Through Wolf's Eyes (87 page)

"Derian has seen me without clothes before," Firekeeper said with a patience she didn't feel and continued to undress.

Derian, however, perhaps feeling he had teased the woman enough, politely turned his back.

"I have been Lady Blysse's personal attendant these
last six or so moonspans," he explained, "but my starveling waif has
become a young lady. I shall remember her modesty even though she does
not."

The tirewoman who—no matter what she pretended— could
not have failed to hear the stories of how Lady Blysse had been
discovered in the wilds west of the Iron Mountains early the past
spring, sniffed but did not pursue the subject. Indeed, Goody Sewer's
easy acceptance of Blind Seer—as terrifyingly huge a wolf as any
storyteller could dream— gave lie to her pretended ignorance and
haughty indignation. That she trusted Blind Seer would not make dinner
of her meant she had heard something of Lady Blysse's peculiar history.

"Try this gown on first," was all the tirewoman said.
She held up a long-sleeved gown in dark blue fabric, banded at wrist
and throat by ribbons in the Kestrel sky-blue and scarlet. "I had the
pattern cut along the measurements the post-rider brought, but there
will certainly need to be alterations."

Firekeeper, now naked except for her underclothing,
stepped into the gown and let the woman fasten it. As she stood,
trembling slightly at the proximity of a near stranger, she asked
Derian:

"How is Elation? We have not seen her since we arrived."

Derian tone grew worried as he replied, "She was with
me until shortly before I arrived at the city," he said. "Then she took
off. Last I saw her, she was flying west."

Firekeeper was also concerned. The peregrine falcon
had taken quite a liking to Derian and wouldn't have left him without
good reason. Still, she decided there was no need to worry the young
man further.

"The hunting birds," she offered, "migrate like most other wingéd folk. It could be that her blood called her."

She grinned suddenly, remembering how once Derian had
not believed her when she said she could understand what animals said
to her.

"It's not as if Elation could tell
you
where she was going," she added.

Derian chuckled. "That's true. How are you feeling these days? You look well."

"Doc says that my wounds are healed," Firekeeper replied, "though I will have some new scars."

A sniff from the tirewoman indicated that she had
noticed the liberal patterning of scars across Firekeeper's skin. Not
one of the young woman's limbs was free from the silver and white
lines: some mere gossamer tracery, a few heavily seamed with scar
tissue. Two comparatively fresh scars— one on Firekeeper's back, the
other along her thigh—remained livid red fading along the edges into
dull pink.

With his back turned, Derian's expression couldn't be seen, but his voice expressed his satisfaction at the news.

"Well, you can't expect to get away without any
marks. You were nearly dead from your injuries and even Doc's healing
talent can't free you from all the consequences of your impulsiveness."

Firekeeper recognized the teasing note in Derian's
voice and let the apparent insult stand, though coming from another the
accusation that she had acted without thought would have been a
fighting matter.

At a prod from the tirewoman, Firekeeper raised her right arm so that Goody Sewer could adjust the pins in that sleeve.

"Doc has gone to learn what is expected of him for the wedding," Firekeeper said to distract herself.
And to see if he can "accidentally" meet with a certain young lady
, she thought, but she said nothing, respecting Sir Jared Surcliffe's dignity.

"Doubtless," Derian said, "he will take the time to familiarize himself with the public areas of this fine castle.

Again, something in Derian's tone—this time a warm
undercurrent of laughter—made Firekeeper suspect that he had understood
her unspoken thoughts as well as what she said aloud.

"I hear that we were among the last of the Hawk Haven
wedding guests to arrive," Firekeeper continued, realizing to her
astonishment that she was making conversation—a concept
she would not have understood five moonspans before.

"Only the mother of the bride," Derian said, a note
of tension entering his voice, "has failed to arrive. Some say that she
will not attend, recently widowed as she is."

"
Furious at her daughter
," Blind Seer commented, "
if the truth would be known.
"

Derian, of course, didn't hear the wolf's comment, and went on:

"Lord Rolfston's death is less than two moonspan's
past," he said, "but still many consider Lady Melina's absence a bad
omen for the marriage."

Goody Sewer spoke around the pins held in her pursed
lips. "How can it be a good omen if the mother of the bride— the
proximate ancestress—refuses to attend? I say that Duke . . . King
Allister should postpone the wedding until appropriate mourning for the
bride's father is ended and her mother is willing to attend."

"You aren't the only one who thinks that," Derian
said easily, "but King Allister is of another mind—as is his son, Shad.
If Shad is willing to risk bad omens on his wedding day, I say we
should support him. It's important to seal the truce between Bright Bay
and Hawk Haven."

Goody Sewer could hardly disagree without seeming
openly disloyal to her new monarch and his heir apparent, but her
silence was eloquent. The chime of distant bells made any reply
unnecessary.

"Time for me to return to the meeting," Derian said. "See you later, Firekeeper."

"I hope so," Firekeeper replied.

Firekeeper smiled after the retreating figure. It was
good to be back with her first human friend. In the wash of pleasure
she barely heard the tirewoman's question.

"Excuse me," she said politely. "I wasn't listening."

"I could tell that!" the older woman griped. "I said you can take off that gown and try on the next one."

Firekeeper cooperated, being careful not to damage
the fabric or snag the ribbons. The next gown Goody Sewer handed her
was the silvery grey of a wood dove's plumage and deliciously soft. It
reminded Firekeeper of the first fabric
she'd ever touched—a lamb's wool shirt Derian had given her.

"Who was that arrogant red-head?" the tirewoman
asked, twitching straight the gown's long skirt, then lowering herself
on creaking knees to pin the hem. "I've seen him about these past
several days, ever since the contingent from Eagle's Nest arrived, but
never to speak to. He gives himself airs."

Firekeeper thought that a less true thing had never been said about her friend and she carefully framed her reply.

"He's Derian," she said, smoothing the sleeve of the
gown against her arm, "Derian Carter. Some are calling him Derian
Counselor since the war."

She barred her teeth in a gleeful grin that was not completely kind.

"He's one of Earl Kestrel's retainers and youngest
counselor to King Tedric of Hawk Haven," she continued, taking
wolf-like pride in the strength of her pack. "A very important person."

The astonishment and consternation on the tirewoman's
face when the old woman looked up from her pinning was precisely the
reward for which Firekeeper had hoped.