Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz] (8 page)

stories had taken on the substance of reality. Kalena found herself abnormally quiet during the evening

meal.

The low, round table in the center of the softly colored chamber was inlaid with tiny, exotically colored

tiles that formed a swirling, undefined pattern. Kalena had spent some time trying to analyze the meaning

of the design and had failed. The restless chaos in the tilework would have been disconcerting but for the

pale tones used. Kalena, Ridge and Quintel were seated on low cushions, their fingerspears resting on

small carved stands in front of them. The men sat with traditional masculine casualness, their attire making

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it easy for them to change position when the mood took them.

Although Kalena was wearing one of her new, shorter tunics, she found herself too self-conscious to sit

in any position other than the formal, kneeling, feminine style. Her trousered legs were gracefully curled

beneath her and her back was elegantly straight. From this position she was expected to handle any

service at the table that was not taken care of by the silent servant who brought in the various dishes.

Pouring extra wine or dishing out second helpings was considered a female occupation. Good-naturedly,

Kalena accepted the inevitable role of a woman at the evening table, telling herself it was only temporary.

She wondered privately what Quintel and Ridge did when they had no female present. She would bet her

last gran they were quite capable of serving themselves.

Kalena was in the act of pouring Ridge another goblet of the golden Encana wine when he turned from

his conversation with Quintel and spoke to her directly. "You made your purchases today?"

"Yes," she responded politely, setting down the crystal wine bottle. "I bought everything you told me to

get, including your shirts. I'll send them to your apartments later this evening."

For some reason she decided not to mention that she had been overcome by an unexpected attack of a

traditional sense of duty toward her future husband late this afternoon. Or perhaps it had been guilt.

Kalena wasn't sure. She still didn't know why she had purchased the embroidery silk and needles when

she had bought Ridge's shirts. Later, as she had sat sewing a small, discreet initial R onto the shirts before

dinner, she had chastised herself for succumbing to such an old-fashioned gesture of feminine respect.

But some aspects of one's early training ran deep, she had discovered with a small sense of amused

resignation. Besides, she had seen enough of Ridge's clothing to know that no woman bothered to

personalize his shirts with his initial. Considering the fact that he was a Houseless bastard, that was hardly

surprising. Kalena told herself that Ridge was more or less an innocent pawn in the whole scheme of

vengeance in which she was involved. The least she could do was embroider one or two of his shirts for

him.

Modestly, she lowered her eyes to the dish of hot, whipped columa berries in front of her. She had no

wish to actively participate in the table conversation. But Ridge seemed determined to push her into the

discussion.

"What about the wedding cloak? Did you find one?"

Her mouth started to lift in a private smile. Firmly Kalena stifled it. "Yes, Ridge. I found one."

Casually, Quintel asked the next question. "What did you select, Kalena?"

She looked up, meeting Ridge's gaze. "Red," she stated boldly. "A most interesting shade of scarlet."

Quintel laughed in genuine amusement, raising his goblet in mock salute to Ridge whose expression was

wry."Very good. The lady has issued a challenge, Fire Whip. It would seem she has decided not to be a

boring sort of bride. Tell me, what will you wear to counter the challenge?"

Ridge picked up his wine and swallowed. "She's chosen the color of red Symmetra. Therefore Kalena

leaves me little choice. I will have to wear black, won't I? The black of the night that enfolds the moon,

the way a man embraces his woman."

Kalena felt the heat surge into her face, knowing her small act of assertiveness had just been well and

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truly squashed. "The entire matter of the wedding would seem quite pointless under the circumstances."

"No," Quintel said gently, "it is not pointless. Not in this instance. You must trust my judgment in this

matter. I have made all the preparations. The wedding will be at the customary hour of sunset and it will

be followed by a proper feast."

"You have invited a lot of people?" Kalena asked anxiously. A good-sized crowd would make her task

easier. Olara had foreseen a large crowd.

"A number of traders and their associates. Men Ridge knows. Forgive me for not asking if there was

anyone you would wish to invite, Kalena. I assumed that since you are alone in town there would be no

one you would wish present."

"I'll let you know tomorrow evening," Kalena said firmly.

Ridge immediately picked up on that remark. He shot her a quick, speculative glance. "What happens

tomorrow evening?"

"It is then I hope to meet some new friends. Perhaps I will ask them to the wedding. The bride is entitled

to bring her own witnesses, is she not? She is entitled to have women friends to attend her and make

certain she has her time of privacy after the ceremony before the groom comes to her room." She had to

have that traditional hour of privacy. It was essential to her task.

"Of course you may invite whom you wish," Quintel murmured.

Ridge scowled thoughtfully. "What friends will you be meeting? You know no one in town."

"Except Arrisa. You remember her?" Some of Kalena's earlier enthusiasm returned. Her eyes sparkled.

"She has arranged to give me what she calls a trade wife send-off. She and her associates will be calling

for me tomorrow evening. Oh, that reminds me, my lord," she added, turning to Quintel. "Please do not

expect me for the evening meal tomorrow"

Ridge shifted slightly, one arm looped around an upraised knee, his wine goblet grasped in his fingers.

His golden gaze was narrow and suspicious. "You plan to spend the evening with Arrisa and her friends?"

"Arrisa was kind enough to invite me when I ran into her on Weavers Street this morning."

"I don't think you realize exactly what sort of evening you might be letting yourself in for," Ridge began

with the familiar arrogance of a male who is about to straighten out a sadly naive female. "Arrisa and her

friends are not the sort of acquaintances you would wish to encourage."

