A Play of Shadow (28 page)

“We will look forward to it, esteemed Uncle,” said Semyn, with a deeper bow of his own. Every bit the baron’s son.

Well enough, Bannan thought, returning the courtesy. Manners could be comfort and shield.

Werfol wrinkled his nose at his brother. “Father took us up the mountain last summer to play in snow. You didn’t like it.”

“I daresay it wasn’t snow like Marrowdell’s,” Peggs said smoothly. “Why don’t you get dressed and see for yourselves? You can play outside till lunch. I’ll ring a bell when it’s ready.”

Two pairs of dismayed eyes snapped to their uncle, an uncle who felt very much the same way. Bannan did his best to look delighted. “A splendid notion, Peggs.”

“Do you think so, Uncle?” Werfol asked him, looking up through long eyelashes. “Truly?”

Of course he didn’t. Let them roam a strange place on their own? Lila’d have more than his ears.

But Lila wasn’t here, and he couldn’t have her sons start their lives here being afraid to go out and play. “Of course I do,” Bannan said heartily. “There are other children here. Cheffy and Alyssa. You can introduce yourselves.” What else might entice them? “There are barns. You can visit the animals.”

“Alone?” Semyn asked, abruptly sounding much younger.

“Marrowdell is full of kind people,” Bannan replied, though his heart went out to the boy. Had they ever simply wandered without guard or nursemaid? “If you need anything, knock on any door.”

Semyn considered this, his brow furrowed like his father’s in thought, then nodded dutifully. “Is there a map, Uncle, we may borrow? We mustn’t get lost.”

“Or miss lunch,” Werfol added.

Peggs laughed. “You’ll hear the bell, Dear Hearts. Marrowdell’s not big enough for a map. Stay within the hedges and gates. Open any door you like. We’re friendly folk and everyone knows you’re here.” She tilted her lovely head. “Now wish fair journey to your uncle, so he and the others can be on their way.”

Bannan stepped around the counter and squatted, his arms open. The boys came into his embrace, pressing their soft cheeks against his. They trembled, or he did, or both, and for an instant he wondered if he was wrong about all of it, about leaving them, about giving them freedom . . .

About Marrowdell.

Then a breeze found his ear. “Go, fool,” the dragon ordered peevishly. “They are in my care!”

He laughed. He had to. And it was the right thing to do, for the boys stood back and looked at him with the beginnings of real smiles.

Marrowdell, Bannan thought gratefully. He should never doubt it.

Dragonlings needed little more than the occasional snap and snarl to remind them of their lowly place, which was safely distant from their elders. Especially from their elder’s meat, tails—or jaws.

Not so children. They demanded such care that the villagers took turns and seemed exhausted most of the time. In Wisp’s experience, as babes, they were at their best asleep. He’d tuck the girl in thistledown and clover, watching dreams play beneath her delicate eyelids. Awake? That had been more challenging. The ways her tiny toddling self could find to get into danger had appalled him. Even the newly hatched had more sense.

Fortunately these two were into the vastly more interesting stage that followed, being able to move on their own and talk. Wisp followed at a distance, fascinated.

After going outside to wave good-bye to their uncle, they’d evaded all other elders almost as easily as the girl had, at the same stage. It must be a skill children acquired when ready to explore their world, though the boys seemed less curious than desperate.

Wisp wasn’t sure what they were after. They’d been fed and were well dressed, yet from the moment they’d believed themselves unobserved, they’d made sure to stay that way, going around the back of barns and crouching to hide behind drifts.

The elder carried a kitchen knife. The younger—Wisp tasted the air—the younger had taken food.

Where did his duty lie? He’d saved them once, which should have been sufficient, but for some reason he couldn’t quite leave them. Perhaps, the dragon told himself, he hadn’t finished saving them yet.

Though what threat there could be in the village, he couldn’t imagine.

Still, it was a dragonish game, furtive movement as if all were potential enemies, and one they’d clearly practiced. He saw no harm in it. He even helped, here and there, surreptitously clearing the deepest snow from their path.

The elder, Semyn, couldn’t see him and didn’t notice.

The younger, Werfol? Wisp wasn’t sure. His golden eyes flicked here and there. Twice he stopped to stare, seeing what only he could; without a word, Semyn took his arm to pull him along. Something else, the dragon judged, well practiced.

At each barn, they’d stop to peer through gaps in the wood, only to move on. Whatever they sought, they didn’t find it until the barn filled with cows.

This barn had a side door, light enough for two small boys to slide open. They slipped inside.

As did Wisp, unsurprised to find Semyn and Werfol, who were themselves most surprised to be confronted by the barn’s guardian.

