The Windsingers Series: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Megan Lindholm
simple brown shift was presentable. Lydia’s skillful mending scarcely showed. Next to the shift was a pair of loose blue pantaloons and a gaily embroidered vest. This was acceptable wear by the mountains and on the other side of the range, but slightly scandalous in Harper’s Ford. Beside it was the green shift with yellow flowers that Ki had worn the night of the Rite of Loosening. She had not touched it since. Now she let the fine weave of it slide over her fingers softly. She had refrained from wearing it lest it remind the others. She lifted it from the hook. They would be thinking of it tonight no matter what she wore. It might as well be the green gown. She slid it coolly over her head. It was still too long for her, even with the heavy sandals she strapped on her feet.
People had begun to gather in the common room. Most of them greeted Ki with a modicum of kindness. Some still nursed the psychic bruising she had given them. Holland was speaking quickly and softly to a woman who stood beside her nursing a child. Ki guessed what they spoke of. She deliberately walked over to them and touched one of the baby’s rosy bare feet.
‘Healthy as a little pig, isn’t she?’ Ki smiled hard at them both. The woman nodded hastily and turned to admire a nearby wall. Holland did not attempt to disguise her glare.
‘For shame!’ muttered a low voice beside her. Ki turned quickly to find Haftor grinning behind his hand at her. He shook his head. ‘Shame on you for waiting so long, that is. You should have begun to bait them a long time ago.’
‘To what end?’ Ki asked curiously. Haftor’s good humor gleamed through his homely face. Lamplight outlined the high cheekbones, glanced from his gleaming black hair. His dark blue eyes were full of merriment.
‘To force them to deal with you. While they can gossip about you in corners, and you stroll by us unperturbed as a hunting cat, they have no reason to respect you. Or to change their minds about you. Give them a taste of your wit now and then. They’ll either come to fear you and leave you alone, or recognize your worth and let you become one of the family.’
Ki smiled in spite of herself. ‘You and Lars have had your heads together?’
Haftor knit his dark brows. ‘Lars? He doesn’t indulge in long conversations with me. Saves them all up for you, I suppose.’
‘Meaning?’ Ki asked bluntly.
‘Meaning … nothing. Except that Lars seems to find himself more in your company than any of the rest of us do.’
‘That’s Rufus’s doing, I guess.’ Ki wondered where this strange turn of the conversation was taking them. ‘He told Lars to show me how to make myself useful. Lars has done so, giving me the same tasks he does himself. There’s nothing strange about that.’
‘Nothing at all, Ki. As anyone with half an eye would see. Rufus would be a fool not to arrange it so.’
Even as Ki tried to make sense of his remark, she felt a light touch on her sleeve. Lars smiled at them both.
‘Speaking of Lars, here he is, to snatch you away for some doubtless important reason.’
‘Extremely important,’ Lars agreed blandly, ignoring the acid edge to Haftor’s voice. Ki wondered what fey spirit had taken them both tonight. ‘My mother, Cora, requests that Ki come to her to meet our guest. You will agree to the importance of that, Haftor, will you not?’
‘Certainly, Lars. In fact, I find it so urgent I shall escort Ki to your mother myself.’
Ki moved lithely away just as Haftor would have possessed her arm. ‘I shall escort myself there, thank you. Whatever tussle you puppies have going, you had best leave me out of it.’ Ki moved swiftly away, leaving the two eyeing one another.
Cora was seated in a throne-like wooden chair to one side of the fireplace. On the opposite side of the hearth was a matching chair, empty. Ki moved to Cora’s side with a smile.
‘You sent for me?’ Ki’s eyes touched Cora’s hair, glinting silvery from the fire’s light, then fell on the worn hands folded idly in her lap. How strange to see Cora’s hands still! Ki’s heart went out to her, resting for a moment in Cora’s quiet strength. If Ki had ever had a mother, she would have wanted her to be a woman like this, full of quietness inside however she might chatter on the surface, loaning her strength to any that might need it. Cora had constrained Ki to stay here; Ki disliked that act. Yet, she could not dislike the woman who had done it. In Cora’s presence she felt that, for the moment, she could relax her grip on the reins, knowing that a woman fully as capable as herself was in charge. Ki could feel safe with Cora, for as long as their interests ran in the same direction.
Cora smiled up at her, reached to pat lightly at Ki’s hand. ‘I wanted you to meet our guest. He’s had to go to the backhouse again. He’s an old man, troubled by his stomach. Nils is his name. He has come from far to help us. Lars has told you this?’
Ki nodded and gathered her courage up. ‘Did Lars tell you that I would not enter into this rite? For, I am sure that idea came from you, not Lars.’
‘He told me,’ Cora admitted serenely. ‘And I told him that he had not asked you sweetly enough. He can have a charming tongue when he wills it, that boy of mine, but he will not always use it when I request him to. So, I suppose I must ask you myself. Ki, why will you not make this Rite with us? It would show the others that you have determined to make your home with us, to share our ways and enter our family fully.’
‘Then I would be lying to them,’ Ki said firmly in a quiet voice. She and Cora both looked about the room, smiling at any who might mark their conversation. Lydia held up a wine glass to her, and Cora smiled and nodded. She came promptly to serve them red wine in ancient glasses. Cora complimented Lydia on the table flowers. Ki smiled and nodded her thanks to Lydia as she received her glass of wine. She held it, untasted, as Lydia moved away.
Cora sipped at hers and fixed bright dark eyes on Ki. ‘You do not wish to be one of us, do you?’
‘I do not,’ Ki answered. ‘Though I thank you for the offer. Cora, I have stayed as you asked me. I have tried the life you offered me. I cannot make it mine.’
‘The time of healing is not finished,’ Cora reminded her.
‘I shall stay it out,’ conceded Ki. ‘But then I must be on my way, with no hard thoughts between us, I pray. You will let me go then, Cora.’
It was Cora’s turn to bow her head to Ki’s will. She did so with a slight slumping of her usually squared shoulders. Ki’s heart smote her. ‘I will let you go,’ Cora said. ‘If by then you have found nothing here to hold you, I will let you go. There will be no hard thoughts between us, but on my part there will be regret. When I was a girl, Ki, I found a wounded hawk, little more than a fledgling. I nursed it and coddled it back to health. It rode about on my wrist and fetched birds from the sky at my command. But I knew its heart was not in it. So, to my father’s disgust, I one day set it free. I know how to let things go, Ki. Do you?’
Ki looked at her hard, uncertain of the question. Before she could speak, Cora was nodding a greeting to an old man who was settling himself in the chair opposite.
Ki marveled at him. His smooth white hair was knotted at the base of his neck in the old way. His eyes were winter-blue under finely drawn white brows. The rest of his features were equally precise – the straight nose, the small mouth. He looked like a carefully preserved statue of an earlier type of Human, a man whose muscles were not nearly so important as his mind. He was slight of build, coming little higher than Ki’s shoulders. Age had stooped him, making his narrow shoulders curl toward his chest. And yet, despite his small build, he had a carriage of power. Ki dipped her head to him instinctively.
‘Nils, I present to you Ki, my daughter chosen by Sven.’
The old man sat calmly, nodding at Ki. ‘I’ve come to undo your mischief, Ki. What do you think of that?’
Nils spoke as if she were ten seasons old. Ki refused to take offense. ‘I welcome you here as no other could. I see you as the key to my freedom, old man.’
Cora