Kei's Gift (70 page)

“Yes, thanks, Lev.”

“Thank you, sir. I didn’t mean to cause offence,” Arman said, his polite mask now restored.

“None taken—not over that anyway. I need to clean up before the ceremony, so I’ll see you then.”

Kei closed the door behind him. “You amaze me, you truly do.”

“Because I can sew?”

Kei grinned. “Because you’ll let people call you an evil murderer to your face without a single complaint, but the moment they imply you can’t stitch two bits of material together, you lose your temper.”

Arman smiled ruefully. “Sorry—I just get rather tired of having every sin a man can commit attached to my name. I’ve plenty that are real—why should I tolerate the fictional ones?”

“You shouldn’t. It’s all right to be mad at them for being rude. They can say their piece without that. I’m rather tired of it myself.”

“Remember what I said to you a while ago about picking your battles? That isn’t a battle worth fighting. Nor was the sewing, but I never claimed to have perfect judgement.”

“You’re forgiven, my lord. But now I need to clean you up, get you dressed and then wash and change myself. We don’t have a lot of time, and I’ve irritated people enough today without being late to speak for my sister at her wedding.”

There were easily two or three places where Arman would less like to be than limping slowly along Albon’s street—Her Serenity’s palace cells, a dinner table with his father, even back in one of the wagons. That didn’t mean he was delighted to be the centre of so much curious and overtly hostile attention as he made his way to the chair placed in front of one of the houses facing onto the square. Even in this far from prominent position, and even with the low dusk and flickering torchlight making it hard to see individual faces, he couldn’t help but be seen. Tiko and his men stood at attention around him, making his captive status far too obvious to his mind, although they were only doing their job and making sure the villagers knew he was under their protection. As he tried to look as unobtrusive and harmless as possible, he had more than one uncharitable thought about brother and sister healers with more kindness than common sense, and hoped this business would not take long.

The air was very cold, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone wore their best clothes, many carried small lamps. It made for a pretty picture with the pools of golden light and the last fingers of sunset in the sky. He just didn’t belong in it.

When the crowd stopped moving, a small group of people bearing lamps came to the head of the square, and Kei’s father—Fedor, as he’d been reminded the man was called—walked to the centre of the clear area and spoke clearly in the manner of someone used to making himself heard and being heard.

“Welcome, my friends. Welcome also to our visitors, who enjoy our hospitality as is our inviolable custom.” There wasn’t a trace of irony in the man’s tone, nor any hint of sarcasm, and he didn’t glance at Arman or the soldiers. When Fedor gave in, he was gracious about it. “Before we start, let us pause a moment to think of our missing friends and family members. I know you, as I, hope for their safe return very soon, and an end to this conflict with the Prij, which was not of our seeking.”

The crowd stayed quiet, but a few heads turned Arman’s way at Fedor’s words—he didn’t need Kei’s gift to know what they were feeling. After a few moments’ silence, Fedor spoke again. “We come now to happier thoughts. This evening, we are here to witness a joyful event, which follows another—the return of Kei, our healer, my beloved son and nephew. While he has some business to complete in Darshek before he’s back with us for good, I rejoice he’s safe and home once more.”

This brought a few cheers, and many nods of agreement. If nothing else, Arman was glad he’d been able to restore Kei to his home, even if it was in a way he’d not expected. If the others could come back too....

Fedor made a signal, and as the men and women with him moved to flank him, a pipe played a soft lilting melody, very odd to Arman’s ears. Then, from opposite sides of the square, two pairs of people walked towards Fedor. One was Kei with Myka on his arm, looking lovely and rather pleased with herself. Her hair was coiled on top of her head and adorned with something that glittered in the lamplight. A single long lock of hair had been left free to hang at the side of her face. This odd style was matched by one of the two young men who were also coming to the front of the crowd—one, Arman assumed, had to be her fiancé, the other a badly scarred fellow of a similar age.