~Elder brother?!~ The Ropps’ house toad, having leapt in the boys’ path, now puffed in alarm. ~Who are these? What do they intend!?~

~Let them pass, worthy little cousin,~ Wisp told it. ~These are the truthseers’ kin. They mean no harm.~ They certainly couldn’t do any. The knife Semyn held outstretched and shaking might damage a vegetable, but his arm hadn’t the strength to puncture hide with it. ~They were told to explore the village.~

The little cousin shrank, slightly, but didn’t budge. ~I guard,~ it said, inclined to be stubborn. ~I do not want them here.~

Werfol stared at the toad. The toad stared back. “Semyn,” the boy said uncertainly. “This isn’t a toad.”

“I don’t care what it is. It’s in our way.” Semyn firmed his grip on the knife and gestured with it. “Shoo! Go!”

In their stalls, the cows turned their heads to watch. The pigs, half-buried in straw like great boulders, ignored the entire business. The old pony nickered, wanting attention.

The barn being warm, and inclined to curiosity, the dragon settled himself on a rafter.

~Elder brother.~ With as much reproach as a toad dared. ~They must leave!~

~Patience, little cousin. I would see what these newcomers do.~

Semyn raised his knife but didn’t move.

Neither did the toad.

Werfol stepped between the two. “Let me try.” Without waiting, he went to his knees in front of the toad. “You’re a guard, aren’t you? You protect this barn.”

“You’re wasting time.”

“I am not.” The younger boy reached slowly into a pocket, bringing forth a carrot. “We brought this for the pony,” he said to the toad.

The old pony’s nostrils flared with interest. The house toad blinked, slowly, then shrank to its normal size. ~It is proper for children to bring carrots, elder brother.~ Having pronounced judgment, it hopped into the shadows.

“Well done, Weed. Now hurry. He has a halter. There should be a saddle.”

Ah. So that was their plan. Wisp laid his head along the wood, vastly amused. He’d watched the girl with this pony. It would take more than a carrot to convince such a wise and self-centered creature to leave its cozy stall.

But it soon became clear these boys were well accustomed to horses and ponies. Before the pony could finish its treat, it wore a blanket and saddle, the girth tightened by small, but knowing hands. When it balked at being led out, the elder boy jumped in the saddle, legs giving an authoritative squeeze. The surprised pony found itself walking forward, Werfol hurrying ahead to widen the door.

Why the little thieves, Wisp thought with some admiration.

The little cousin scrambled to stop them. ~ELDERBROTHER!~

The dragon yawned, sending a breeze to slide the door closed. ~No harm done,~ he assured the outraged toad, now swollen into a fierce ball in front of Werfol.

The boy cautiously edged around the toad, then put both hands on the door handle. “Help me, Semyn!” he cried. “I can’t open it by myself.”

The delay gave Wainn’s old pony time to remember it didn’t have to obey a rider but should, always, the house toad. Moreover, it remembered wanting to have nothing to do with going out in the cold. Blowing out through loose lips, it turned and walked back into its stall, ignoring its rider’s now tearful efforts. As a final insult, the pony lowered its head, closed its eyes, and to all appearances, fell asleep.

The toad gave itself a proud shake and returned to normal size. It did not, however, abandon its post by the door.

Semyn slid off the pony.

“What are we going to do?” Werfol demanded, taking hold of his arm. “We can’t stay here. Mother said we’d be safe. She lied, Semyn! She LIED.”

“I know.” Semyn hugged his younger brother, the pair a picture of misery. “We’ll find another way, that’s all. We have to.”

They were afraid?

An intolerable situation. In their meadow, the girl had spoken of leaving Marrowdell, but she’d been happy, imagining wonders beyond this world and eager to see them for herself. He’d been the one filled with fear, hiding dread.

A dragon lord’s penance, just and deserved.

~Keep them here, little cousin,~ Wisp ordered. With a silent roar, he leapt into the air, then plunged into the ground.

It wasn’t to be theirs.

“D
O YOU THINK
they’ll like it?”

Hettie examined the little book with care. “I’m sure they will. The poor lads.” Her eyes filled with sympathy. “They’ve been through so much.” Passing the book back to Jenn, she heaved a great sigh and took up her tea, a determined smile on her face. “Ancestors Blessed, little ones recover before their parents do. You’ll see.”

She and Peggs had been deep in a discussion of children, babies, and their upcoming care when Jenn arrived. To be honest, it was more a case of Hettie holding forth and Peggs listening with both fascination and horror, Hettie having helped raise her younger brother and sister, and being present, as Peggs had not, to assist her mother-by-marriage with the birthing of innumerable calves and piglets, not to mention Gallie Emms’ daughter.

Not being pregnant, Tir had excused himself and now snored, peacefully, if not-so-quietly, on Radd’s bed. Not to be pregnant, Jenn supposed it was still worth learning. After all, she planned to help Peggs, when her time came.

