A Turn of Light (87 page)

Hettie frowned, then exclaimed, “Feathers! There was a black hen with the softest feathers. And a small girl in a red dress, who showed me how to hold it. That was you?”

“Yes!” Palma circled her fingers over her heart. “Ancestors Blessed and Bountiful. I wasn’t sure anyone would remember me. Allin didn’t, but he and Tadd were babes.”

Peggs had been a baby too, Jenn thought, but Roche and Devins might recall a young Palma. Wainn too.

“The book?” Peggs nudged.

Palma collected herself with a little cough. “After that, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to you. All of you. I’d make up stories. When I got older, I had to find out.” A smile. “I’d ask our visitors. Pieced together names and places. The more I learned, the more I knew I had to write. About the exiles. Their last night in Avyo. What happened.” Determination firmed her voice. “I want to tell your story, the real one. It’s important. People should know—” She stopped, as if embarrassed by her own passion.

No one spoke for a moment, then Peggs said huskily, “When you’re finished, I’d like to read it. Please.”

Jenn and Hettie nodded gravely. Palma looked grateful. “I—I wasn’t sure how you’d feel, but I wanted to be honest. Coming here—” She didn’t look at the sky or lights or fountain, she looked at the people. “—it’s a dream come true.” She sighed happily. “I want to talk to everyone.”

“Not Roche,” Hettie advised. “You can’t believe a word he says.”

Which, being no longer true, wasn’t quite fair. Jenn made herself say, “I’ve heard he’s taken a—a vow of truthfulness.”

Peggs, ever her ally, jumped in. “I heard that too.”

“A truthful Roche?” Hettie looked skeptical, but shrugged. “Well, if he thinks to find someone like you, Palma, Ancestors Witness he’ll have to improve himself.”

“Exactly,” Jenn said, a little too heartily. She went on, “Palma, you should start with Old—” she corrected herself, “—Master Wagler Jupp.”

“‘Jupp?’” Palma’s eyes widened. “The Secretary of the House of Keys? He’s here?!” Her voice actually squeaked on the word.

“He is.” She beamed. “With chests full of documents. He’s writing his memoirs—”

“Why didn’t Allin tell me? I have to meet him. Hettie, you must introduce us!” She twirled to go then back again, her mass of hair confused enough to slide over her face. “Wait. I need my notebooks—”

“What about the dance?” Hettie protested.

Palma gave her an incredulous look. “Do you know what an opportunity this is?”

“I know Old Jupp’s been in the beer and will be dancing himself once the music starts.” Peggs chuckled. “You may want to leave your questions till tomorrow. After his nap.”

“I can take you to Riss Nahamm, his great-niece,” Jenn offered, holding out her hand.

Though the innkeeper looked crushed, she rallied with a smile. “Sorry. It’s just—to be so close—”

“I understand.” To want to know, to see for herself? That desire had been everything to her once, before pebbles and magic and curses. How remarkable, that Palma would find hers here, in Marrowdell.

If Marrowdell let her stay.

Full of trust, Palma gave her hand. “Lead on, Jenn Nalynn.”

As she did, Jenn wished with all her heart that Palma sleep as well as she would at home, with only sweet dreams. She wished and . . .

“Here you are.”

Mistress Sand stood in her way.

Jenn stopped, Palma stopping with her. She met the turn-born’s blue-eyed gaze and refused to let hers waver. This, she would have.

The pipe sent up a cheerful and familiar melody, the flute followed. As more villagers rose to dance, Sand gave Jenn a tiny nod before smiling at Palma. “Greetings again. I’ve heard there’s to be a second wedding na? Congratulations.”

The innkeeper’s daughter blushed. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Stop by my tent in the morning. I’ve something pretty for you.” Sand glanced at Jenn. “Before you rush away to dance, a word na?”

“I’ll come right back,” Jenn promised. “I want to introduce Palma to someone.”

Nodding, Sand took a seat.