Myka and her intended were led by their companions to stand in front of Fedor, then Kei and the scarred young man stood aside. The music fell silent and Fedor spoke again to the crowd. “Myka, my daughter and niece, daughter of Keiji and Erte, and Banji, son and nephew of Rin and Meis, son of Ban and Kleta, have asked for the right to be joined in marriage. Who will speak for them?”

Kei stepped forward. “I, Kei, son and nephew of Fedor and Sira, son of Keiji and Erte, speak for my sister, Myka. I believe she is of sound character, has an honest and loving heart—and she makes the best beer in Ai-Albon, so she’s quite a catch.”

The villagers laughed and cheered. The priests of Isik would drop dead with shock to have seen such irreverence. Prijian weddings were extremely solemn affairs.

Kei stepped back, and the other young man stepped up. “I, Misek, son of Rin and Meis, speak for my brother and cousin, Banji. I know him to be a good and honest person, a hard and sturdy worker, and he loves beer so it’s a happy match.”

Fedor grinned as Misek finished his speech. “Do the families consent?”

“Aye, we do,” the older two women standing to either side of Fedor said in unison—the mothers of the couple, Arman guessed.

“Does anyone object to the joining of Myka and Banji?”

Arman half-expected a joking interjection, but there wasn’t a word said. Fedor spoke again. “Then as clan head, I give my consent if Myka and Banji still choose to be joined.”

The two women who had spoken came to the sides of the young couple and did something Arman couldn’t see—but when they stepped back, Arman saw the long free locks of hair that Myka and Banji were sporting, had been twined loosely together and held in Fedor’s hand. “Myka, do you still wish to wed Banji?”

“With all my heart,” she said stoutly.

“And Banji, do you consent?”

“I will take Myka as my wife with pleasure.”

Fedor took a hand each from them, clasped them together and placed the joined locks in them. “Then may your life be joyous, and blessed with love and many children. Congratulations.”

And that was it, Arman realised in amazement. The newly joined couple turned to the crowd to receive their cheers, music struck up again, and tables with food and small barrels on them were brought out of several of the houses and into the square itself. No robes, no incense, no priests, no sacrifices. No gods appealed to or propitiated, and no handsome gifts to the temple to ensure fertility. It was all...charming. A simple, heart-felt ceremony to fit honest and warm people.

Now the ceremony was over, it was time for drinking and dancing. Arman was resigned to the fact he would be sitting watching other people enjoy themselves for at least an hour—any less and his departure would draw unwelcome attention. He couldn’t see Kei anymore as people milled about, nor any of the few villagers he knew. “Captain, don’t you want to join in the fun?”

Tiko looked down and grimaced. “I’d love to. But I can’t leave you.”

“No one’s paying me any heed, you know. They have far more important and enjoyable things to do.”

Tiko shook his head. “Sorry, it’s too risky.”

Arman sighed. Another crime to lay at his feet.

Increasingly dejected at being the turd in the lily pond, he watched the revelry, wishing he could be allowed to return to the house. His guards stood stolidly in position, contrasting sadly with the dancers and those munching on a kind of small cake.

“You look totally miserable—was it that awful?”

He couldn’t help but smile as Kei’s happy face appeared above him. “No, I was glad to see it. But I’m stopping our friends here enjoying themselves.”

“I can fix that,” Kei said brightly before he dived back into the crowd. Now what was he up to?

He had his answer a few short minutes later when Kei reappeared with Misek, the scarred man who’d spoke for the groom. “Right, Tiko—Mis and I will watch the general, you men can go have fun.”

“No, I have to—”

Kei held his hand up imperiously. “Tiko, no one’s interested. Anyway, if you think anyone’s going to violate our hospitality in front of the brothers of the bride and groom, not to mention the son of the clan head, then you’ve really been away from home too long.”

Tiko grinned. “Fair enough. Come on, lads, the honour of the army is at stake.”

None of his soldiers needed a second hint, and Arman’s guard disappeared like water in sand. “Finally,” Kei said. “General, I’d like you to meet Mis, my other best friend.”

Misek held out his hand without a hint of hesitation. “I’m Misek.”

Arman shook his hand. “I’m Arman. Thank you for letting me share in your family’s joy.”

