Bard's Oath by Joanne Bertin

always: half hope, half fear. He wondered whom she was looking for—or whom she feared.
    He looked around for Lord Eadain; Shima had the feeling that if anyone could lift Merrilee from her doldrums, it would be the crippled young lord. But Eadain was caught between Lord Ephris and Lady Casleen as they argued good-naturedly about the merits of various grasses for hay.
    Shima and Karelinn had been riding for a while, talking of this and that, when Shima lifted his face to the sun’s warmth. “This is much better!” he said. “When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine myself back in Nisayeh.”
    “I’ve heard you mention Nisayeh a few times now, Your Grace. At first I thought it was a city, but it sounds more like a country, which I don’t understand. I thought you were from Jehanglan.”
    Shima shook his head with a grin. “Don’t ever let a noble Jehangli hear you say that. It would give him apoplexy. No—I’m but a Tah’nehsieh barbarian from Nisayeh.” Taking pity on her confusion, he went on, “While you of the Five Kingdoms call that entire land ‘Jehanglan,’ in truth only part of it is properly called that. Where the Tah’nehsieh—my people—live is called Nisayeh. It can be a harsh land, but it is also a very beautiful one.”
    “Ah, I see. Bother—this ribbon’s coming loose.” She slid the rose-colored ribbon from her hair. “You said you could ‘almost imagine’ yourself back there. What’s different? And do you miss it?”
    “Oh, yes—I miss it, but not as much as I feared I would. I think part of me always will miss the desert. Yet when I first saw the mountains of Dragonskeep, I felt I was finally coming home at last. Every other Dragonlord I’ve asked about it has said the same. It’s taken longer for some than others, but now ‘home’ is Dragonskeep.
    “And as for what’s different—the scents are wrong, the sun’s not quite hot enough for this time of the day in this season, the calls of the birds are different—oh, a dozen little and big things.” Shima shook back his long black hair. “But none of it matters. We’re no longer cooped up in that inn, fine as it was!”
    “A good thing, too,” Karelinn said with a laugh. “I overheard the Tunlys worrying about the food running out—another two days and the meals would have been pease porridge morning, noon, and night.”
    “Had it come to that,” Shima vowed, “I would have braved the rain.”
    They rode past Lady Kiela. She treated Shima to a barely civil glance and hrmphed slightly as she eased her horse to the side.
    “Ah,” Shima said. “I fear Lady Kiela still hasn’t forgiven me.”
    Karelinn blinked at him. “For what?” she asked in surprise.
    “For making Merrilee cry.”
    “When—oh! But you weren’t the one, it was because—” She stopped in confusion. Her cheeks flamed.
    Shima nodded. “I wish someone would tell Lady Kiela that. As I also wish I knew what had happened. Who were you ‘seeing’ that night when I told you two the story of Lenshi and Amsuro and your sister ran off? Whoever it was, I could almost feel sorry for him. I was glad when you said it wasn’t me,” he said, remembering the hard look in Karelinn’s eyes. And perhaps he would find out at last why Merrilee had so often looked down the road leading back to Pelnar. He suspected he could guess at least part of it.
    For a moment he thought Karelinn would refuse. Then she looked down at the hair ribbon now twisted around her fingers. She smoothed it out and said, “His name’s not important, and I’d rather not say it anyway, my lord. You might meet him yourself someday, so it wouldn’t be fair to prejudice you against him. Who knows? Perhaps he’ll mend his ways. Let us call him—Lord Charming.”
    But the way her mouth twisted on the last words told him she thought him anything but.
    Karelinn went on, “He’s a young Cassorin lord we met the year we stayed with our aunt in Pelnar. Wild and reckless he is, ever