Mulling over what had happened, or not, Jenn led Palma to Riss Nahamm.

Riss had dressed for the dance in green satin. It had been her best dress when Jenn was little, then gifted to Cynd years ago. Covie’d worn it since, though Gallie couldn’t, as well as Frann and Wen. Peggs had had it last year, adding yellow ribbons. The ribbons were gone and Riss had wrapped a heavy black shawl over her shoulders despite the warm night. Her wounded hair curled against her pale cheeks and neck, and her eyes were haunted until she saw Jenn. “Fair evening, Jenn. Palma.”

What had she been thinking, to bring a stranger to Riss when she was so unhappy? As Jenn regretted her decision, Palma crouched before the seated woman. “I’m writing a book,” she said eagerly. “It’s about you—about all the exiles. Their struggle. Leaving Avyo. May I—I’d like to—I mean I—” Words failing, she looked beseechingly at Jenn.

“Palma would like to speak with Master Jupp,” Jenn supplied. “Tomorrow, if possible. I mentioned his memoirs.”

“Of course.” Riss’ face lit with real pleasure. “The injustice of the past is my honored uncle’s favorite topic. I fear you’ll find him hard to stop, once started.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Palma declared stoutly.

Riss smiled. “Come, sit with me.” She made room on her bench. “Tell me about your book.”

“If you’ll pardon—” Jenn began, then stopped, pleased to find neither paying attention. She walked away, rather satisfied with the night so far.

She saw Kydd lead her sister to join the dancers around the fountain and felt a little wistful, but she wasn’t here to dance. Not tonight. She had to talk to—

A figure moved from the shadows. “Would you teach me this, Jenn Nalynn?”

Jenn started, a little, but smiled politely at Urcet. He’d changed his brown coat for a sleeker one, embroidered in red and gold. The same black sash crossed from shoulder to waist, with its muted red bells, but he’d left the pouches and belt behind. He was, if possible, more beautiful than before; Jenn found herself chilled, not warmed.

He’d spied on her from his wagon. And she wasn’t, Jenn knew, to talk to him any further. Which had to include dancing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking around for a reason and having no trouble finding it. Wyll was coming toward them as quickly as his leg allowed, silvered eyes catching the lamplight. “I must honor my betrothed with the first dance.”

Urcet leaned close. He smelled of spice and beer. “And me with an explanation, girl,” in no friendly tone. “How come you to speak Eldani?”

She did? Really, it was no stranger than speaking moth or toad, Jenn decided and drew back, giving Urcet her aunt’s quelling stare. “Enjoy the festivities,” she suggested haughtily, and went to meet her dragon.

To forestall anything unfortunate, which, from Wyll’s expression, could be anything indeed, Jenn slipped her arm through the crook of his good one and urged him, firmly, toward the dancers. “I’m so glad you found me. It’s time for our first dance.”

He came without argument, though there was menace in the lingering look he shot at Urcet and she was sure they shouldn’t be left together.

Master Riverstone’s pipes, Frann’s flute, and Davi’s bass were being accompanied, more or less in tempo, by an assortment of pans and kettlepots enthusiastically struck by whomever felt so inclined and had remembered to bring a spoon. Jenn’s spirits lifted until, despite her shoes, she was half dancing as she pulled Wyll along.

He stopped short and she almost fell. “Try, Wyll,” she coaxed. “You might like it.” Old Jupp was out there, his canes a minor hazard, but as sure-footed as if the music moved his legs for him.

“What I like is watching you dance, Dearest Heart,” he reminded her, for hadn’t she danced in their meadow times without number? He’d whirl daisy petals and dizzy bees as her partners, catching her in his little breezes when she’d twirled herself once too often.

Before she’d destroyed Night’s Edge.

