Wild Blood (Book 7) (4 page)

For a moment she could feel him near her, see him solidly before her, his eyes wide and glad to see her, and she thought if she reached out, she could touch him, clasp that callused brown hand that would be so large beside her own—

Ria jolted awake just in time to see everyone rising to make their goodnights. Ria quickly slid from her chair and bobbed as Lady Rivkah had taught her, her tongue stumbling over the formal pleasantries she’d tried to memorize. At last she was able to slip away to her room, wriggle out of her finery, and crawl into bed.

Despite her weariness at the meeting with High Lord Emaril—or perhaps because of the surreptitious nap she’d had there—Ria was awake as usual when the sun was no more than a thin white sliver barely peeping over the grain fields. Ria bounced out of bed, splashed her face with water from the basin, and dressed hastily, but she took the time to hang up her finery. Lady Rivkah would be furious if she knew Ria had left the gown crumpled on the floor the night before.

Stopping at the kitchen for a piece of bread and honey, Ria learned to her amazement that High Lord Emaril and High Lady Vesana’s carriage had left to return to Cielman only a few moments before Ria had come downstairs. Still, it wasn’t so surprising, as most of the household would be busy loading the wagons for tomorrow’s departure, and the bustle and confusion around the keep would be exhausting to Lady Vesana. Ria was sorry she’d missed seeing High Lady Vesana’s newest baby, but at least their departure would save her further boring meals and hours in itchy gowns and
shoes.

The servants quickly chased Ria away from the loading operations; her tiny form was all too easy to trip over. Disappointed, Ria found a perfect vantage point on the stable roof to watch the process. Some of the supplies had been stored in the small outbuildings; others had to be brought up from the keep’s cool cellar. There were so many sacks, barrels, and crates that Ria wondered how all the goods would ever be packed into the small train of wagons. Maybe, Ria thought hopefully, there’d be no room for sitting in the wagons and they’d all have to ride horses all the way to Allanmere and sleep on the ground at night. Maybe there’d be no room to take such luxuries as fine gowns and shoes!

By midday, however, the entertainment of watching the wagon loading had palled somewhat, and Ria was preparing to climb down from her perch and see about some dinner when Cyril unexpectedly emerged from the back kitchen entrance, carrying a large covered basket. He waved to Ria from the ground.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he said. “Want to come down?”

“Uh-uh,” Ria said firmly. “You come up.” She mistrusted Cyril’s sudden desire for her company; he could well be seeking revenge for yesterday’s ambush or her falling asleep last night at the meeting, if he’d noticed. He wouldn’t chance a scuffle, though, on the high stable roof; Cyril had never been very good with high places.

Cyril sighed.

“All right,” he said. “How do I get up?”

“You remember,” Ria said impatiently. “From the loft, just climb the wall beams to the trapdoor.”

“I can do that,” Cyril said with a shrug, “but not with this basket.”

“Then send it up on the rope.” Ria jumped to her feet and ran to the front of the barn, where the ridgepole of the roof projected several feet outward. At the end of the ridgepole was a pulley used to lift bales of hay to the loft. Cyril placed the handle of the basket over the iron hook and pulled on the pulley rope until the basket reached the ridgepole.

Ria sat down on the ridgepole and scooted out to the pulley. She wasn’t such a fool as to walk out and then bend over to pick up the basket, although sometimes she and Cyril had jumped off the ridgepole when there was a great pile of hay beneath. The basket was heavy, and Ria’s keen nose quickly told her the contents—roast fowl, cheese, hot rolls stuffed with chopped dried apples and honey, and pies made from last winter’s potted meat and new spring greens.

By the time Ria had taken the basket back to the relative safety of the rooftop and inventoried the contents, Cyril had climbed through the roof trapdoor and crawled rather less confidently up to join her. He looked down and shivered.

“Why in the world do you want to sit up here?” he asked. “It’s hot, and the wood’s hard and splintery, and the flies from the stable are everywhere.” He swatted one of the offending insects as he spoke.

“I’ve been watching them load the wagons,” Ria said, scowling. What else would she be doing, and where else could she go to do it properly? “I can’t read the markings on the sacks and boxes and barrels from here, so I try to guess what they are.”

