoke in Elvish. The gerthddyn answered in the same.

Gerran was just wondering what they’d said when Branna came down the stairs to the great hall. For a moment he didn’t recognize her, because she was wearing Westfolk clothing—boots, leggings, and a tunic heavy with embroidery. She’d braided her hair in the Westfolk manner as well. Her voice, like Neb’s, held a new authority.

“Banadar,” she said, “you can go up now. You have a daughter.”

The labor had gone as well as anything that painful could be expected to go, Dallandra supposed. This baby had come quicker than the previous one, if she could trust her memory, perhaps because her new daughter was a fair bit smaller than Loddlaen had been. At the moment Calonadario, a chubby little hairless thing with tightly furled ears and a bright red face, lay asleep in the crook of her father’s arm, while Dallandra herself lay propped up with pillows on the bed in the dun’s second-best chamber. Gnomes perched on the edge of the bed and stared, puzzled, at the baby. They were wondering where she’d come from, Dallandra supposed, since they never seemed to have offspring of their own.

“Well, what do you think of her?” Dallandra said.

“She’s splendid, of course,” Calonderiel said. “I intend to indulge her every whim, once she’s old enough to have whims, anyway. ”

“Good. I’m so tired, but curiosity is eating me alive. What was in that letter?”

Calonderiel broke into a grin, and his eyes snapped with good humor as he told her about Voran’s new post on the border. Exhausted though she was, Dallandra had to laugh when he’d finished.

“I wish I could have seen Ridvar’s face when he heard the news.” Dallandra paused for a long yawn. “Blast it all! I can’t stay awake! Could you find Grallezar for—”

“I be right here.” Grallezar opened the chamber door and hurried in. “Let me put her in her cradle.”

Dalla fell asleep as soon as Grallezar took the baby, only to wake soon after to a repetitive chirping noise. At first she was puzzled— had a bird gotten into the chamber? Then she realized that Dari was crying. She sat up and pulled back the bed-curtain to peer out. The golden light of late afternoon fell through the unglazed window onto Sidro, who was sitting in the chair and murmuring to the baby.

“Here’s your mam!” Sidro said. “Hush, hush, little one, I’ll take you to her.”

Dallandra settled the baby at her breast—the false milk had come down in profusion—while Sidro pulled back and tied the bed-curtains. Dari was a straightforward nurser, Dallandra was relieved to see, sucking the liquid down as fast as she could without dainty pauses or fussy fits, unlike Loddlaen.
Pray to every goddess I have enough milk this time!
Dallandra thought.
I owe it to this child to feed her well.

“Exalted Mother Grallezar went down to the great hall for dinner, ” Sidro said. “So I was taking a turn at being nursemaid. She’ll be back in but a little while.”

“That’s fine, and my thanks,” Dallandra said. “Do we have rags for the baby’s bottom?”

“We do, Wise One, all freshly washed, too. I’ll fetch them.”

“My thanks again! These things are so much easier out on the grass.”

When Grallezar returned, carrying food for Dallandra from the dinner down in the great hall, Penna came with her. Since Cadryc’s wife fed her servants decently, Penna had filled out some over the winter, becoming merely thin rather than far too thin. Her short brown hair gleamed like fur in the sunset light. She had a new dress, too, of clean pale linen with a touch of embroidery at the neckline.

“Well, Penna,” Dallandra said, “do you remember me?”

“Of course, Lady Dallandra.” Penna curtsied. “You saved my brother’s life. I came to tell you that he’s all healed up now. And I wanted to give you my humble thanks again.”

“You’re most welcome.”

By then Dari had fallen asleep. Grallezar took her and tucked her into the cradle beside the bed while Penna watched, smiling at the baby.

“Lady Dallandra?” Penna said suddenly. “You have dweomer, don’t you?”

Dallandra hesitated, then saw no reason to lie to this strange creature, who seemed to have some sort of instinctive dweomer herself. “I do, truly.”

“Then what are we?” Penna turned to look at her. “Me and Tarro, I mean. We’re not Westfolk, and we’re not just people, are we?”

Behind Penna’s back, Grallezar opened her mouth in surprise, flashing a gleam of pointed teeth.

“You see that, then,” Dallandra said to Penna. “I’d wondered. I’m afraid I don’t know yet, but maybe you can help me find out.”

