door.” Cut into the side of the house, that door opened into the storerooms and the study where he had taken most of his lessons. His study, now. His storerooms.
His slaves.
The slave bowed and sped off to gather help as well as spread the news that a Vineart was back in residence.
Welcome home.
Jerzy did not acknowledge the dragon’s voice, not yet.
The others also dismounted, Kaïnam tying up his reins before lifting Ao out of the wagon. Jerzy watched the procedure, ready to assist if necessary, already running through the spellwines he would need tostart the proper healing of that scar tissue. It was still painful to see Ao, once so exuberant and energetic, now reliant on someone else, but it hurt less than to turn around and see . . . what?
“I had forgotten how lovely it is,” Mahault said.
At that, Jerzy looked.
The pathway led under a green arch, twined vines spelled so that no fruit grew from them, only thickly clustered leaves that remained green even during Fallowtime. He knew, walking underneath, that he would feel the welcome of the House, the sense of the Guardian marking him as he came home, although the dragon had known he was en route since before the
Heart
made port.
Beyond that, past the flowered shrubs and sloping patch of grass, up a golden stone path was the main building, its façade the same stone as the path. Two stories high, with narrow windows glittering with colored glass on either side of the entrance.
The great wooden door should have been open, as it always had been in the past.
It was shut.
Kaïnam looked at Jerzy, and waited, as a good guest would. Ao, however, had no such hesitation. Swinging carefully on the crudely made crutches tucked under his arms, he hop-stepped toward the archway, calling out, “Ho, the House!”
As though summoned, the doors flew open and a body ran out, down the path, her hair streaming behind her in an indecorous manner, and before Jerzy could think, Lil had thrown her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe.
Behind him, Kaïnam chuckled, and Ao grinned as though he were the one being greeted thus. Jerzy could feel his ears turn hot with a blush, but his arms went around the cook almost instinctively and, much to his surprise, he returned the hug.
Malech had been his master. Detta was House-keeper. But Lil had been his very first-ever friend.
“You’re home, you’re home,” she was babbling now, letting go of himand dancing back a step, her hands automatically going to her hair, smoothing the tangled locks back down. Once she had worn a red kerchief over her pale hair, the same as he had while at sea, but now those blond locks were plaited in a narrow row at her crown, held away from her face and then left to flow across her shoulders, away from the work she would supervise. Her clothing was much the same, if of better wear: still a skirt and smock, soft house-shoes on her feet, and her face still broke into a smile, if not as easily as it once had. A change: there were lines around her eyes and mouth that had not been there before, and a shadow underneath her joy.
It had been a hard year, for everyone.
“All are well?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“All well, as well as can be,” she replied. As though to confirm that, the rounded bulk of the House-keeper came down the path, moving at a more suitable speed for her age and position, but her eyes as kind and welcoming as they had been the first day she had taken him in hand and scrubbed off the last of the sleep house grime from his skin.
“Jerzy.” Her welcome, quieter than Lil’s, less formal that the slave’s, made it all real.
He was home.
Somehow, it still felt wrong.
D ETTA SOON HAD them organized and inside, the ancient tapestries and gleaming woods of the House a balm on Jerzy’s exhausted nerves, the morning meal waiting on the table, fresh breads and cheeses and cold roasted meats sliced thin and spread with spices.
Detta had taken one
His slaves.
The slave bowed and sped off to gather help as well as spread the news that a Vineart was back in residence.
Welcome home.
Jerzy did not acknowledge the dragon’s voice, not yet.
The others also dismounted, Kaïnam tying up his reins before lifting Ao out of the wagon. Jerzy watched the procedure, ready to assist if necessary, already running through the spellwines he would need tostart the proper healing of that scar tissue. It was still painful to see Ao, once so exuberant and energetic, now reliant on someone else, but it hurt less than to turn around and see . . . what?
“I had forgotten how lovely it is,” Mahault said.
At that, Jerzy looked.
The pathway led under a green arch, twined vines spelled so that no fruit grew from them, only thickly clustered leaves that remained green even during Fallowtime. He knew, walking underneath, that he would feel the welcome of the House, the sense of the Guardian marking him as he came home, although the dragon had known he was en route since before the
Heart
made port.
Beyond that, past the flowered shrubs and sloping patch of grass, up a golden stone path was the main building, its façade the same stone as the path. Two stories high, with narrow windows glittering with colored glass on either side of the entrance.
The great wooden door should have been open, as it always had been in the past.
It was shut.
Kaïnam looked at Jerzy, and waited, as a good guest would. Ao, however, had no such hesitation. Swinging carefully on the crudely made crutches tucked under his arms, he hop-stepped toward the archway, calling out, “Ho, the House!”
As though summoned, the doors flew open and a body ran out, down the path, her hair streaming behind her in an indecorous manner, and before Jerzy could think, Lil had thrown her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe.
Behind him, Kaïnam chuckled, and Ao grinned as though he were the one being greeted thus. Jerzy could feel his ears turn hot with a blush, but his arms went around the cook almost instinctively and, much to his surprise, he returned the hug.
Malech had been his master. Detta was House-keeper. But Lil had been his very first-ever friend.
“You’re home, you’re home,” she was babbling now, letting go of himand dancing back a step, her hands automatically going to her hair, smoothing the tangled locks back down. Once she had worn a red kerchief over her pale hair, the same as he had while at sea, but now those blond locks were plaited in a narrow row at her crown, held away from her face and then left to flow across her shoulders, away from the work she would supervise. Her clothing was much the same, if of better wear: still a skirt and smock, soft house-shoes on her feet, and her face still broke into a smile, if not as easily as it once had. A change: there were lines around her eyes and mouth that had not been there before, and a shadow underneath her joy.
It had been a hard year, for everyone.
“All are well?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“All well, as well as can be,” she replied. As though to confirm that, the rounded bulk of the House-keeper came down the path, moving at a more suitable speed for her age and position, but her eyes as kind and welcoming as they had been the first day she had taken him in hand and scrubbed off the last of the sleep house grime from his skin.
“Jerzy.” Her welcome, quieter than Lil’s, less formal that the slave’s, made it all real.
He was home.
Somehow, it still felt wrong.
D ETTA SOON HAD them organized and inside, the ancient tapestries and gleaming woods of the House a balm on Jerzy’s exhausted nerves, the morning meal waiting on the table, fresh breads and cheeses and cold roasted meats sliced thin and spread with spices.
Detta had taken one
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