“You are my friend,” said Kurt. “I know that you are Mim’s. If she is willing, let it be that way.”
“Then,” said Kta, “I will go and speak to Hef.”
The betrothal was a necessarily quiet affair, confirmed three days later at evening. Hef formally asked permission of lord Nym to give his daughter to the guest of Elas, and Kta formally relinquished his claim to the person of Mim before the necessary two witnesses, friends of the family; Han t’Osanef u Mur, father of Bel; and old Ulmar t’Ilev ul Imetan, with all their attendant kin.
“Mim-lechan,” said Nym, “is this marriage your wish?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And in the absence of your kinsmen, Kurt t’Morgan, I ask you to answer in your own name: do you accept this contract as binding, understanding that when you have sworn you must follow this ceremony with marriage or show cause before these families present? Do you accept under this knowledge, our friend Kurt t’Morgan?”
“I accept.”
“There is,” said Nym quietly, “the clause of iquunin this contract. The principals are of course Mim and Kurt, and thou, my son Kta, and Hef, to preserve the name of Hef. Three years are given in this agreement before iquunis invoked. Is this acceptable to all concerned?”
One by one they bowed their heads.
Two parchments lay on the table, and to them in turn first Nym and then t’Osanef and t’Ilev pressed their seals in wax.
Then lady Ptas pressed her forefinger in damp wax and so sealed both. Then she took one of the phusmeha,and with a bit of salt slipped it into the flames.
She uplifted her palms to the fire, intoning a prayer so old that Kurt could not understand all the words, but it asked blessing on the marriage.
“The betrothal is sealed,” said Nym. “Kurt Liam t’Morgan ul Edward, look upon Mim h’Elas e Hef, your bride.”
He did so, although he could not, must not touch her, not during all the long days of waiting for the ceremony. Mim’s face shone with happiness.
They were at opposite sides of the room. It was the custom. The nemet made a game of tormenting young men and women at betrothals, and knew well enough his frustration. The male guests, especially Bel and Kta, drew Kurt off in one direction, while Aimu and Ptas and the ladies likewise captured Mim, with much laughter as they hurried her off.
The bell at the front door rang, faintly jingling, untimely. Hef slipped out to answer it, duty and the normal courtesy of Elas taking precedence over convenience even at such a time as this.
The teasing ceased. The nemet laughed much among themselves, among friends, but there were visitors at the door, and the guests and the members of Elas both became sober.
Voices intruded—Hef,—Hef, who was the soul of courtesy, arguing; and the heavy tread of outsiders entering the hall, the hollow ring of a staff on polished stone, the voices of strangers raised in altercation.
There was silence in the rhmei.Mim, large-eyed, clung to Ptas’ arm. Nym went to meet the strangers in the hall, Kurt and Kta and the guests behind him.
They were the Methi’s men, grim-faced, in the odd-striped robes that some of the townsmen wore, hair plaited in a single braid down the back. They had the narrowness of eye that showed in some of the folk of Nephane, like Bel, like Bel’s father Han t’Osanef.
The Methi’s guards did not take that final step into the rhmei,where burned the hearthfire. Nym physically barred their way, and Nym, though silver-haired and a senior member of the Upei, the council of Nephane, was a big man and broad-shouldered. Whether through reverence for the place or fear of him, they came no further.
“This is Elas,” said Nym. “Consider again, gentlemen, where you are. I did not bid you here, and I did not hear the chanof Elas give you leave either.”
“The Methi’s orders,” said the eldest of the four. “We came to fetch the human. This betrothal is not permitted.”
“Then you are too late,” said Nym. “If the Methi wished to intervene, it was her right, but now the betrothal is sealed.”
That set them aback. “Still,” said their leader, “we must bring him back to the Afen.”
“Elas will permit him to go back,” said Nym, “if he chooses.”
“He will go with us,” said the man.
Han t’Osanef stepped up beside Nym and bent a terrible frown on the Methi’s guardsmen. “T’Senife, I ask you come tonight to the house of Osanef. I would ask it, t’Senife—and the rest of you young men. Bring your fathers. We will talk.”
The men had a different manner for t’Osanef: resentful, but paying respect.
“We have duties,” said the man called t’Senife, “which keep us at the Afen. We have no time for that. But we will say to our fathers that t’Osanef spoke with us at the house of Elas.”
“Then go back to the Afen,” said t’Osanef. “ Iask it. You offend Elas.”
“We have our duty,” said t’Senife, “and we must have the human.”
“I will go,” said Kurt, coming forward. He had the feeling that there was much more than himself at issue, he intruded fearfully into the hate that prickled in the air. Kta put out a hand, forbidding him.
“The guest of Elas,” said Nym in a terrible voice, “will walk from the door of Elas if he chooses, and the Methi herself has no power to cause this hall to be invaded. Wait at our doorstep.—And you, friend Kurt, do not go against your will. The law forbids.”
“We will wait outside,” said t’Senife, at t’Osanef’s hard look. But they did not bow as they left.
“My friend,” Han t’Osanef exclaimed to Nym, “I blush for these young men.”
“They are,” said Nym in a shaking voice, “ youngmen. Elas also will speak with their Fathers. Do not go, Kurt t’Morgan. You are not compelled to go.”
“I think,” said Kurt, “that eventually I would have no choice. I would do better to go speak with Djan-methi, if it is possible.” But it was in his mind that reason with her was not likely. He looked at Mim, who stood frightened and silent by the side of Ptas. He could not touch her. Even at such a time he knew they would not understand. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he said to her.
But to Kta, at the door of Elas before he went out to put himself into the hands of the Methi’s guards:
“Take care of Mim. And I do not want her or your father or any of Elas to come to the Afen. I do not want her involved and I am afraid for you all.”
“You do not have to go,” Kta insisted.
“Eventually,” Kurt repeated, “I would have to. You have taught me there is grace in recognizing necessity. Take care of her.” And with Kta, that he knew so well, he put out his hand instinctively to touch, and refrained.
It was Kta who gripped his hand, an uncertain, awkward gesture, not at all nemet. “You have friends and kinsmen now. Remember it.”
6
“There is no need of that,” Kurt cried, shaking off the guards’ hands as they persisted in hurrying him through the gates of the Afen. No matter how quickly he walked, they had to push him or lay hands on him, so that people in the streets stopped and stared, most unnemetlike, most embarrassing for Elas. It was to spite Nym that they did it, he was sure, and rather than make a public scene worse, he had taken the abuse until they entered the Afen court, beyond witnesses.
There was a long walk between the iron outer gate and the wooden main door of the Afen, for that space Kurt argued with them, then found them fanning out to prevent him from the very door toward which they were tending.
He knew the game. They wanted him to resist. He had done so. Now they had the excuse they wanted, and they began to close up on him.
He ran the only way still open, to the end of the courtyard, where it came up against the high peak of the lock on which the Afen sat, a facing wall of gray basalt. It was beyond the witness of anyone on the walk between the wall-gate and the door.