The Keeper of the Mist (9 page)

Keri returned his nod, pleased he'd understood her so well. “Yes, yes! Exactly. Invite them to the ascension. We'll invite them
all
to my ascension. We'll tell everyone they've been invited.”

“Indeed,” said the Timekeeper expressionlessly. “I will inform your castellan and your head of staff. They will see to it that our guests are welcomed to an event that runs smoothly and with assurance.”

“Yes,” Keri said gratefully. “All right,” she added, and nodded to everyone, feeling like she should shout at them to hurry, trying to restrain herself to regal calm.

Only when Cort and Brann had gone one way, and Domeric the other, did she finally let herself turn back to the Timekeeper and ask, one last time, “You're
sure
I'm supposed to be Lady? You're truly
sure
?”

But she didn't have to see that tiny lift of an eyebrow to know that the Timekeeper wouldn't suddenly change his mind, that time wouldn't roll back and give her another chance to stay safe in her bakery. It was too late. Time had moved on, and they had moved with it, and now they all slid forward into the future at the rate of one minute per minute and one hour per hour, the hands of the Timekeeper's watch slicing the present endlessly away from the past.

The ascension of a new Lady should have been a happy occasion, though leavened with grief for the passing of the previous Lord. Keri doubted the prevalence of overmuch grief in Nimmira, but her father had been Lord a long time, and everyone had been used to him. People would miss that: the feeling that everything was normal, that every day and week and year would bring expected things. She missed that herself, very much. But that was not
grief.
It was only uncertainty.

Everyone in Glassforge, and, she supposed, given the way news flew about through the air, probably everyone in Ironforge and Woodridge and all the various little hamlets and farms of Nimmira, believed that their new Lady had allowed the boundary mist to burn away in the sun. They knew, or thought they knew, that she had opened Nimmira to the Outside for the first time in nearly two hundred years—the first time since the day Lupe Ailenn had originally raised the mist, hidden his small land from its dangerous neighbors, and made himself Lord of Nimmira.

So today the people of Nimmira might be nervous about the foreigners who had come into Nimmira, they might doubt Keri's good sense, but they weren't
frightened.
Keri was certainly frightened enough to make up for it, especially since, despite two days of searching, Tassel hadn't yet found any clear suggestion for how to fix everything.

A lot of dusty old histories, yes, Tassel had found those. Keri read bits of them in the evenings while she waited for Cort and Brann to return with the Wyvern sorcerer so they could go on with her ascension.

She read in the evenings because her days were busy. Every morning she had to meet with Tamman and Mem to learn what her day was supposed to hold, and then with one after another of her father's advisors to listen to what they said about the affairs of Glassforge and the surrounding farms. She tried not to dislike them all on his account, but…she didn't like them. They were condescending old men—and a few condescending old women—who were not pleased to think of Nimmira depending on a girl for defense and direction. Every one of them would have preferred Brann. They didn't say so, but Keri was sure it was true.

And Keri explained more times than she could count that she'd deliberately opened up Nimmira because she thought this was a good time for herself and for Nimmira to become better acquainted with the people of Tor Carron and Eschalion.

At least Lucas and Tassel had done a fine job of putting across the idea that Nimmira had intentionally thinned its protective boundary. They were both good at it. People thought Keri might be overconfident, that maybe she'd made a mistake when she deliberately invited strangers to her ascension. Lots of people probably thought she was a fool, lots of them probably thought she was terribly vain, but she hoped that
very few
thought she had simply let the mist burn away
by accident,
or guessed that she had no way to bring it back.

And as soon as the sorcerer from Eschalion arrived, Keri would have to persuade him and all the Bear soldiers and all her own people that she truly was the Lady of Nimmira and that she really did have the ability to protect her land against any Outside power. Her half brothers and closest confidants and the Timekeeper himself might know the truth, but she hoped that no one else would be quite sure.

Many times over those few days, she longed to run back across town to her own bakery and the little house behind it, fragrant with sugar and fruit preserves and rose petals and mint and memories of childhood. She longed to shut behind her the door that did not quite fit in its frame and make a soothing tea and a fancy cake and remember her mother teaching her to whip cream just stiff enough and swirl caramelized sugar into fine golden strands. She had always dreamed of being Lady of Nimmira, of being what a Lady should be, of doing it
right.
And now all she wanted was to run away and bury herself in her bakery and never think about anything but sugar and cream ever again.

What she emphatically did not want to do was let her father's staff dress her in a beautiful gown that she knew must have once belonged to one of Lord Dorric's discarded women. She did not want to descend at last to the portico, step out of the House into the view of the whole town, and be formally invested in her father's place. She
most
particularly
did not want to face the Bear's soldiers or the Wyvern's sorcerer and pretend that she was glad to meet them, that she was perfectly at ease despite their presence.

Though, she had to admit, at least the gown was extremely beautiful. Nevia, like Tassel, did know exactly what would suit Keri's coppery dark hair and amber skin. No doubt the wardrobe mistress had had a great deal of practice matching lovely gowns to all sorts of women.

For this occasion, Nevia had brought out a gown of muted bronze, with double rows of buttons down the tailored front and single rows down the narrow sleeves. The gown had yards and yards of fabric and a weighted hem that made it swirl heavily. Nevia had also found matching soft-sided boots. The boots came up nearly to Keri's knees, and they, too, had decorative buttons up the sides. The wardrobe mistress had also found bronze and copper combs for Keri's hair, and a necklet of flat bronze and copper links with an amber drop suspended in the center of each link.