“You could’ve saved yourself the trouble,” Cyril shrugged. “Mother’s got the whole list of every morsel we’re taking on a scroll in the kitchen, and they’re crossing it off as the stuff is loaded.”

Ria stifled a retort. What else was there for her to do, after all, with everyone else in the keep so busy and snappish? At least sitting atop the stables, she
knew
she wasn’t doing anything likely to get her foster parents angry with her.

Cyril was silent for a long time, staring down at the wagons.

“What did you think,” he said at last, “about what Father and Mother and Lord Emaril said last night?”

“It was boring,” Ria said, shrugging. “I slept through most of it.”

“What about the part about the ceremony?” Cyril asked hesitantly. “Did you sleep through that?”

“Lady Rivkah said we’d have a ceremony as soon as we reach Allanmere,” Ria said, fishing in the basket for a roll. “Do you think we’ll have a feast, too?”

“Well, probably.” Cyril gave her an odd look. “What do you think of it?”

“A feast would be nice.” Ria bit into her roll. “At least if Cook’s coming with us. Then we can see all the people who have come to Allanmere. What kind of ceremony will it be, do you think, a planting ritual, or maybe a Messing on the new buildings?”

“Ria—” Cyril unaccountably flushed. “They were talking about our wedding. Yours and mine.”

For a moment Ria’s mind refused to understand, and she sat just as she was, mouth full of unchewed bread, roll and hand poised. Then she flung the roll over the side of the bam, spit out her mouthful, and exploded to her feet.

“Wedding?” she protested. “I’m not marrying you.”

“Of course you are,” Cyril said, looking away. “We’ve been betrothed since we were little. You remembered the pledge ceremony.”

“We were just little children then!” Ria said hotly. “The priest had to tell me how to say half the words. Nobody ever asked me if I’d marry you!”

“Nobody ever asked me either.” Cyril still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Mostly the children of nobles aren’t asked; they’re told.”

“Well, I’ll tell
you
something,” Ria said furiously. “I’m not marrying you, and I don’t care what anybody says about it!”

Before Cyril could reply, Ria ran to the end of the ridgepole. Too angry for caution, she swung under the beam, grasped both ropes under the pulley, and fitted her small foot into the curve of the hay hook. Letting the pull rope slide through her hand, she lowered herself to the ground at a speed just less than falling, ignoring Cyril as he called after her.

Now there really
was
no place to hide; Cyril was in the stable, and all the outbuildings were swarming with servants moving things. Ria stormed back to her room and, for lack of any better hiding place, crawled under her bed, which had been raised high for the sake of coolness in the warm spring weather, and curled up on the cold stone of the floor.

She expected Cyril to come after her, but it was Lady Rivkah who eventually rapped on the door, then pushed it open. Furious as she was, Ria managed to think herself small and insignificant and invisible. There was nothing her foster mother could say that Ria wanted to hear, not now.

Lady Rivkah didn’t waste time searching vainly. Her fingertips traced a symbol in the air, and she murmured a short incantation; immediately she turned toward the bed.

“Come out from under there, Ria,” Lady Rivkah said flatly. “I’m sure you can’t expect to hide under the bed like a mouse forever, not unless you want to be left behind when the wagons leave. And I’ve never known you to miss a meal yet.”

Ria sighed and crawled out. Sometimes it wasn’t altogether handy to have a powerful mage for a foster mother. She climbed onto the bed and folded her arms, eyes stubbornly averted, too angry even to speak.

Lady Rivkah sat down beside her.

“Cyril told me what you said to him,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for you to balk and act outraged now? You’ve been betrothed to Cyril for more than a decade.”

“Mostly what I remember from that ceremony was being kept in my room because of the roll I threw,” Ria scowled. “Nobody ever told me what it meant, not in words I could understand.”

“But I’ve talked to you about your duties and responsibilities when you’re married,” Lady Rivkah said patiently. “We’ve talked about it dozens of times.”

“Well, ‘when you’re married’ means married
someday
when I
want
to be married to
somebody,”
Ria protested hotly. “It doesn’t mean married when I’m
sixteen
to
Cyril,
whether I want to or not!”