However, she’d interrupted and now they discussed her book. Jenn held it in both hands. It was a very well-read book, with rounded corners, soft to the touch. When the spine had fallen apart, years ago, despite her always being careful, Frann had sewn the pages back together, her stitches so even and sure Jenn thought them much better than the original. Remembering, she ran her finger along the threads.

“It’s a kind and generous gift, Dearest Heart.” Peggs hesitated, then went on, “But can you bear to part with it? It’s your favorite.”

“That’s why I want Semyn and Werfol to have it.” Jenn put the little book on the table. “Aunt Sybb says actions are what matter. This—this is the most special thing I have from when I was their age.” She stroked the faded cover, feeling the bumps of the title. Something you had to do, since the gilt had worn off before she’d learned to read. If she closed her eyes, she could see every page, with its whimsical illustrations—three in glorious color—and wonderful words. This was the book that had first taught her the world was wider and deeper and vaster than Marrowdell.

Peggs tugged her braid. “Then it’s perfect. I’m sorry they aren’t here. I sent them out to play, but they’ll be back for lunch. Join us?”

Jenn shook her head. “I promised Gallie.” She glanced around the room. Everything was in its place, as if there’d not been four extra guests staying the night. There remained the question of where they’d spend the coming ones. “Will they stay with Devins?”

“I’d not wish that for anyone,” Hettie said, then pointed at Peggs. “Don’t give me that look, Dear Heart. You’ve seen the inside of my stepbrother’s house. If he hopes a certain cousin of Palma’s comes to visit this spring, he’s work ahead if she’s not to turn right ’round and leave. As it is, I swear mice wouldn’t step inside.”

Hopefully an exaggeration. If true, Jenn thought to herself, then Bannan shouldn’t be living there either. Yes, he’d cleaned up the long-abandoned farmhouse, but that didn’t mean he should have to do it again for a winter’s lodging. She should help and would.

“‘A night with a willing host is better than a month in a palace,’” Peggs countered, something Jenn didn’t think Aunt Sybb had ever said. Then again, her sister was prone to creating her own sayings.

“I’d like to try the month first.” Hettie laughed, hands on her swollen belly as if the baby laughed too. “Especially if the palace has a bathtub I can climb out of without calling for Tadd.”

Peggs’ eyes widened. Time to escape, Jenn decided, before more intimacies came to light. “My thanks for the tea and company,” she told them as she stood. As for her book? “Please don’t wait to give Semyn and Werfol my gift, Peggs.” Surely a small entertainment would be welcome, while they waited for Bannan to return, and give her sister a little peace.

“As you wish.” Peggs came with her to the kitchen door, passing her item after item of winter wear. “Though you should be here, to see their faces.”

Jenn wrapped her scarf around head and neck. “I’ve all winter to do that.”

“Oh really?” Her sister dangled a mitten out of reach. “So this has nothing to do with being afraid to meet Bannan’s family on your own?” Something she saw in Jenn’s face made her lower both arm and voice. “Dearest Heart,” she whispered, suddenly serious. “I was only teasing. Semyn and Werfol are children who’ll need all our love and care. It’s not like—” Peggs stopped.

Jenn gave a rueful grin. “Not like meeting the terrifying Baroness Lila Larmensu Westietas?” She recovered her mitten. “You’re right, as you always are, dear sister. I’ll come back as soon as I’m finished my chores.”

“Promise?”

She claimed her other mitten. “I do. Now go. Talk babies with Hettie.”

Peggs blushed, as she’d hoped, and gave her a quick hug.

“Just wait till it’s your turn, Jenn,” Hettie called cheerfully.

Jenn met her sister’s eyes, comforted by the understanding she found there. “Two of us is more than enough,” Peggs replied archly, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “The boys will love your gift,” she added. “And you. Go help Gallie.”

Outside, Jenn paused to take a deep cold breath. When she exhaled, a plume much like a dragon’s hung for an instant in the air. In every way, she felt and seemed and was an ordinary woman, even to herself. Time would tell otherwise, she supposed.

Putting aside such thoughts, she started her morning’s errands for Gallie. First to the Ropps for more cheese, Loee’s newest teeth making such foods a matter of some urgency. On her way, Jenn waved a greeting to Master Jupp. He wore his tall hat and dark winter cloak, with a colorful scarf wrapped several times around his neck, its tasseled ends down to his knees. The scarf had come from Avyo with him and only Riss knew how many times it had been mended, but its reappearance marked winter had arrived as surely as the first storm.

For his constitution, Master Jupp walked to the village fountain and back, once a day, rain or shine. In snow, he used his second cane as well, though his path was cleared before those leading to the barns. Kindness, Jenn thought with some pride, abounded in Marrowdell.

And took different forms. In dangerous weather, when no one, especially the elderly, should be out of doors, the entire village could hear Master Jupp shouting for his canes. Riss, having tucked both in the loft, would ignore her great-uncle’s outrage and put on tea.

