Golden Fool by Hobb Robin Page B

serve a purpose not her own. I had chosen a gift to give her that was from me, not the Six Duchies. It was in her room, awaiting her, when she first arrived. She has made no mention of it, not even a word.”
    “What was it?” I asked.
    “Something I would have liked, when I was eleven,” the young man replied. “A set of puppets carved by Bluntner. They were dressed as if to tell the tale of the Girl and the Snow Steed. I was told it is a well-known tale in the Out Islands as well as the Six Duchies.”
    Lord Golden’s voice was neutral as he observed, “Bluntner is a skillful carver. Is that the tale where the girl is borne far away from a cruel stepfather by her magic steed, and carried off to a rich land where she weds a handsome prince?”
    “Perhaps not the best tale in these circumstances,” I muttered.
    The Prince looked startled. “I never considered it in that light. Do you think I insulted her? Should I apologize?”
    “The less said, the better,” Lord Golden suggested. “Perhaps when you know her better you can discuss it with her.”
    “Perhaps when ten years have passed,” the Prince conceded lightly, but I felt the thrumming of his anxiety across our Skill bond. For the first time, I understood that one aspect of his dissatisfaction was that he did not feel he was doing well with the Narcheska. His next words echoed that knowledge.
    “She makes me feel like a clumsy barbarian. She is the one from a log village near an ice shelf, but she makes me feel uncultured and awkward. She looks at me and her eyes are like mirrors. I see nothing of her in them, only how stupid and doltish I appear to her. I have been raised well, I am of good blood, but she makes me feel as if I am a grubby peasant that might soil her with my touch. I do not understand it!”
    “There will be many differences you must resolve as you come to know one another. Understanding that each of you comes from a different, but no less valuable, culture may be the first one,” Lord Golden suggested smoothly. “Several years ago, I pursued my own interest in the Outislanders and studied them. They are matriarchal, you know, with their mother-clans indicated by the tattoos they wear. As I understand it, she has already done you great honor by coming to you rather than demanding that her suitor present himself at her motherhouse. It must feel awkward for her to face this courtship without the guidance of her mothers, sisters, and aunts to sustain her.”
    Dutiful nodded thoughtfully to Lord Golden’s words, but my glimpse of the Narcheska made me suspect the Prince had measured her feelings for him accurately. I did not utter that thought. “She has obviously studied our Six Duchies’ ways. Have you given any consideration to learning about her land, and who her family is there?” Dutiful cast me a sidelong glance, a student who had skimmed his lesson but knew he had not studied it well. “Chade gave me what scrolls we have, but he warned me that they are old and possibly outdated. The Out Islands do not commit their history to writing, but entrust it to the memories of their bards. All we have is written from the view of the Six Duchies folk who have visited there. It betrays a certain intolerance for their differences. Most of the scrolls are travelers’ accounts, expressing distaste for the food, for honey and grease seem to be the prized ingredients for any guest dish, and dismay at the housing, which is cold and drafty. The folk there do not offer hospitality to weary strangers, but seem to despise anyone foolish enough to get themselves into circumstances where they must ask for shelter or food rather than barter for it. The weak and the foolish deserve to die; that seems to be the main credo of the Out Islands. Even the god they have chosen is a harsh and unforgiving one. El of the sea they prefer, over the bountiful Eda of the fields.” The Prince heaved a sigh as he finished.
    “Have you listened to any of their