Sobered, Jenn nodded and looked for a suitable place for Wyll. There were others who sat and watched, or paused to catch their breath, but not all would appreciate the dragon’s company. “Let’s find you a—ah!” Spotting Wainn, she brought Wyll over to him. “I’ll be back. There’s someone I’ve to talk to—”

“Oh, we’ll take care of him.” Tir Half-face appeared at her shoulder, a pair of brimming tankards in each fist. His eyes were mischievous over his mask. “I promised friend dragon I’d introduce him to a proper drink.”

“It stinks,” Wyll protested as he took one.

Wainn took another and grinned. “It’s good,” the youngest Uhthoff assured him. “To the harvest!” He clicked his tankard against Wyll’s.

Who looked so dubious Jenn had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Keep out of trouble,” she advised. “I won’t be long.”

She had to speak to the turn-born. That first.

“Keep an eye out for Bannan,” Tir called shamelessly after her. “Can’t miss him. He’s in those tight leather pants you like.”

Jenn hurried into the shadows between lamps.

Where her blush wouldn’t show.

He hadn’t lost sight of her for an instant.

Or dared approach.

Bannan shifted around an apple tree to keep the dancers between him and Jenn Nalynn, pondering the nature of courage.

Where was his?

Fled. Vanished. Nonexistent. Was it the dress? Old-fashioned it might be, but wearing it, she was magnificent.

Or the look she’d given him, at the end of the Beholding? When it seemed her eyes went straight to his lonely heart and laid it bare . . .

He was in well over his head tonight, without a single drink to blame.

“Truthseer.”

At the quiet word, Bannan tensed and looked around, expecting a turn-born. Seeing Horst, he relaxed. “Any news?”

“Their servants’ll have sore heads tomorrow,” the old soldier informed him. “The dema seems harmless. The other?” He lowered his voice. “Ancestors Witness, you were right, Bannan. This Urcet plays some role and, whatever his purpose, he won’t be easily discouraged. A ruthless man and dangerous.” An unspoken question hung in the air.

“The sole Eld in all of Upper Rhoth can’t disappear, my friend,” Bannan grinned. “No matter how clever we are.”

“Inconvenient,” Horst said mildly. “Let’s hope Marrowdell acts for us.”

The dreams. Of course. Remembering Tir’s anguish, the truthseer grimaced. “Heart’s Blood. I never thought to wish nightmares on a man.”

A grim laugh. “You won’t have to. Newcomers arrive full of themselves, only to slink away before breakfast the very next day, tails between their legs. It’s kept life simple. Till you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Bannan grinned.

“A man endures what he must.” A real smile. “Speaking of which . . . our Jenn looks lovely tonight, don’t you think?” Horst’s smile faded. “The very image of Melusine.”

The “image” sat with Sand, the two in earnest conversation. Lamplight gilded her hair and sent shimmers along the ribbons that flowed between her breasts.

Bannan coughed.

“Are you going to hide from her all evening?”

“I wasn’t—” At Horst’s knowing look, he stopped any pretense. “It’s for the best.”

“Is it?” Horst put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve known Jenn all her life, Bannan. Her family’s like my own and, Ancestors Blessed, there’s strength in the Nalynns you’ll not find elsewhere. Let her know how you feel. Trust her to do what’s right.”

“It’s myself I don’t trust,” Bannan admitted wryly.

“A man of honor.” The hand fell and the old soldier’s voice softened. “Don’t let honor steal your happiness—or hers.”

“Horst—”

But the man was gone.

Bannan’s eyes found Jenn. She’d risen to her feet, smiling down at Sand. Horst was right. He avoided her tonight for the same reason he’d carved her initials where they couldn’t be seen, to appease his prickly honor. How could he look the dragon in the eye if he courted his betrothed in earnest?

According to Horst, by refusing to follow his heart, he gave no credit to Jenn Nalynn. Lila would be more blunt. Thought so much of himself, did he, that he could sway such a wondrous heart from its course with a mere dance or a kiss?

Jenn swayed with the music, wanting to dance.

Trust her.

Bannan straightened his shirt cuffs and screwed up his courage. Man against dragon, then. A dance there would be.

Any kiss would be up to Jenn Nalynn.