That was much against his will, but it pleased her. She lit the small room-stove, which also heated, and boiled water and made them tea, which they enjoyed sitting on the bed together.
He had little to say but much on his mind; neither did Mim, but she looked often at him.
“Is it not enough tea?” he asked finally, with the same patient courtesy he always used in Elas, which Kta had taught his unwilling spirit. But this time there was great earnestness in the question, which brought a sly smile from Mim.
“What is your custom now?” she asked of him.
“What is yours?” he asked.
“I do not know,” she admitted, down-glancing and seeming distressed. Then for the first time he realized, and felt pained for his thoughtlessness: she had never been with a man of her own kind,—nor with any man of decency.
“Put up the teacups,” he said, “and come here, Mim.”
The light of morning came through the window and Kurt stirred in his sleep, his hand finding the smoothness of Mim beside him, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark and heavy on her golden cheek, her full lips relaxed in dreams. A little scar marred her temple, as others not so slight marked her back and hips, and that anyone could have abused Mim was a thought he could not bear.
He moved, leaned on his arm across her and touched his lips to hers, smoothed aside the dark and shining veil of hair that flowed across her and across the pillows, and she stirred, responding sweetly to his morning kiss.
“Mim,” he said, “good morning.”
Her arms went around his neck. She pulled herself up and kissed him back. Then she blinked back tears, which he made haste to wipe away.
“Mim?” he questioned her, much troubled; but she smiled at him and even laughed.
“Dear Kurt,” she said, holding his face between her hands. And then, breaking for the side of the bed, she began to wriggle free. “ Ei, ei,my lord, I must hurry,—you must hurry—the sun is up. The guests will be waiting.”
“Guests?” he echoed, dismayed. “Mim—”
But she was already slipping into her dressing gown, then pattering away into the bath. He heard her putting wood into the stove.
“It is custom,” she said, putting her head back through the doorway of the bath. “They come back at dawn to breakfast with us.—Oh please, Kurt, please, hurry to be ready. They will be downstairs already, and if we are much past dawning, they will laugh.”
It was the custom, Kurt resolved to himself, and nerved himself to face the chill air and the cold stone floor, when he had planned a far warmer and more pleasant morning.
He joined Mim in the bath and she washed his back for him, making clouds of comfortable steam with the warm water, laughing and not at all caring that the water soaked her dressing gown.
She was content with him.
At times the warmth in her eyes or the lingering touch of her fingers said she was more than content.
The hardest thing that faced them was to go down the stairs into the rhmei,at which Mim actually trembled. Kurt took her arm and would have brought her down with his support, but the idea shocked her. She shook free of him and walked like a proper nemet lady, independently behind him down the stairs.
The guests and family met them at the foot of the steps and brought them into the rhmeiwith much laughter and with ribald jokes that Kurt would not have believed possible from the modest nemet. He was almost angry, but when Mim laughed he knew that it was proper, and forgave them.
After the round of greetings, Aimu came and served the morning tea, hot and sweet, and the elders sat in chairs while the younger people—Kurt and Mim included, and Hef, who was chan,—sat upon rugs on the floor and drank their tea and listened to the elders talk. Kta played one haunting song for them on the aos,without words, but just for listening and for being still.
Mim would be honored in the house and exempt from duties for the next few days, after which time she would again take her share with Ptas and Aimu; she sat now and accepted the attentions and the compliments and the good wishes,—Mim, who had never expected to be more than a minor concubine to the lord of Elas, accepted with private vows and scant legitimacy—now she was the center of everything.
It was her hour.
Kurt begrudged her none of it, even the nemet humor. He looked down at her and saw her face alight with pride and happiness—and love, which she would have given with lesser vows had he insisted; and he smiled back and pressed her hand, which the others kindly did not elect to make joke of at that moment.
10
Ten days passed before the outside world intruded again into the house of Elas.
It came in the person of Bel t’Osanef u Han, who arrived, escorted by Mim, in the garden at the rear of the house, where Kta was instructing Kurt in the art of the ypan,the narrow curved longsword that was the Indras’ favorite weapon and chief sport.
Kurt saw Bel come into the garden and turned his blade and held it in both hands to signal halt. Kta checked himself in mid-strike, and turned his head to see the reason of the pause. Then with the elaborate ritual that governed the friendly use of these edged weapons, Kta touched his left hand to his sword and bowed, which Kurt returned. The nemet believed such ritual was necessary to maintain balance of soul between friends who contended in sport, and distrusted the blades. In the houses of the Families resided the ypai-sulim,the Great Weapons which had been dedicated in awful ceremony to the house Guardians and bathed in blood. These were never drawn unless a man had determined to kill or to die, and could not be sheathed again until they had taken a life. Even these light foils must be handled carefully, lest the ever-watchful house spirits mistake someone’s intent and cause blood to be drawn.
And once it had been death to the Sufaki to touch these lesser weapons, or even to look at the ypai-sulimwhere they hung at rest, so that fencing was an art the Sufaki had never employed: they were skilled with the spear and the bow—distance-weapons.
Bel waited at a respectful distance until the weapons were safely sheathed and laid aside, and then came forward and bowed.
“My lords,” said Mim, “shall I bring tea?”
“Do so, Mim, please,” said Kta. “Bel, my soon-to-be brother—”
“Kta,” said Bel. “My business is somewhat urgent.”
“Sit then,” said Kta, puzzled. There were several stone benches about the garden. They took those nearest.
Then Aimu came from the house. She bowed modestly to her brother. “Bel,” she said then, “you come into Elas without at least sending me greetings? What is the matter?”
“Kta,” said Bel, “permission for your sister to sit with us.”
“Granted,” said Kta, a murmured formality, as thoughtless as “thank you.” Aimu sank down on the seat near them. There were no further words. Tea had been asked; Bel’s mood was distraught. There was no discussion proper until it had come, and it was not long. Mim brought it on a tray, a full service with extra cups.
Aimu rose up and helped her serve, and then both ladies settled on the same bench while the first several sips that courtesy demanded were drunk in silence and with appreciation.
“My friend Bel,” said Kta, when ritual was satisfied, “is it unhappiness or anger or need that has brought you to this house?”
“May the spirits of our houses be at peace,” said Bel. “I am here now because I trust you above all others save those born in Osanef. I am afraid there is going to be bloodshed in Nephane.”
“T’Tefur,” exclaimed Aimu with great bitterness.
“I beg you, Aimu, hear me to the end before you stop me.”
“We listen,” said Kta, “but, Bel, I suddenly fear this is a matter best discussed between our fathers.”
“Our fathers’ concern must be with Tlekef; Shan t’Tefur is beneath their notice—but he is the dangerous one, much more than Tlekef. Shan and I—we were friends. You know that. And you must realize how hard it is for me to come now to an Indras house and say what I am going to say. I am trusting you with my life.”