All Fall Down (15 page)

Truly Auren looked older than her fourteen years. I had been somewhat surprised that she and her young betrothed would be wed so soon, but it seemed it was the fashion to marry early here in Seldd. Neither my brother nor either of my sisters had married until they were at least twenty, but to be twenty and yet unwed in Seldd was to be positively hopeless. What Auren thought of me, still obviously free at the advanced age of twenty-five, I dared not think.

 
Auren turned away from the window with a sigh, obviously disgusted by my apparent lack of excitement. “You’d think you’d never been to a Midwinter ball before,” she remarked.

“I’ve seen my share,” I replied placidly. “Which might, if you stopped to think about it, account for my calm regarding the matter.”

“But a ball held just for you, to celebrate your betrothal?”

“I’ll admit I’ve not had that honor.”

Seeming to realize her misstep, Auren put out a hand, and said, “I didn’t mean it that way—”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” I took care to keep my tone light. “Don’t think I didn’t have the opportunity, my lady. It was only because I decided to serve the Order that I didn’t marry.” My words were only partially true. I had no doubt that my family would have secured a good match for me, if that had been how I chose to lead my life, but there hadn’t been anyone in particular who showed an interest in me.

“Of course,” she replied, and she appeared almost subdued. Then her expression grew brighter, and she added, “You are looking very well, Mistress Merys.”

I wanted to laugh, but instead received the compliment as graciously as I could. Once again I wore my wine-colored velvet gown, only a few shades darker than Auren’s, as I of course had nothing else remotely suitable. At least the color suited my warm brown hair and fair skin, though I had no jewels to complement the ensemble.
 

Poor Elissa did not fare quite so well, even though we had rushed to make her a new gown with the length of fabric that had been her own gift. All the household’s slaves had received yardage to make a new set of clothes, but it was stuff that had been rejected as being unsuitable to take to market, poorly dyed or with defects in the weave of the fabric. It was all serviceable and strong and new, if not exactly becoming.
 

Elissa’s gown was a dark green that contrived to make her look a little sallow, even though it could not detract from the delicate bones of her face. And at least it fit well enough, although privately I still thought she looked too thin.

At last we heard the jangling of the bell from the hall, Ourrel’s signal that all was finally ready. Auren practically threw open the door to her chamber and raced down the stairs, her flat-soled shoes making slapping noises on the stone throughout her precipitous descent. Elissa and I followed at a rather more sedate pace, although we attempted to move quickly enough so that Auren wouldn’t be completely out of eyeshot.

The hall was a riot of color and noise and movement. Swags of evergreen and pale waxberries decorated the dark beamed ceiling, hung from the walls, and trailed down either side of the great hearth. More candles than usually could be seen in the entire keep had been brought into this one room, and the heady smell of beeswax warred with the more toothsome aromas emanating from the kitchen. Young Lord Larol and his family were already there, clustered about the table against the far wall that gleamed with pewter goblets and dark glass vessels holding various vintages from Seldd and beyond.
 

Ignoring all propriety, Auren ran toward her betrothed, holding out her arms. I was glad to see that he ignored a disapproving look from his mother and took Auren’s hands, lifting them to his mouth and kissing each one in turn. In fact, I couldn’t help smiling as I watched Larol offer his affianced bride a cup of warm spiced wine, all solicitous attention. His parents might as well have been on one of the moons for all the regard he paid them.

“Oh, it is lovely, isn’t it?” breathed Elissa, as she looked around the hall in some awe. Then she hesitated, and I stopped to turn and look at her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Are you sure—I mean, is it truly allowed?”

Poor girl. She still couldn’t believe that for the Midwinter feast the household slaves were allowed to spend time with their betters. I supposed that, as the daughter of a freehold farmer, she had never had the chance to celebrate Midwinter in a lordly household such as this, and so she had no real concept of the idea that for one night at least she would be included in the doings of the more elevated folk. Some of the household slaves—such as Merime and her staff—of course had to keep at their work so that the rest of us might feast, but they would have a day of rest tomorrow, while others of the household handled their duties.
 

