"So will I," Rilca said when Ilsabet told her the news. "I've never had a more pleasant guest, nor one who cared about my well-being as much as you do," she said.
When Ilsabet left for home, Rilca even cried.
When she heard the sentries announce Ilsabet's arrival, Marishka ran through the front door, then shivered in the damp of the courtyard. Ilsabet stepped down from the coach, and Marishka paused. It seemed Ilsabet had changed. She seemed to have matured, becoming self-assured, determined. Uncertain of Ilsabet's mood, Marishka held back until her sister held out her arms. Then she ran into them.
"Come inside," she said. "The damp isn't good for you."
They went upstairs to Marishka's chambers and sat sipping tea by the fire. The number of Marishka's dresses had grown, the old ones moved to the back of their hooks. The dress Marishka wore tonight was also new, but in the same shade of blue as the Obour banner.
It heartened Ilsabet to think of her sister requesting a dress in that color, but she was angry that Peto had allowed it. She could picture her sister wearing it, the far too obedient subject in the colors of her defeated family.
The spring fogs on the river had been thicker than in usual years, and Marishka missed the rides through the sunny meadows. She confessed this to Ilsabet then added her real fear, "I'm doing nothing but worry. I think I'm getting fat, and my face looks terrible. What kind of a bride will I make?"
A perfect one, Ilsabet thought, so beautiful in her wedding splendor that even the rebels would be forced to concede that any of them would have loved her in Peto's place. She wondered if Peto had considered this-and if it were a major part of his choosing Marishka in the first place. She sat beside her sister, taking both her hands. "You must demand what you want, Marishka. Tell Peto that he must make arrangements to protect you."
"I don't want to give him cause to worry. I love him so much!" She saw Ilsabet's frown and hurried on. "I've tried not to care for him, I truly have, but I can't help myself."
"Of course, I understand. But, Marishka, you might be wed to him for half a century. If you let him order you around now, what will your life be like when his first rush of love wears off?" She had worded this last carefully, not surprised by Marishka's reply.
"It isn't like that. He's protecting me because he loves me. I don't think he can help himself either. When you see us together, you'll know."
Ilsabet did not have to wait long for that event. The three of them dined alone that night. Sadly, Marishka had been correct. Everything about the way Peto looked at her, attentive to her every need, made Ilsabet certain he cared deeply about Marishka.
So be it, she thought. Her sister had been warned. Without a pang of conscience, she leaned forward and said to Peto in a conspiratorial tone, "Marishka has a request to make."
"Request?" Peto put down his glass and looked at his fiancee. "What is it?"
"I need… that is, I want to see the sun, Peto. I
want to go riding as I did before."
"At Argentine, I rode every day," Ilsabet said. "My health has never been better. It's this cursed fog that ruined it."
Peto looked from Ilsabet to his fiancee. He'd recently negotiated another truce in a seemingly endless series of truces and hoped it would survive until his wedding day. The sight of Marishka riding through the countryside would hardly pacify anyone. "We're going to visit Sundell after the wedding, dearest. Can you wait?"
"The wedding isn't for another five weeks," Ilsabet reminded him.
"I suppose that if you stayed to little-used paths and varied your route each day…" he began.
"Thank you!" Marishka cried and kissed him. Ilsabet looked away, certain that sight would be more than she could bear.
The next day Marishka and Ilsabet galloped in the highlands above the river. Ten guards accompanied them, and had Ilsabet not demanded that she and her sister lead, they would have been choked by the dust.
On their next afternoon's ride, they crossed the river and took back paths into the mountains, and the day after was a different route yet again. Ilsabet turned toward her sister, smiled happily, and pointed to a pair of deer grazing in the field below their path. "Let's spread our lunch here," she said.
They dined and shared a small bottle of wine. The drink and the heat of the day made Marishka warm. When they returned that evening, they changed into loose robes and stole down a private stairway that opened onto a sheltered ledge beside the river. With Greta and Kashi watching over them, they bathed in the Arvid River. "The water is already getting warmer," Marishka commented.
No doubt she was thinking how soon her wedding would be. The idyllic times were ending, Ilsabet thought, amazed at how little sorrow she felt.
Hours after she was supposed to have retired, Ilsabet moved through the labyrinth of tunnels in Nimbus Castle until she reached Jorani's hidden room. He wasn't there; she'd doubted he would be. What she planned was dangerous, and she wanted him entirely ignorant of what she intended to do. She lit a single candle and examined his stores with new knowledge, deciding finally on something he had revealed to her months before. With what she needed wrapped in a kerchief inside a pocket, she turned to go, then heard his steps in the room above.
The scent of her candle would linger in the room. He'd know someone had been here. Better to face him now.
When he saw her sitting at the table reading one of his books, he climbed down and locked the door behind him. "I hardly expected a visit from you at this hour," he commented as he took a seat across from her.
She closed the book. "I thought it best that we not meet publicly. I'd hoped to find you here tonight."
"Publicly?"
"Should anything else mysterious or tragic happen in Nimbus Castle, I wouldn't want suspicion to fall on you."
"What would possibly happen?" he asked carefully.
She decided on a cautious answer. "Any number of things, especially with poor Marishka nervous enough to have fainting fits. I've been reading about the calming plants like poppy and foxglove and thinking that perhaps I should ask the cook to fix Marishka tea each night to help her sleep. I suspect she'll need an extra strong brew the morning of the wedding."
"Are you resigned to letting the wedding take place?"
Ilsabet laughed. "You act as if I have a choice, Jorani."
He didn't answer directly. Instead he said, "In the months you've been gone, the rebels have attacked us twice. Each time, they've been repulsed with a minimum of losses for our side and theirs. Each time, Baron Peto has sent messages of peace. I think they're finally willing to let the hatred die and allow him to marry whomever he wishes. He's a wise man, child; far wiser than I'd expected."
"And their child will be half Obour," she commented.
"Exactly."
So Jorani had also been won over. She could forgive him the betrayal far more than that of her family, for like her father, he had the affairs of their domain to consider.
"I am resigned," she said in answer to his earlier question. She stood and walked around the table, taking his hands. "I'll not protest the wedding, but once it's over I would like to return to Argentine. I could learn to manage your lands since it seems that Peto will not let you out of his sight to go home."
For the first time he showed some emotion, responding with a bitter smile, and she knew she'd spoken no less than the truth.
When she'd gone, Jorani sat at the table looking at the book she had been reading, thinking how quickly she had closed it when he'd come in. She wouldn't dare try to harm the baron; she'd be suspected, imprisoned, hanged. Nonetheless, he examined the bottles on his shelves, noting the dust that had formed on them in his long absence from the room. The spider, which he risked the discovery of this room in order to feed, was still in its bowl, the web untouched. The sand that housed his ants was smooth, their tunnels undisturbed. But as he held the bowl close to the light, he saw a bit of lampblack on the side of their container. He wiped it off, thinking it was natural for Ilsabet to hold up a lamp to get a good look at them.