“Well, it was Fedor. I can’t claim any credit. Kei’s been bending my ear about you half the day.”

“Oh?” It can’t have been anything bad, because Misek was only curious—there was no hostility in his expression at all.

“He says you’re going to bring our people home—is that true?”

“I’ll do my very best. I can’t promise it because it’s not all in my control.”

“He knows that,” Kei said. “Mis, do you fancy fighting for some gren nut cakes and beer for us? I better stay with Arman or Tiko will give me grief.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He made his way back into the crowd.

Kei crouched beside Arman’s chair. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It was a very nice ceremony. Simple. I liked it.”

“They can get more elaborate in Darshek, but really all we need to know here is that the couple are serious enough to state that fact in public and the families are happy. With those two, that was a given anyway.”

“What if someone had objected? Does it happen?”

Kei nodded. “It can—never seen it myself, but if there’s an unresolved attachment, things can get awkward. If it can’t be sorted out on the spot, then the ceremony is delayed until it is. But in the villages, we all know each other and so it never gets that far. She looked fine, didn’t she? I wish Ma and Pa had been here. Ma...this is the kind of thing she missed out on,” he added wistfully.

Arman laid a hand on Kei’s back. “Don’t. How long will this go on for?”

“Until the beer runs out. Which will be an hour or two. Myka and Banji are doing the rounds. I want to wait until they go in. Can you bear it?” he asked, looking suddenly worried.

“Now I can. But you don’t really need to babysit me. There’s no threat.”

“Well, not now, but when there’s drink and resentment, you can’t be too careful. Besides,” he said with a grin, “people will think twice about being rude to you if I’m here. There’s nothing to stop them coming over to talk to me if they want to.”

“I’ll put them off, surely.”

“Don’t be too sure about that. Here comes Mis—he’s had good hunting.”

Misek bore three mugs and a plate full of the cakes everyone was eating. “I think that might have to do us, Kei—there’s not much left.”

“It’s my fault, I didn’t give people time to prepare. Here, Arman.” Kei handed him a cakes. “It’s a local speciality—gren nut cakes with honey. Go on, they’re good.”

Cautiously, he nibbled on it. It really was good—sweet, with a nutty taste and light texture to complement the roasted nut topping. It wouldn’t shame the table of Her Serenity herself. “Excellent,” he said, which made Misek grin for some reason.

“Misek’s mother is the best cook in the village,” Kei explained.

“Please give her my compliments, then.”

Misek’s expression became serious. “No offence, general, but I’m not telling her you’re eating her cakes. She doesn’t like you.”

“No,” Arman agreed regretfully. “I wouldn’t expect she does. But the cakes are good, nonetheless.”

Kei looked down and gave him a rueful grin, and then spoke to Misek. That gave Arman peace to finish the food and sip the beer while he watched the festivities and listened to the sprightly, joyful music provided by pipes and small drums, and something a little like a metal rattle which gave low, bell-like notes when shaken. The new couple were greeted at every turn as they wove in and out of the dancing couples.

His own marriage to Mayl had been a seriously formal affair and the only dancing had been by the entertainers. He’d got drunk just to get through it, and what he knew he’d have to do that evening. If he’d had someone like Kei to take to his bed....

He stamped on that thought as he did every time it reared its ugly head. Fortunately, Kei wasn’t paying attention, for which he was grateful. His young friend was in his element in this gathering, and even though the raft of happy emotions would stress him less and perhaps was no true test of his gift’s stability, he still wished Kei would trust the healing power of the love and support of his family and friends. Since Darbin, Kei had been free of nightmares and the bone-deep sadness that had dogged him for months had subsided. Arman found it very difficult to believe it was just because Kei had been almost continuously in Arman’s company since then. It made no sense—he and Kei were friends, but they weren’t lovers, and Arman had no special gift, he was certain of it. What was surely happening was Kei’s own remarkable mind was working to repair the damage, and time and distance from the awful experience of the executions had dulled the pain, even as the crippling ache of Loke’s death had eased for Arman himself.