At any rate, Elissa was always keenly aware of her place…not that Auren ever let her forget it. I doubted it was malice on Auren’s part that led her to adopt such an arch tone whenever she addressed the other girl. After all, Auren had been raised to be waited on by slaves her entire life, and I supposed she knew no better. And Elissa, who had the sort of nature that always sought to please and not resist, meekly accepted whatever unreasonable demands Auren might make of her.
 

I, on the other hand, held a much more ambiguous place in the household. True, I was counted among the slaves, but I was free to make my way about the estate, always looking for those who might need my assistance and care. Very seldom was I asked to take on any duties other than those I would have had if I’d come here freely, doing the business of the Order. Indeed, Auren seemed somewhat in awe of me at times. My healing of her leg had cemented her goodwill from the beginning, but my saving of her father had placed me in some exalted category that very few other people occupied. And since Lord Shaine always treated me with respect as well, the other members of the household followed suit. Sometimes I felt more like an honored if captive guest than a true slave.

Knowing how unsure of herself Elissa was, I tempered my smile and replied gently, “Of course it is, Elissa. It is the custom. You should go and enjoy yourself.” I glanced about the hall, spying several young men who worked as household and field slaves clustered in an awkward group down near the fire. “Look, there’s Raifal, and Clem, and—I don’t know the name of the red-headed one. Go on over.”

She gave me a doubtful look, but as she was not one to argue, she did as I bade her and headed off in their direction. Her shyness would be short-lived, I hoped—after all, she worked with many of them every day as she ran errands for Auren and assisted with other duties as necessary.

I watched as Clem gave her a winning grin, followed by a rather doubtful but no less friendly smile from Raifal. The poor boy had been long in his recovery from Dorus’ depredations. No one spoke of what had befallen him, but in a household such as this, secrets were difficult to keep for very long. Everyone afforded the boy such extra care as they could manage, even as Raifal remained silent and withdrawn. I could only hope with time he would come to understand that not everyone was a predator.

Master Breen, the falconer, greeted me with a smile and a welcome goblet of warm spiced wine. “You’re looking well this evening, Mistress Merys,” he said. “Happy Midwinter.”

“And to you as well, Master Breen,” I replied, taking the goblet from him, grateful for his open warmth. He occupied a high position in the household, and I knew that our visitors would probably take their cues from him. Perhaps it was silly of me to fret over my reception, but I knew my own place in Lord Shaine’s home was quite irregular, and I had worried beforehand that young Lord Larol’s family and retainers might not see me in quite the same light as those who knew me well.

“And how does this compare to celebrations in your homeland?” he inquired, and again I was thankful for his easy manner. He was a vigorous, stocky man only an inch or so taller than I, with mid-brown hair and brown eyes. Indeed, I always thought of him as being brown all over, since he usually bore a deep tan from his time spent out of doors, and the leather doublet and heavy gloves he wore were invariably brown as well. Even this evening, when he had put on what passed in him for finery, the shade of his garments was a deep brown verging on black—the color of new-turned earth in spring.
 

“Quite similar,” I replied. “The greens and berries are a little different, of course. But we decorate the hall, and invite the servants to join us—for, as you know, slavery is not practiced in Farendon.”

“Of course,” he echoed, but he did not rise to the bait—not that I had expected him to. His manners were too good for that.

“It’s much the same wherever I’ve gone throughout the northern part of the continent,” I went on. “Although in Purth they have taken up the odd custom of bringing in some sort of evergreen tree—sometimes a fir, or a pine—and then hanging decorations made of painted parchment and tin on it. It tends to create quite a mess, but it does look festive.”

He raised a brown eyebrow. “Interesting. I’m not sure if I’d mention that one to Lady Auren—she’d be sure to want to try it, and then everyone would have more work than they do already.”

Laughing, I replied, “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll make sure to keep it to myself, then.”

He nodded good-naturedly, the lines around his eyes crinkling a bit as he smiled.
 

And then
his
voice— “So are you keeping Merys all to yourself, Breen? I wanted to introduce her to my guests.”

Master Breen bowed. “I wouldn’t presume to keep her from you, my lord.”

