She’d not yet shown anyone the fruits of her labor and smiled to think of Roheline’s excitement at obtaining the pigment for her paints. Nor would she be the only one eager to make use of Reisil’s discovery.
After a moment’s debate, Reisil tucked the scarf Kaval had given her into her pack along with a long apron. She didn’t know what Raim had in mind for her today, but she doubted he’d give her a chance to come home and change before the festivities began and she didn’t want to get too filthy. Whatever did find its way onto her clothing, she’d be able to hide much of it with the scarf.
The cool morning breeze stroked her cheeks. There a light mist rose from the river and the scent of growing things filled the air. A bubble of happiness burbled up inside Reisil. She thought of Raim’s wonderful food, the delight on Roheline’s face when she saw the purple of Reisil’s clothes, of Kaval’s possessive arm curled about her shoulders. She ran a few steps and dropped back to a walk, laughing out loud.
To her surprise, Teemart waited for her outside the gates. He wore heavy boots and a battered straw hat that he tore from his head and crushed in his fist at her approach. He smiled shyly at her and avoided meeting her eyes.
“Bright morning,” Reisil said, curiosity coloring her voice.
“Ma sent me to give this to you,” he said abruptly, holding out a small object. “She said she’ll not take it back. It’s for you and only you.”
“How are you feeling?” Reisil asked, taking the small, cloth-wrapped package, turning it over in her fingers. It was hard and had a flat shape covered with bumps. A gift of gratitude for her care of Teemart, she supposed.
He lifted one shoulder and kicked at the dirt. “Fit enough. Been mending walls and cutting sod.”
“Don’t overdo it,” Reisil cautioned.
“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that,” Teemart replied, still looking at Reisil’s feet.
“Are you coming to the feast?”
“I can’t say. Ma will do what she’ll do.”
“Well, I hope to see you both there,” Reisil said. “Tell your mother thank-you. I’ll come ’round and thank her myself when the commotion of the Dure Vadonis’s visit is over.” She turned to leave but Teemart’s rough hand on her sleeve stopped her, his face flushing darkly.
“Ma wanted me to tell you something else. She said to say that she knows all about it and that you’d better stop—” He broke off and rubbed a hand across his mouth. His eyes flickered up to hers for a second, then back to her feet.
“Go on.”
“You know how Ma is. But she said to tell you, so . . .”
“It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. A fist of foreboding closed around Reisil’s throat.
Teemart licked his lips. “Well, she said that she knows all about it and you’d better stop being a fool and take up what’s yours. She said you ought to know better and not to be such a coward.”
At the last Teemart’s voice dropped into a whisper. He didn’t wait for Reisil to reply, but jogged off along the road home, his head jerking up and down with his awkward gait.
Reisil stood rooted to the ground, mouth open, Nurema’s gift clutched in her hand. The message had to refer to Saljane. But how did the old woman know? Had she seen the goshawk flying over, following Reisil, and made the connection? She was a keen-witted old woman, for certain. But if she knew, then who else?
Her sense of joyous well-being drained away, leaving her trembling. Slowly she unwrapped Nurema’s gift. Inside the cloth was a silver talisman of the Blessed Lady.
Reisil gasped.
The workmanship of the pendant was exquisite. It showed a gryphon in flight, a moon and sun clutched in its talons, a streamer of ivy dangling from its beak. The eye of the gryphon burned red, reminding her uncomfortably of Saljane’s eyes. Reisil could see every feather on the gryphon, every hair of its fur. Where had Nurema gotten it? It was too fine a thing to have come from
After a moment’s debate, Reisil tucked the scarf Kaval had given her into her pack along with a long apron. She didn’t know what Raim had in mind for her today, but she doubted he’d give her a chance to come home and change before the festivities began and she didn’t want to get too filthy. Whatever did find its way onto her clothing, she’d be able to hide much of it with the scarf.
The cool morning breeze stroked her cheeks. There a light mist rose from the river and the scent of growing things filled the air. A bubble of happiness burbled up inside Reisil. She thought of Raim’s wonderful food, the delight on Roheline’s face when she saw the purple of Reisil’s clothes, of Kaval’s possessive arm curled about her shoulders. She ran a few steps and dropped back to a walk, laughing out loud.
To her surprise, Teemart waited for her outside the gates. He wore heavy boots and a battered straw hat that he tore from his head and crushed in his fist at her approach. He smiled shyly at her and avoided meeting her eyes.
“Bright morning,” Reisil said, curiosity coloring her voice.
“Ma sent me to give this to you,” he said abruptly, holding out a small object. “She said she’ll not take it back. It’s for you and only you.”
“How are you feeling?” Reisil asked, taking the small, cloth-wrapped package, turning it over in her fingers. It was hard and had a flat shape covered with bumps. A gift of gratitude for her care of Teemart, she supposed.
He lifted one shoulder and kicked at the dirt. “Fit enough. Been mending walls and cutting sod.”
“Don’t overdo it,” Reisil cautioned.
“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that,” Teemart replied, still looking at Reisil’s feet.
“Are you coming to the feast?”
“I can’t say. Ma will do what she’ll do.”
“Well, I hope to see you both there,” Reisil said. “Tell your mother thank-you. I’ll come ’round and thank her myself when the commotion of the Dure Vadonis’s visit is over.” She turned to leave but Teemart’s rough hand on her sleeve stopped her, his face flushing darkly.
“Ma wanted me to tell you something else. She said to say that she knows all about it and that you’d better stop—” He broke off and rubbed a hand across his mouth. His eyes flickered up to hers for a second, then back to her feet.
“Go on.”
“You know how Ma is. But she said to tell you, so . . .”
“It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. A fist of foreboding closed around Reisil’s throat.
Teemart licked his lips. “Well, she said that she knows all about it and you’d better stop being a fool and take up what’s yours. She said you ought to know better and not to be such a coward.”
At the last Teemart’s voice dropped into a whisper. He didn’t wait for Reisil to reply, but jogged off along the road home, his head jerking up and down with his awkward gait.
Reisil stood rooted to the ground, mouth open, Nurema’s gift clutched in her hand. The message had to refer to Saljane. But how did the old woman know? Had she seen the goshawk flying over, following Reisil, and made the connection? She was a keen-witted old woman, for certain. But if she knew, then who else?
Her sense of joyous well-being drained away, leaving her trembling. Slowly she unwrapped Nurema’s gift. Inside the cloth was a silver talisman of the Blessed Lady.
Reisil gasped.
The workmanship of the pendant was exquisite. It showed a gryphon in flight, a moon and sun clutched in its talons, a streamer of ivy dangling from its beak. The eye of the gryphon burned red, reminding her uncomfortably of Saljane’s eyes. Reisil could see every feather on the gryphon, every hair of its fur. Where had Nurema gotten it? It was too fine a thing to have come from
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