“I will, and gladly. The folk in our old village—I didn’t feel so different there. But I do here, and I wondered.” Penna curtsied again, then began backing toward the door. “I should let you rest. I don’t mean to be discourteous.” She turned and fled the chamber, leaving the door open behind her.

With a shake of her head Grallezar shut the door, then came back to pull the chair up to the bedside. She sat down with a sigh.

“What a strange lass that one be!” Grallezar said. “Not human, indeed, I’d have to say. It gladdens my heart that she can see it, or she’d be in for a truly bad shock.”

“Just so. I find myself thinking of Envoy Kov’s staff—I told you about that, didn’t I?”

“You did. And the missing element of water.”

“The unfortunate thing is, Penna’s terrified of going near rivers and other large bodies of water, according to Neb, anyway. So I don’t really see how she can be somehow linked to it in the Elemental sense.”

“Alas. A fine theory, slashed by a nasty fact.” Grallezar grinned at her. “Well, no doubt we’ll find the truth sooner or later.”

“There are so many truths we need to find, and sooner rather than later. It makes me tired just thinking about them. I—”

Someone knocked, and Grallezar went to open the door. Valandario walked in, then stood hesitating a few steps into the chamber.
She knows Dari was Loddlaen once,
Dallandra thought. With the thought came rage. Much to her utter shock, Dallandra felt like growling at her fellow dweomerworker, wanted to shout at her to go away and stay away from that vulnerable infant lying in her cradle. Yet she knew full well that Val would never stoop to hurting any child.

“I thought I’d come pay my respects,” Val said, her voice hesitant. “And see if you needed anything.”

“I don’t, my thanks.”

“Come see the pretty little lass.” Grallezar, who knew nothing of Val’s murdered lover, spoke cheerfully. Her voice broke the spell motherhood had worked on Dalla’s mind.

“Please do,” Dallandra said. “I suppose she’s pretty, anyway. She’s still awfully red and squashed.”

Valandario laughed, a normal soft chuckle, and walked over to the crib. As she stood looking down at the baby, Dari woke, yawned, and briefly opened her murky blue eyes. Val went tense and leaned a little closer. Dallandra felt that Val was looking through those eyes to the soul who inhabited this little body, so fragile and new. All at once Val smiled, but tears glistened in her eyes. Dari yawned again and fell back asleep.

“She’s very pretty indeed,” Val said, then spoke in Elvish. “And not at all the fellow of whom we spoke, not any longer. Dalla, I know that the core of the soul’s the same, but by the Goddesses, she’s not him.”

“Yes, that’s very true,” Dalla said. “And this time, I’ll make sure she doesn’t suffer the way he did.”

Grallezar was looking back and forth between them, her mouth a twist of annoyance at being shut out of their talk.

“I’m sorry,” Val said to her in Deverrian. “I forget that Elvish is so hard to learn. I keep thinking that you know it.”

“Not well enough, truly.” Grallezar smiled again. “It be a complicated affair, your language. Not all of us have a hundred years or so to spend upon the learning of it.”

They all shared a laugh. Dallandra would have explained, but the door opened again—Branna, come for a look at the baby, followed by Carra and her daughter, Elessi. They stayed but a little while to chat, then left, taking Val with them, when Galla, her daughter Adranna, and her granddaughter Trenni came up for a look. Galla brought a small clay pot of honey to keep the new mother’s strength up, or so she said.

“I’ll mix somewhat of that with boiled milk,” Grallezar told her. “My thanks.”

Galla handed Grallezar the pot, but she did it at arm’s length, as if offering a tidbit to a dog who might bite. “Now, Dallandra,” Galla went on, “I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here for your lying in. Travel could be dangerous.”

“My humble thanks, my lady,” Dallandra said. “But I’ll be up and about soon.”

“Is that wise?” Adranna put in.

“My folk heal differently from yours,” Dallandra said. “If we lie in after childbirth, the blood pools and makes our legs swell.”

At that, they stopped fussing. Dallandra got out of bed to demonstrate and walked back and forth across the chamber a few times. When they left, she sat up to nurse her daughter and then was glad enough to lie down again.

