He was thinking of Justice when a shadow across the page startled him, and made him look up in alarm.
He had not been listening for any approach. He looked around at brocade skirts and dainty slippers and up into a fair ladyʼs face that smiled on him, red lips and dark eyes, and masses of auburn hair. It was the lady who had smiled at him before.
Good day, she said.
He laid his book aside and quickly gathered himself up, having now to look down at her, for she was not so tall as he. She was beautiful, bright and dainty, with a light in her eyes that seemed mirth just about to break forth. He was entranced, delighted and dismayed, because he very well remembered the condition of his freedom, and spread his hands in apology.
I cannot, he said.
Cannot what, sir?
Talk with you. Cefwyn forbade it.
Did he, indeed?
Forgive me. Please go. My guards will be unhappy.
Auburn lashes swept over dark eyes and lifted again, restoring an intimate moment. She smiled at him, such a smile as held friendship and mockery at once. Your guards will be unhappy. I am Orien Aswydd. And who are you, sir, that Prince Cefwyn keeps so isolate in myhouse?
Your house? It upset all the order he had made of things; and his question immediately brought a frown from her.
My house, indeed, sir, and what is your name?
Tristen, he murmured, and mʼlady was what he thought one called a lady, be she a thaneʼs lady or an earlʼs, but he feared offending her, having made one mistake already.
Tristen of Ynefel? Do I hear true? Maurylʼs what? Apprentice?
Student, mʼlady. I was his student.
And Prince Cefwyn keeps you prisoner here. Why?
I donʼt know.
What, donʼt know? She laughed and lost the laughter in gazing past him, where someone had walked close.
His guards had moved, and one put an arm between, wishing him to turn away. He bowed slightly before doing so. He knew that he had lingered longer than he should.
Lady Orien!
Emuin. Tristen looked, dismayed as the old man came strolling down the path.
Your Grace, Emuin said, also with a nod, good day to you. And after a silence, and sternly, Good day, Lady Orien.
Orien stared at Emuin with what seemed intense dislike, whisked her beautiful skirts aside and walked away with small precise steps down the gravel path. The sun on her auburn hair shone like a haze of fire.
Tristen stared after her, and Emuin set a heavy hand on his shoulder, demanding his full and sober attention. What was said? Emuin asked.
I told her my name, sir. She asked why I was a prisoner. She said this is her house. I thought it was Prince Cefwynʼs.
Emuin seemed slightly out of breath. Emuin drew him to a bench and sat down, drawing him to sit beside him. Do you feel yourself a prisoner?
I promised Prince Cefwyn I would not leave, and I
Do you wish to leave?
I know nowhere else, sir. But if I am not welcome here, I know how to go back to the Road if you give me leave.
Emuin studied the gravel at their feet. Do not, he said at last, trust that lady. She is one of the chiefest Prince Cefwyn meant when he warned you not to speak to strangers.
Yes, sir, he said. He must say. Emuin commanded Orien, and Cefwyn perhaps commanded Emuin; he had tried in all he heard to make sense of it. Emuin was still out of breath, and he suspected that his guards, less attentive to their talk than he had thought, might have called Emuin, or Emuin might have seen what was going on from the windows above. He had never seen master Emuin in the garden before.
As for going back to the Road, Emuin said, believe me that you are ill-prepared to wander it, young sir. There are very many dangerous people to account of.
Like Lady Orien? He truly wanted an answer to his question. But surely Emuin remembered what he had asked, and chose not to answer.
Lady Orien, Emuin said, and her sister, are Amefin, and this is, in good truth, their brotherʼs house. Heryn Aswydd is Duke of Amefel, and lords of Amefel did formerly style themselves kings petty ones, but kings. Now they style themselves aethelings, which is the same thing but they do so quietly. Prince Cefwyn is Lord Herynʼs guest, by the will of the King in Guelemara, who is not a petty king: Inreddrin is King of Ylesuin, which is eighteen provinces, most of them far greater than rustic Amefel, which he also rules, above any duke. Prince Cefwyn is King Inreddrinʼs heir, and he does the Kingʼs will here in Amefel as the Kingʼs viceroy, which means the Duke of Amefel is obliged, being a loyal subject, to quarter the prince and his court, and his Guelen guard, both the Princeʼs Guard, and the regulars. It also means the west wing of the Zeide is Prince Cefwynʼs so long as Prince Cefwyn pleases to remain in Amefel, which he will please to do so long as the King wills it. So you are the princeʼs guest and ward, by right of Maurylʼs title in Ynefel, which His Highness chooses to honor at least by courtesy. So you are not answerable to Lady Orien except through him.
There were a confusing number of Words in what master Emuin said. But it meant Prince Cefwyn had taken care and charge of him. That was comforting to know. And he supposed that if he had to choose who was telling him things most true, it would most likely be master Emuin.
I am glad to know that, sir, he said.
What are you reading? Is that Maurylʼs Book?
Yes, sir. But I still make no sense of it. The other the archivist lent me.
Emuin picked the other book up from beside him and looked at it. Philosophy. Hardly a noviceʼs book. And you read this one, do you, with no difficulty with the words?
It seems a great deal of argument.
Argument, indeed. Emuin seemed both thoughtful and amused. Do you like the scholarʼs argument?
It seems to me, sir, the book is about Words, and I learn them.
And how else do you fill your hours?
I feed the birds. I walk.
You must be lonely.
I wish Mauryl were here. Or I were with Mauryl.
You Miss him.
His throat went tight. That is the Word, yes, master Emuin. It was difficult to speak more than that. He looked away, wishing to speak, now that he had someone, if only for a moment, to speak to. But the words stuck fast. He thought Emuin would leave him in disinterest.
But Emuin set his hand on his shoulder, and left it there while he struggled to clear the lump in his throat, a strangely difficult matter now that there was someone beside him to notice.
This morning, Tristen began, as calmly as he could, this morning I was thinking that, in Ynefel, I knew very little. I thought things changed a great deal. But now that Iʼve been Outside, things inside the Zeide seem to change very little.
Very perceptive. Emuin lowered his hand. Things do change. But mostly common and noble folk alike live their lives inside safe walls, and never seek to go outside or travel as youʼve traveled ever in their lives.