“Ria.” Lady Rivkah reached over and patted her shoulder. “Your betrothal to Cyril has never been a secret. It never occurred to me that I’d need to sit down and say, ‘Ria, you’re expected to marry Cyril.’ You’ve read the histories I wrote of our time in Allanmere, or you should have, at least, to understand that the two of you were always intended to marry. If you’ve remained ignorant all these years, it’s because you’ve wanted to.”

Ria scowled silently. It
couldn’t
be true. She
had
read the histories—well, some of them, anyway, mainly the exciting parts about the battles and Lady Rivkah’s accounts of what they’d seen in the elven village. She’d sort of skipped the rest. How could anybody be expected to read every single word of such boring stuff? She’d done much the same with Lady Rivkah’s instructions on her future and her duties; she hadn’t precisely
ignored
what Lady Rivkah had to say, but usually her mind had been filled with more interesting things and somehow a good bit of those talks had—well, just drifted by somehow without too much of it lingering in Ria’s mind.

Ria glanced again at Lady Rivkah and then away again, grinding her teeth. Somebody
should
have talked to her, plain and straight, in words a child could understand. But even so, would it have made any difference? Ria thought not.

When it became plain that Ria would not answer, Lady Rivkah sighed and shook her head.

“Ria, you’ve met many of the noble families in Cielman. You know how the marriages of their daughters are arranged, usually almost from birth. Most of those daughters are married far younger than you. Emaril was only fourteen when he married Vesana, and she was only twelve. By your age Vesana had already borne her first child.”

“But he wasn’t her foster brother,” Ria said sullenly. “And nobody made you and Lord Sharl marry somebody you didn’t want before you were ready.”

Lady Rivkah laid her hand on Ria’s shoulder, and her voice was kind.

“So far as I know, no humans have ever been given an elven child to foster,” she said gently. “The eastern elves in their cities are a remote and aloof people who’ve never given us a chance to learn much about them. But Sharl promised your mother that you’d be married to our firstborn son. Besides that promise, a marriage between our House and one of the elves is the best way to make an alliance between the city and the forest. The elven clans may not want to deal with the humans of the city, but they may consent to negotiate with an elven High Lady and the daughter of an elf who helped save the forest. I believe, and Sharl does too, that that’s why your mother chose to give you to us.”

“Then let Cyril marry some other elf,” Ria said sourly. “One who wants him.”

“If the elves won’t talk to humans, I think it’s fair to expect none of them are going to come walking out of the forest asking to marry one,” Lady Rivkah told her wryly. “Ria, living in a noble family means that you always have good food and warm clothing and a solid roof over your head, healers when you need them, a warm fire in the winter. It means you don’t have to work in the fields or exhaust yourself at a trade or sell your body as a whore. It means you can sit on the stable roof and watch the wagons being loaded instead of loading them yourself. But it also means that you’re responsible in many ways for the well-being of a lot of other people, and that means that sometimes what’s necessary for your people is more important than what you want for yourself. You’re no different from the rest of us in that regard.”

Ria was stubbornly silent. She wasn’t a noble to be obligated, nor a peasant to be ordered, either; she was an elf, and if she could just find her way back to her mother’s people, she’d show Lady Rivkah and all the others just how different that
did
make her.

“There’s no use sulking,” Lady Rivkah said patiently. “And you’ve picked a bad time if you’re making this fuss to get attention. We’ve all got too much work to do to cater to you while you feel sorry for yourself. Even Cyril’s seeing to the packing of his own things; I’d have you do the same, but I know if I did, the only clothing that would be brought would be those patched old breeches and tunic. At least you should be pleased that Lady Sivia won’t be coming with us.”

That
was a surprise. Ria’s pointed ears pricked up with interest despite her effort to look stubbornly indifferent.

“She won’t?” Ria asked warily.

“No. Married ladies don’t have governesses, and in any event, Lady Sivia wouldn’t want to accompany us to Allanmere where the conditions will be so rough.” Lady Rivkah glanced sternly at Ria. “I’ve had trouble enough getting her to stay this long after the trouble you’ve given her. If you and Cyril want teachers after you’re wed and have assumed the throne of Allanmere, you’ll have to find and hire them yourselves, and good fortune to you finding ones who can put up with your tricks.” Lady Rivkah stood, patting Ria’s shoulder.