Once Dallandra’s baby had arrived safely, the first person that Branna sought out in the dun was Midda, her old nurse, whom she found up in the chamber shared by Adranna’s children. In a shaft of light from a window, Midda sat mending one of Trenni’s dresses. When Branna walked in, Midda dropped her sewing and got up. She rushed to Branna’s open arms.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you safe!” Midda stepped back, her hands on Branna’s shoulders, and surveyed her former charge. “You look well, but why are you wearing lad’s clothing?”

“It’s not lad’s clothing. All the Westfolk women dress like this.”

Midda snorted and pursed her lips.

“But how are you?” Branna said. “Adranna told me that she’d taken you as a nurse for the children.”

“For the child, rather, Trenni that is. They’ll be sending Matto off to be a page soon.”

“Well, it’s time for him to start his training, truly.”

Branna looked around the chamber, pleasant, large, with a hearth of its own and three beds: two narrow for the children, one wider for Midda herself. Midda smiled as she pointed out the proper mantel over the hearth, where a red-and-blue pottery vase added a note of cheer.

“It’s a nice position,” Midda said. “I’m grateful to you and your cousin, I am. She told me you’d commended me to her before you left.”

“I did, most strongly, and I’m glad she took me up on it. I’d best go now, but I’ll see you again before we leave.”

For her stay in her uncle’s dun, Branna returned to wearing dresses. She spent long hours up in the women’s hall, catching up on all the local gossip with Galla, Solla, and Adranna, who seemed to be taking her widowhood well. Branna’s gray gnome wandered around the chamber, occasionally unrolling a skein of yarn when no one was looking. The dun cats bore the unjust blame for the resulting messes.

“It’s been nearly a year since Honelg died,” Adranna told her, “and truly, I’ve come to realize just how frightened of him I was. He never beat me, never so much as said that he might slap my face, but the threat hung in the air at times—just at times. It was the way he’d look at me and the children, all glowering and grim.” She let her voice trail away to a whisper. “It happened more and more often toward the end.”

“I never wanted you to marry him,” Galla said. “I suppose I’m being awful, saying I told you so, but it’s one of the few nasty arguments your father and I ever had.”

“You were right.” Adranna managed to smile. “But who else was there, way out here?”

The women were sitting near the window in their hall, Adranna and Galla in cushioned chairs, while Branna sat on a stool and turned the handle on the yarn spinner. The tieryn’s own sheep had just been sheared, producing the first fleeces of the year. Solla was feeding the wheel long twists of carded wool, adjusting the tension to Branna’s rhythm. Little Trenni wound the finished threads onto sticks. The skeins built up fast, thick bundles of yarn, spun in an afternoon, when they would have taken the women days to produce with drop spindles.

“I’ll turn for a while if you’d like, Branna,” Adranna said. “We should train one of the pages to do that, really.”

“Ynedd would do a good job,” Trenni put in, “but Gerro would throw an absolute fit.”

Solla laughed in agreement. “He says we’re ruining the lad,” she said. “If you believe my husband, Ynedd will be fit for naught but mincing around the high king’s court if we don’t stop coddling him.”

“Has Gerran ever been to Dun Deverry?” Branna let the wheel slow and stop, then stood to change places with Adranna.

“Of course not,” Galla said, “none of us ever have. And we’re even less likely to go now that we have a new overlord. I doubt me if anyone minces in Prince Dar’s court.”

Everyone looked to Branna, who smiled. “Of course they don’t. Life’s very different out on the grasslands.” She smoothed her skirts under her and sat down in a cushioned chair. “It can get rather dangerous, truly.”

“Do tell us more,” Adranna said. “I just can’t imagine it, wandering all over the country like that.”

As the spinning went forward, Branna obliged with stories about her life during the winter past, the flash floods, the endless squabbles among the Westfolk, the sea fogs, lost horses, and the like. Yet she could never tell them about the real challenges and dangers she faced, studying dweomerlore and dealing with a Neb who had grown withdrawn and troubled as his own studies progressed.

That night at dinner, and later when they went up to their chamber, Neb seemed more his old self. By candlelight they lay in bed, face-to-face, and talked over the day. He’d spent time with his brother, he told her, and gone round and chatted with all his old friends in the dun.

“Lord Veddyn told me that Lady Solla’s been helping him with the taxes,” Neb said. “His memory’s not what it once was, you know.”

“True spoken. I remember how that used to worry Aunt Galla.”

He nodded, started to speak, then suddenly turned away.