Though Jenn was ever-so-curious as to how Uncle Horst was fitting into the Jupp household, she hadn’t found a way to ask. He seemed—

A breeze flicked the ends of her scarf, then pushed from behind. A breeze, Jenn noticed, that didn’t touch Old Jupp’s scarf at all. Someone wanted to play. Again. “Wisp. I’ve no time to—”

“Come quick! Come now!” Urgent and harsh and not playful at all.

She turned to look east, her thoughts immediately with Bannan and the others. “What’s wrong?”

The breeze, rather rudely, pushed her around again. “The barn. Hurry!”

The Ropps’?

Oh dear! Hurry she did, newly worried. Cheffy and Alyssa were doing more adult chores—especially today, with Anten off and Covie preoccupied with her patients—and while gentle, the dairy cows were substantial beasts. Accidents could happen and how kind, Jenn thought as she ran through the snow, of Wisp to watch over the entire village.

When she reached the side door, the breeze having insisted on it, it slid open to let her through, then closed behind her.

Going from sun and snow to the relative gloom inside the barn, Jenn stopped, wary of taking a step before she could see. “Cheffy?”

“Fair morning.”

Not Cheffy or Alyssa. The greeting came from lower down than she was used to, in a shaky, fearful voice.

“Fair morning,” she replied out of habit, then blinked, her eyes adjusting.

There, in the middle of the aisle between the stalls, was a house toad puffed in full fury. Beyond the toad, for some reason the subject of its ire, were the children she’d last seen asleep in bed.

~Elder sister! I have defended my home from thieves. They came to steal the pony, but I did not permit it!~

Thieves? Little boys, and unhappy ones at that, who stood shoulder to shoulder as if awaiting punishment. One slightly taller, Semyn, with reddish brown curls peeking from his hood, freckles on a snub nose, and eyes that odd shade between blue and green. Werfol would be the other, with the same delicate build. His eyes were downcast, but tears streaked both faces.

Jenn glanced at Wainn’s old pony, asleep under, yes, that was Devins’ saddle.

First things first. “Well done,” she told the toad, then looked to the elder boy. “You owe this fine toad an apology.”

Though confusion flickered across his face, Semyn obediently bent to meet the toad’s glare. “We shouldn’t have tried to—to take what wasn’t ours and we’re sorry.”

~I accept.~ The toad blinked its great eyes, then let out an opinionated huff to return to normal size. ~Do not trust these newcomer children, elder sister. We will be watching them.~ Grimly.

“It accepts,” Jenn told the boys, leaving out the rest. It could be the toad’s prickly sense of honor, but watching the two seemed prudent in any case, given they’d chosen mischief for their first outing. She waited for Wisp to vouchsafe his opinion, certain he hadn’t rushed her here to appease a house toad, but no breeze tickled her ear and she’d not ask. The boys had heard her talk to a toad. An unseen dragon?

That could wait.

As the toad hopped away to resume its usual post, she found herself at a loss. This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined meeting Bannan’s nephews.

Done now. She’d mend what she could. “My name is Jenn Nalynn. You’ve met my sister, Peggs, and my father.”

“Lady Nalynn.” The elder boy gave a deep, graceful, and achingly familiar bow, sweeping the barn floor with the tip of one mittened hand. Vorkoun manners. Bannan’s. “My name is Semyn Westietas,” he confirmed in what Aunt Sybb would call a too-proper voice. “This is my brother, Werfol. We meant no harm.”

Perhaps not, though Wainn’s old pony doubtless held a different opinion, but there was, Jenn decided uneasily, something seriously amiss. Werfol didn’t bow. He’d yet to speak or even look at her, come to that, his eyes glued to the toes of his boots.

“Call me Jenn.” She squatted to bring herself to their level and Werfol hunched, as if expecting a blow. Worse and worse. Jenn reached out her hand, as she might to soothe a nervous rabbit. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly.

Eyes shot up to hers, golden eyes flecked with black, eyes that widened in shock.

Eyes that
saw
her.

For a terrible instant, neither of them moved. Jenn couldn’t breathe. Heart’s Blood, why hadn’t Bannan told her—

Werfol screamed!

Semyn grabbed his brother, freeing her from those eyes. The boys ran past her. Jenn heard the barn door open. Knew they were gone.

Didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Why should she?

Winter’s frozen air slid along the floor and around her.

It was nothing to the chill in her heart.

Had Bannan not experienced yesterday’s storm, he would, he decided, believe winter the most beautiful time of year. The trees wore elegant lace over their dark green robes and every stick, shrub, and fencepost was topped with a jaunty cap. Even the crags towering over the valley were bedecked in puffs and swirls, like some confection ready for a feast.