"Madam, it cannot be so," said Liss in a puzzled tone.
Foix's brows climbed, then drew back down, darkly. Ista motioned him to patience and shouldered within, the men following.
"What is this argument?" Ista inquired.
Colored spots flared on Lady dy Hueltar's cheeks; she hesitated, then drew in her breath. "I was just explaining to this rude girl here that now you are done with that rash pilgrimage, dear Ista, you will be requiring a more befitting lady-in-waiting again. Not a girl groom."
"On the contrary, I need Liss very much."
"She isn't suited to be lady-in-waiting to a royina. She's not even a lady!"
Liss scratched her head. "Well, that's true enough. I'm not much good at waiting, either. I'm better at riding very fast."
Ista smiled. "Indeed." Her smile tightened a little, as she considered the scene she'd interrupted. Had Lady dy Hueltar actually imagined she might trick or drive Liss off, send her away believing herself dismissed?
Lady dy Hueltar made a little nervous gesture, under Ista's cool gaze. "Now that you are calmer, Lady Ista, surely it is time we began to think of returning safely to Valenda. Your good brother here will lend us a more adequate escort for the return journey, I'm sure."
"I'm not going back to Valenda. I'm going to follow the army into Jokona to hunt demons for the Bastard," said Ista. "Safety has little to do with the god's chores." Her lips curved up, but it was scarcely a smile anymore. "Has no one explained anything to you yet, dear Lady dy Hueltar?"
"I did," said Liss. "Several times." She lowered her voice to Ista. "It's all right. I had a great-aunt who grew very confused in her age like this, poor thing."
"I am not," Lady dy Hueltar began in rising tones, then stopped. She started again. "It's much too dangerous. I beg you to reconsider, dear Ista. My lord dy Baocia—as the head of the family now, it's your place to insist she be more sensible!"
"Actually," Ista noted, "he's been head of the family for a decade and a half."
Dy Baocia snorted, and muttered under his breath, "Aye—anyplace in Baocia but Valenda ..."
Ista took Lady dy Hueltar's hand and set it firmly on her brother's arm. "I'm sure you're very tired, dear lady, to have ridden so far, so fast, for so little need. But my brother will see you safely on your way back home tomorrow—or possibly tonight."
"I have already moved my things here—"
Ista cast an eye at the piles of luggage. "The servants will move them back. I will speak with you more later, dy Baocia." With a few more not terribly gentle hints, Ista maneuvered them both out the door. Her last hope of support from dy Baocia failing, Lady dy Hueltar moved off with him in a cloud of mutual exasperation, looking very crushed.
"Where did that woman come from?" Foix asked, shaking his head in wonder.
"I inherited her."
"My condolences."
"She'll be all right. My brother will find some other corner of the family to tuck her into; it won't please her as well as a higher household, but perhaps she'll get some satisfaction out of parading her former glories. She doesn't batten, you know; in certain narrow ways, she makes herself quite useful. It is sad, though, that she herself destroys the gratitude that ought to be her reward."
Foix glanced at Liss, whose face was a trifle set. He said, "I find my gratitude quite limited, I'm afraid."
Liss tossed her braid. "It doesn't matter."
"Was she trying to convince you that I'd dismissed you?" asked Ista.
"Oh, yes. It made her quite cross when I played the fool and failed to take her hints." Liss's mouth twitched up, then down. "It's true, though. I'm not a proper highborn lady."
Ista smiled. "I expect we shall rendezvous with Iselle and Bergon's court before the year is up—in Visping, if not sooner. At which point, by my request and your valiancy, a lady you shall be made in fact - Sera Annaliss dy... what was the name of that sheep-infested village, again?"
Liss breathed, "Teneret, Royina."
"Sera Annaliss dy Teneret, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Royina Ista. Sounds very dignified, don't you think, Foix?"
He grinned. "Aye—I think m'mother will like it quite well. Well, Bastard knows I've got to offer something, now, to make it up to her for, er, the Bastard."
"Ah, you aspire to some social climbing, do you? Well, it's not impossible; this year will offer young officers many opportunities for advancement, I suspect."
Foix swept Liss a courtier's bow. "May I aspire, lady?"
Liss eyed him with smiling speculation, and drifted across the chamber to start putting Ista's things in order. "Ask again in Visping, dedicat."
"I shall."
ISTA HAD DY CABON BRING GORAM TO HER IN THE STONE COURT. SHE sat in the colonnade's shade on the bench where they had first spoken, and studied the differences.
Goram dy Hixar's clothing was still that of the groom, his figure still short, his legs still bowed, his beard still grizzled. But he had lost the turtle hunch; he moved now with a swordsman's balance. And tension. His polite bow was supple enough for any provincial court.
"Learned dy Cabon has told you, I think, of my need for a master of horse, yes?" Ista began.
"Yes, Royina." Dy Hixar cleared his throat, uncomfortably, and swallowed his spit in her presence. Goram, she thought, would have let the gobbet fly.
"Can you undertake the task?"
He grimaced. "The work, aye. But Royina... I'm not sure if you understand who I was. Am. Why I was not ransomed."
She shrugged. "Captain of horse, swordsman, bravo, quondam murderer, destroyer of lives—not just of enemies', but friends'—shall I go on? The sort of fellow whose funeral's orations are all on the theme of Well, that's a relief."
He winced. "I see I need not confess to you."
"No. I saw."
He looked away. "All my sins delivered... it's a strange, strange thing, Royina. The lifting of one's sins is usually considered a miracle of the gods. But your god has brought all mine back to me. Goram the groom... was a hundred times better a man than Goram dy Hixar will ever be. I was a blank slate, brought—saved, for no merit of mine—to live for three years with the two best men in Caribastos. Not just best swordsmen—best men, you understand?"
She nodded.
"I scarcely knew such lives were possible, before. Nor wanted to know. I would have mocked their virtues, and laughed. Lord Illvin thought I was overwhelmed with joy when I fell to my knees before you in the forecourt. It wasn't joy that knocked me down. It was shame."
"I know."
"I don't want to be ... who I am. I was happier before, Royina. But everyone thinks I should be praying my thanks."
She returned him an ironic smile. "Be sure, I am not one of them. But—your soul is your own, now, to make of what you will. We are all of us, every one, our own works; we present our souls to our Patrons at the ends of our lives as an artisan presents the works of his hands."
"If it is so, I am too marred, Royina."
"You are unfinished. They are discerning Patrons, but not, I think, impossible to please. The Bastard said to me, from His own lips—"
Dy Cabon's breath drew in.
"—that the gods did not desire flawless souls, but great ones. I think that very darkness is where the greatness grows from, as flowers from the soil. I am not sure, in fact, if greatness can bloom without it. You have been as god-touched as any here; do not despair of yourself, for I think the gods have not."