"Why not?"

"Well, several of them have been trade wives in the past or have accompanied the caravans in, uh,

certain capacities. All of them have a reputation for rather loose behavior."

Kalena smiled brightly. "But I am going to be a trade wife myself. These are the sort of women whom I

shall be associating with in the future. I should get to know their ways; be accepted among them."

Ridge's mouth tightened. "Your aunt is a respectable Healer. I am sure she would not approve of your

plans for tomorrow evening."

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Kalena managed to resist pointing out that her aunt was the one who had contracted for the trade

marriage in the first place. "I expect you're right. My aunt has extremely restrictive notions," Kalena

allowed diplomatically.

"Not half as restrictive as a husband's notions." Ridge clattered his goblet warningly as he set it down on

the table.

Kalena chose to ignore the gesture. "I haven't got a husband. Not yet," she said softly.

"Two nights from now that particular detail will be corrected," Ridge informed her meaningfully. "In the

meantime you will behave yourself in a proper manner."

"I will behave myself in a proper trade wifemanner," Kalena agreed politely. "But since I don't yet know

exactly how trade wives behave, I shall first have to learn something about the subject, won't I?"

"Not from Arrisa and her friends," Ridge said coldly.

Aware of Quintel's amused attention, Kalena decided to drop her end of the argument. She had no need

to quarrel over the matter. She fully intended to join Arrisa and her friends the following evening and

nothing Ridge could do would change that. She would gain nothing by making a spectacle of herself at

the trade baron's table. Meekly, Kalena went back to her columa berries.

They weren't quite as good as the ones she was accustomed to getting back in Interlock, she decided.

Ridge watched her broodingly for a short time and then apparently decided he had successfully handled

the situation. He appeared relieved, and proud of his first attempt at exercising husbandly responsibility.

"Did you remember to buy riding clothes?"

"Yes, Ridge. I remembered the riding garments. The shopkeeper said they would be ready tomorrow

afternoon."

"Boots?"

"I ordered boots. They'll be delivered tomorrow also." He nodded, satisfied. "I'll take care of everything

else." "I assumed you would."

He ignored that, turning to Quintel. "We'll leave at dawn the morning after the wedding. There's no

reason to delay any longer."

"I quite agree," Quintel said. He took a small bite of the meat and vegetable mixture on his plate. Quintel

ate sparingly at all meals. "Tell me, Kalena, did your aunt encourage you to train as a Healer?"

Kalena shook her head, knowing that the art of Healer was the last path down which Olara would have

sent her. Such a calling would have made the goal for which Kalena had been raised impossible. Healers

found it impossible to kill except in self-defense. Furthermore, Olara had always told Kalena in no

uncertain terms that she saw no evidence of the Talent in her niece, anyway. That fact had always made

Kalena strangely sad. She would have liked very much to have been born with the Talent. But it was

unlikely Olara was wrong in her opinion on Kalena's lack of ability. Olara was a very gifted Healer.

Some said she could have been a High Healer if she had chosen to join the women of the Variance

valley. She was almost never wrong. "No. My aunt had other ambitions for me."

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"I see. Does your aunt think you might have inherited some of her Talent?"

Kalena looked at him, sensing a question behind the question.

"Don't worry, my lord, my aunt is certain I can accomplish my role in this venture."

"Then I must be satisfied with her certainty. You say your aunt handled your education. Did she teach

you about the Stones?"

"I know the legend of the Stones of Contrast as well as the tales of the Keys to the Stones," Kalena said

carefully. "I have also been instructed in the Philosophy of Contrast."

"But you do believe the tales?"

"My aunt believes in the Keys," Kalena said thoughtfully. "It would be difficult to find a true Healer who

did not believe in them. The Light Key is said to be the source of the power of the Sands of Eurythmia

and therefore an asset to all Healing. My aunt is a very wise woman and if she chooses to believe in the

Keys, then I'm inclined to think there may be some substance to the tales."

"Very cautiously spoken," Quintel said with a small smile. "I myself am careful when asked such

questions. But I keep an open mind."

"It would seem that any intelligent person would keep an open mind on such a subject. Zantalia is very

large, and the portion of it that we occupy here on the Northern Continent is sosmall in comparison to the

unknown regions on the other side of the world. Who knows what mysteries will be uncovered when all

the world is explored?"

"A very wise frame of mind," Quintel said approvingly.

He meant considering the fact that she was a woman, Kalena thought, aware that Ridge was listening

closely. "Thank you, my lord," she said politely. "If even a portion of the legends about the Stones of

Contrast are discovered to be true, we shall have a very interesting problem to unravel, won't we? There

is the whole matter of who or what the Dawn Lords really were and whether they truly commanded the

incredible power of the Stones, let alone the power of the Keys."

"It is only in large towns such as Crosspurposes and relatively progressive areas such as the Interlock

valley that anyone even questions the legends, Kalena," Quintel pointed out. "When you travel with Ridge

to the Heights of Variance you will learn that in other places the tales of the Dawn Lords and their Stones

of Contrast are assumed to be fact."

"And," Ridge put in deliberately, "you will not bring up philosophical questions on the matter to the

people we meet on our journey, understand? In some villages such comments could get us mobbed or

hounded out of the community"

"I shall be guided by your actions," Kalena murmured with suitable meekness.

Ridge looked pleased with her wifely response. "I'll take care of you, Kalena, and see that you don't

come to harm."

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Two hours after the close of the lengthy meal, Kalena put the last embroidered stitch in Ridge's shirt.