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to me now.
After a long, indrawn breath, Palli changed the subject abruptly to the little
matters of managing his escort from the Daughter s military order. Cazaril
found himself comparing useful tricks for treating leather rot and thrush
infections in horses hooves. Soon thereafter Palli retired or fled for the
night.
An orderly retreat, but Cazaril recognized its nature all the same.
Cazaril lay down with his pains and his memories. Despite the feast and the
wine, sleep was a long time coming. Fear might be his friend, if that wasn t
just bluff and bluster for Palli s sake, but it was clear the dy Jironal
brothers were not.
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The Roknari reported you d died of a fever was a lie outright, and, cleverly,
quite uncheckable by now. Well, he was surely sheltered here in quiet Valenda.
He hoped he d cautioned Palli sufficiently to walk warily at the court in
Cardegoss and not put a foot in a pile of old manure unawares. Cazaril rolled
over in the darkness and sent up a whispered prayer to the Lady of Spring for
Palli s safety. And to all the gods and the Bastard, too, for the deliverance
of all upon the sea tonight.
At the Temple pageant celebratingthe advent of summer, Iselle was not invited
to reprise her role of the Lady of Spring because that part was traditionally
taken by a woman new-wed. A very shy and demure young bride handed off the
throne of the reigning god s avatar to an equally well-behaved matron heavy
with child. Cazaril saw out of the corner of his eye the divine of the Holy
Family heave a sigh of relief as the ceremony concluded, this time, without
any spiritual surprises.
Life slowed. Cazaril s pupils sighed and yawned in the stuffy schoolroom as
the afternoon sun baked the stones of the keep, and so did their teacher; one
sweaty hour he abruptly surrendered and canceled for the season all classes
after the noon nuncheon. As Betriz had said, the Royina Ista did seem to do
better as the days lengthened and softened. She came more often to the
family s meals and sat almost every afternoon with her lady attendants in the
shade of the gnarled fruit trees at the end of the
Provincara s flower garden. She was not, however, permitted by her guardians
to climb to the dizzy, breezy perches upon the battlements favored by Iselle
and Betriz to escape both the heat and the disapproval of various aging
persons disinclined to mount stairs.
Driven from his own bedchamber by its dog-breath closeness on a hazy hot day
following an unusually heavy night s rain, Cazaril ventured into the garden
seeking a more comfortable perch himself.
The book under his arm was one of the few in the castle s meager library he
had not previously read, not that Ordol s
The Fivefold Pathway of the Soul: On the True Methods of Quintarian Theology
was exactly one of his passions. Perhaps its leaves, fluttering loosely in his
lap, would make his probable nap look more scholarly to passersby. He rounded
the rose arbor and halted as he discovered the royina, accompanied by one of
her ladies with an embroidery frame, occupying his intended bench. As the
women looked up he dodged a couple of delirious bees and made an apologetic
bow to them for his unintended intrusion.
Stay, Castillar dy . . . Cazaril, is it? murmured Ista, as he turned to
withdraw. How does my daughter go on in her new studies?
Very well, my lady, said Cazaril, turning back and ducking his head. She is
very quick at her arithmetic and geometry, and very, um, persistent in her
Darthacan.
Good, said Ista. That s good. She stared away briefly across the
sun-bleached garden.
The companion bent over her frame to tie off a thread. Lady Ista did not
embroider. Cazaril had heard it whispered by a maidservant that she and her
ladies had worked for half a year upon an elaborate altar cloth for the
Temple. Just as the last stitches were set, the royina had suddenly seized it
and burned it in the fireplace of her chamber when her women had left her
alone for a moment. True tale
or not, her hands held no needle today, but only a rose.
Cazaril searched her face for deeper recognition. I wondered . . . I have
meant to ask you, my lady, if you remembered me from the days I served your
noble father as a page here. A score of years ago, now, so it would be no
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