She walked down hallways in a state of tension that made every tiny detail stand out. Her mother's bower was not entered by a conventional door, but through one of the magical curtains of sheeting energy that also protected the harem from intrusion. A slave was there to meet her, and steered her away from the sitting room to another part of the bower entirely, and Lady Viridina received her daughter in her own study, though the room bore very little resemblance to Lord Tylar's study. This was a stark room, small, with only a desk and two chairs of the simplest design; the floor, walls, and ceiling were a uniform cream, the desk and chairs a slightly darker shade of the same color. Viridina was reading something as Rena came in; she gestured to the single empty chair without speaking, and Rena took it, obediently, without a word of her own. She sat there, stiffly upright, with her hands folded in her lap, her whole body so taut with tension that she felt as if she vibrated with every heartbeat.
Finally Lady Viridina put the paper down, and looked up at her daughter, her face and eyes completely inscrutable. My Lord Tylar wishes me to tell you that he is very pleased with you, she said—words so surprising that it was only by force of will that Rena kept her mouth from dropping open with shock.
He's pleased with me? With me? How? Why? What did I do? What does he think I did?
It seems that you spent a great deal of time with V'keln Gildor er-Lord Kyndreth at the fete, her mother continued, and waited for an answer.
Rena nodded, numbly. Was that all it was? Just that she was kind to a bumbling idiot? A handsome bumbling idiot, granted, but then there were no such things as uncomely elves—
—except maybe me.
The House of Kyndreth is an ancient and powerful House, Lady Viridina continued. Not quite as powerful as that of Hernalth, but older. There is a great deal to be said for their lineage, and Lord Lyon is accounted a power in the Council. His favor is eagerly sought after.
Again Rena nodded, unable to imagine where this was going. Had Gildor's father been grateful that she had spent any time at all with his son—grateful enough to have complimented her to Lord Tylar? Perhaps even grateful enough to be willing to support Lord Tylar in the Council?
Well, you seem to have impressed Lord Gildor in many ways, her mother said, without so much as a lifted eyebrow. And it is difficult to impress Lord Gildor enough to cause him to remember any experience for more than a few hours. Or so it is said, according to your lord father.
There was no hint of irony in her mother's voice, and nothing in her expression to suggest humor. Rena hardly knew what to think. She certainly had not expected either candor or irony from either Lady Viridina or her father.
Lady Viridina regarded her with a penetrating gaze, as if looking for any hint that Rena found her comment amusing. At any rate, you did impress the er-Lord, and as a consequence, you have impressed his father, which is much more important.
Again she waited for a reply.
Yes, my lady, Rena managed to say. Naturally, it would be more important to impress Lord Lyon. Poor Gildor—must be very difficult to deal with for his own lord father. He seems a— she sought for a word to describe him that would have at least a hint of flattery amid the terrible truth that the young er-Lord was a fool —an amiable young lord, and he certainly seems eager to please his lord father. As is only right, of course. But I would say that he has very little ambition.
Or wit. Or intelligence.
Her mother nodded, and now she smiled, thinly. Good. You understand the situation, then. V'denn Lyon Lord Kyndreth made your father an offer for your hand last night, on behalf of his son. Naturally, Lord Tylar has accepted on your behalf. He is very pleased; what is more. Lord Lyon seems to believe that this acceptance puts him in your lord father's debt.
She took the words as if they were blows to her face and body, and with nearly the same shock.
Offer? For me-from Gildor? Accepted?
Shock turned to horror, and Rena was paralyzed, quite unable to speak, move, or even think past the reality of her mother's words. She had been sold away, all in an instant, without any warning—given to—to—
Gildor! A—an idiot who can't even remember what he did a few hours ago! A dolt completely controlled by his father! A booby who—who has barely more sense than a child still in the nursery, whose only interest is hunting, and who hasn't a single clever thought in his head! A fool who is cruel without even knowing that he has hurt someone!
She was too stunned even to tremble, and evidently her mother took her silence as a sign of agreement. She smiled, more with relief than with pleasure. I am pleased to see that you are properly grateful to your lord father and to Lord Gildor. Your good sense does you credit, and is a testimony to your training. She stood, and handed Rena another folded piece of paper, this one sealed with Lord Tylar's formal seal. The formalities must be observed, of course, and with someone of Lord Gildor's lineage, that is more important than usual. Everything must be done properly, with the appropriate care, on our part. Go to your quarters, and have your slaves gown you for a formal dinner, she ordered, as Rena stood in automatic response to her mother's movement. You will be leaving by means of the Portals to go straight to Lord Lyon and Lord Gildor yourself, bearing the acceptance, as is right and proper. Your escort will come to take you there in an hour.
That was clearly a dismissal, and Rena walked blindly out of the study, out of her mother's bower, and down the hallway to her own suite, still wrapped in a cocoon of stunned numbness.
* * *
The next few hours were a blur, lost in a haze of shock. She kept thinking that this was just another nightmare, that in a moment she would awaken in her own bed. This wasn't what was supposed to happen! It was like some horrible twist on a romantic tale, wherein the High Lord falls in love with the daughter of one of his underlings and petitions to wed her. Why, oh why had Lord Gildor chosen her train to tread on? Why couldn't he have blundered into someone else's unwanted daughter?
She must have given her slaves orders, and they must have been sensible, for the next thing she knew, she was gowned, coiffed, and bejeweled, and standing next to her escort in front of the Portal. Someone must have seen to it that she had the most flattering of her formal gowns brought out—perhaps one of the slaves had taken pity on her. This time there were no cosmetics, her hair had been done in simple braids twined with strands of pearls and fastened at her neck in a complicated knot, and her dress was of heavy pink silk, with a high neck and long sleeves that swept the floor. A belt of pearls held it close in at her waist, and more pearls circled her throat. She faded into the walls of her chamber, but at least she didn't look like a clown.
She thought she recalled Myre issuing orders and being obeyed, while she stood, sat, and turned in a state of mental blankness; she simply could not remember exiting her chamber, and now she stood on the threshold of the Portal. There was a sealed scroll-tube in her hand, an elaborately decorated, ivory-inlaid, gold scroll-tube. She didn't remember picking it up; someone must have put it in her hand without her being aware of it. And as she raised her hand to touch her temple, dazedly, there was a new ring on her finger; this one of white gold, set with a beryl engraved with a winged stag.