Linnet, Keri's youngest maid, had done Keri's hair, with many flickering sideways glances because she did not seem to dare meet the new Lady's eyes. Even so, Linnet had braided Keri's hair and coiled up the braids and tucked in combs and arranged for a few artfully chosen coppery wisps to curl down along her cheek, and the end result, which Keri could never have achieved on her own, managed to look extremely sophisticated without seeming affected. The hair and the gown also made Keri look about five years older. Keri stared at her reflection in the tall mirror Linnet held up and was astonished at how unlike herself she looked, and how well she matched her own idea of how the Lady of Nimmira
ought
to look.

Keri gathered that the task of doing over her father's red apartment had also been given to Linnet, who was no older than Keri herself but evidently possessed an eye for choosing and arranging colors and textures and shapes. Wherever the new pieces had been found, and despite their disparate woods and fabrics, they all worked together to create a harmonious new apartment in shades of brown and bronze, gold and warm apricot. Keri didn't like to look at Linnet or think about what the girl might have been to her father, but the apartment was…nice. The kind of place she might eventually get used to. Nothing at all like a place her father might have lived.

On that thought, Mem came in. She gave Keri so stern a look that Keri had to wonder just what dangerous truths the woman might have guessed. But she said only, “I trust you are ready, Lady? It's nearly noon. You should go down.”

Keri nodded. She hoped her face showed nothing of the coldness or fear that gripped her. She asked, “Is everyone else already there?” Although she thought her voice sounded steady enough, it was hard to tell.

But Mem did not seem to hear anything amiss. She answered, still stern, “Of course. Everyone is gathered and waiting. It would hardly be fitting for you to wait for them. But you must not be late.” Then she gave Linnet a sharp look. “Do leave off that fussing, girl. The Lady's hair is perfect.”

Linnet, who had not been doing anything wrong, backed away with an apologetic bob. Keri looked at Mem and wondered just how stern the woman might be, or whether Mem simply did not like Linnet. She was unsure what she should say, or if she should say anything, so she said only, “I'm ready, then. I know where to go, but you can walk with me and tell me what else I should know.”

Mem did not smile, but her mouth tucked a little at the corners. Keri wished she knew whether that was a sign of good temper or bad. She wished she knew Mem better, knew all the staff that belonged to this House, knew all the customs and manners a Lady ought to know. But time had run out. There was no more time for wishes.

The investure and ascension took place exactly at noon, three days after Keri had first stepped through the door of the House. So long a delay was not customary, but it was not actually improper, and the extra day had been necessary in order to wait for the arrival of Brann and Cort with the Wyvern sorcerer. It gave the townsfolk of Glassforge and all the people from the surrounding farms time to hear about the opening of the boundary and the invitation the new Lady had sent to the people of the lands Outside. It also gave Keri long enough to really worry about what all her people thought of this, and about what might happen if her own people or the foreigners found out the truth.

The ascension itself took place out in front of the House, at the top of the stairs, so that everyone in the square had a good view and everyone who lined the windows and balconies and rooftops of the surrounding buildings had an excellent view. The crowd had been gathering all morning while the narrow-winged swifts flicked past and around and down and up again above their heads. Keri would not have been surprised to learn that every single person in Glassforge had been jostling since the previous day for a place in or near the square.

Keri was going to have to step out there in front of all those people, the ones who trusted her and the ones who did not, and…She blinked. She had forgotten everything about the ritual that would take place. She had practiced, she had read over the ceremony and repeated bits out loud, and now she couldn't remember a single thing she had studied.

Surely the Timekeeper would not let her do it wrong, even if she was so stupid she forgot everything. He was there, at the top of the stairs, directly outside the wide double doors that now stood open. So were Cort and Tassel, both looking rather stiff and solemn. Perhaps this was a little too much attention even for Tassel, who loved public displays and being the center of attention. Or perhaps it was knowing too much about what was true and what was only for show.

The crowd looked denser still from the House portico, and somehow more faceless. Keri knew that the wealthier townspeople of Glassforge must be toward the forefront, with the men lucky enough to own property on the square afforded the best of views from the rooftops of their shops. Farther away would be the more prosperous farmers from the surrounding area and, farther from the House, all kinds of lesser tradesmen and artisans, servants and smallholders and a clutter of folk from the little villages within a day's walk or so of the town.

Keri recognized no one at all, though by rights she should have: she, and her mother before her, must have sold cakes and pastries to half of Glassforge. But now no one stood out from the multitude. Except the Outsiders.

The Outside people occupied privileged positions, right at the front, one delegation on either side of the square. Osman Tor the Younger stood at the head of his whole company. All his men wore leather and wool in plain colors, but their swords were polished. They looked very businesslike and intimidating, and Lord Osman, in his red cloak and with his garnet cabochon earring flashing like a drop of blood below his ear, looked more intimidating than any of the others. Though his father did not call himself a king, Osman the Younger was a prince in all but name. Keri could not help becoming nervous when she tried to imagine dealing with him.

Next to Osman the Younger stood Domeric. On Domeric's other side stood half a dozen of his friends: big men in plain black coats with bronze buttons. All of those men had powerful shoulders and brawlers' scars and closed, hard expressions. Keri was sure they must have knives beneath their coats. Tavern bouncers or gamblers' hired thugs or whatever they were, she thought she might almost prefer the Bear soldiers, none of whom looked at all like a brawler or a brigand. Except that though Domeric's men might be thugs, they were people of Nimmira, and those Bear soldiers were not.

Across the square from Tor Carron's people stood a single tall, slender man with high, delicate cheekbones, large gray eyes, silver-gilt hair, and a disdainful manner. He wore a wide jet-black band on his right wrist and nine silver bangles on his left. His name, Keri knew, was Eroniel Kaskarian. Brann had told her the man was of the Wyvern King's own family—a nephew of some degree, a great lord as well as a sorcerer. He had escorted Magister Eroniel—
Magister
was the title given to sorcerers in Eschalion—to the inn on the west side of the square and demanded the innkeeper there provide him with the very best suite.