I looked up to see Lord Shaine watching the two of us. His face betrayed nothing, but I was afraid I couldn’t say the same for myself. Heat rose in my cheeks even as I said, much more coolly than I felt, “Master Breen has been good enough to make an outsider feel welcome.”

“Outsider?” Lord Shaine echoed. “After you’ve been here an entire two months? Nonsense.”

Not knowing exactly how to reply to that, I merely lifted my shoulders, even as I noted how well Lord Shaine looked this evening. He had discarded the plain linen garments he usually wore in favor of a black wool doublet embroidered in warm shades of bronze and olive and taupe, and his shoulder-length hair had been pulled back into a neat club at the base of his neck.

Then I found my voice enough to say, “Outsider compared to those who have been here all their lives, my lord.”

“True enough.” His gaze shifted to Master Breen, and he went on, “If I may steal Merys away?”

“Of course, my lord.”

I gave Master Breen a brief curtsey and followed Lord Shaine across the hall to the spot where Lord Larol and his family stood. As we crossed the floor, I could feel the eyes of the company upon us. Perhaps they wondered why Lord Shaine would show such honor to one of his slaves. For myself, I merely lifted my chin a little higher, determined not to reveal any discomfort or unease in being so singled out.
 

We stopped in front of the family group. I could see where young Lord Larol had gotten his close-set eyes and slightly pinched nose, as they were echoed in his mother’s face. But at least his features were redeemed by the pleasant expression he wore. I could not say the same of her.

Lord Shaine seemed to disregard her stare of disapproval as he said, “My lords, my ladies—this is Mistress Merys, who healed Auren’s leg and treated my own knife wound.”

I swept a deep curtsey; my early training had not yet deserted me. Possibly not expecting a gesture of respect worthy of court, Lady Yvaine lifted her eyebrows.

Lord Marten at least looked somewhat impressed. “Mistress—Merys, is it? I see you have done much for which we have cause to be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Larol, who took Auren’s hand once more and gave it a small squeeze. She flashed a quick smile up at him, her cheeks coloring a bit.
 

“I’m only glad that I was able to assist them, my lord,” I replied, my tones so demure that I saw a look of amusement flit across Lord Shaine’s face before he schooled his features once more into impassivity.

“Merys, as you can see, is quite modest,” he offered. “But we were very lucky to have one with her training amongst us.”

“What kind of training?” Larol’s younger sister Alcia put in, looking briefly surprised at her own audacity in asking such a question.

“I’m a member of the Order of the Golden Palm,” I replied. “In my homeland of Farendon, it’s a place which trains people in the medical arts and then has them travel the country, always helping those in need. Some prefer not to travel, and stay in the main Order house in Lystare, performing research and serving as instructors. It was while conducting such research that one of our members discovered an inoculation against smallpox, not ten years ago.”

“An in—a what?” Auren asked, clearly surprised.

“You get a shot in your arm,” I explained. “I could show you the mark, but I have too many sleeves in the way.” Both Lord Shaine and Lord Marten chuckled, although Lady Yvaine still looked displeased. “At any rate, once you’ve had an inoculation, you don’t have to worry about getting smallpox.”

“Impressive,” Lord Shaine said. “Could you do that for the people on the estate?”

“Not at this time, unfortunately. I was not carrying the vaccine with me when I was taken, and only those back in Lystare who are skilled in such matters are able to produce more.”

“A pity,” he said, then shook his head. “It is this sort of thing which frustrates me. That such learning exists, and yet we here in Seldd are unable to take part in it.”

A few pithy comments on his country’s isolationism and barbaric dependence on slavery rose to my lips, but I knew better than to utter them. Lord Shaine, I felt, was a man better than the country which had raised him, and it was only natural that he should strain against the limitations it placed on him and those he cared for.
 

Instead, I only gave a philosophical shrug and said, “Perhaps one day—”

Alcia’s eyes were shining. Perhaps this was the first time she had ever encountered a woman who had an identity apart from mother, sister, wife...or slave. I obviously fascinated her, for she asked, “Does it hurt? The inoc—inoculation?” She struggled with the unfamiliar word and then looked quite pleased with herself for finally getting it out.