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“You’ll find out when you get there,” the knight promised. To herself she added, We’ll all find out a thing or two when we get there, especially Jon. She grinned in spite of herself.
As the winter snows began to melt, traffic picked up. The roads were thick with miners, trappers, and merchant caravans. Alanna’s company passed herdsmen driving flocks to the markets in the south. Farmers waved as they went by, their wagons filled with cheeses, brightly woven cloth, and chickens. Only the Doi tribesmen remained aloof. They were a people like the K’mir, though less fierce than their western cousins. They were expert at survival in the Roof; the most experienced guides were Doi, and the best furs came from their hidden villages.
The travelers rode deeper into the highest mountains in their world, where snow still lay in scattered drifts and patches along the road. Alanna battled rising impatience. For some reason, she felt that she ought to be on the way home. It would be foolish to turn back when they were so close, but she wanted to find the pass and do whatever it demanded, then leave.
She tried to reach Thom or Jonathan with her magic, but it was impossible. Too much distance lay between them. She hadn’t been able to show Coram his Rispah since they’d left the convent. Perhaps Thom had the power to reach across the continent—she didn’t.
Several days after they had crossed the border, she fell in beside Coram and signaled him to drop back with her. When they were out of their friends’ hearing, she asked abruptly. “Have you been joining with the Voice?” She referred to a Bazhir rite: each day at sunset all who were Bazhir by adoption or birth entered into a magic communion with the Voice of the Tribes. The Voice heard news through this link, judged disputes, counseled his people. Since their adoption into the Bloody Hawk, both Alanna and Coram were able to enter into the joining, but Alanna had never done so. At first she refused out of a reluctance to let anyone, even someone as bound by duty and obligation as the Voice, into her mind. Later, after Prince Jonathan had become the Voice, and they had quarreled and broken off their romance, Alanna had decided she certainly didn’t want Jon to know how she thought and felt. At the same time, she knew Coram took part in the rite and had done so ever since his adoption in the tribe.
Coram stared at her, startled. “Ye told me when we left for Port Caynn last fall that ye never wanted me to talk about it, or say what I knew...”
Alanna blushed. “Things are different now. Have you?”
“Not since we set out for Maren.”
Alanna was startled by his answer. “You joined almost every night we were there. Why’d you stop?”
Coram shrugged. “It’s different when ye aren’t among the tribe. It’s lonesome. I’ve been tryin’, though, this last week. I knew ye’re worried about things at home.”
“And?” She couldn’t keep some eagerness from her voice.
“I’m sorry—I must be too far away. I haven’t felt a thing.”
Alanna smiled with an effort. “That’s all right. I’m probably worried about nothing.” She caught up with Liam, pretending not to see Coram’s troubled look.
They entered Lumuhu Valley the first week of May, and a day’s ride brought them to the twin passes at its northern edge. An inn built solidly of wood and brick stood where the roads from the passes met. Snow lay in a tattered sheet in the meadow behind the buildings and on the sides of the northeastern pass. The northwest road was blocked with snow and ice; the pass itself was clogged. Alanna swallowed as she looked at this second pass. Why did she have a feeling this was Chitral?
The sky had been bleak all that day. It darkened even more as they stabled the horses, and sleet began to fall as they entered the inn.
“May blizzards is no joke,” the innkeeper said, bringing them mulled cider as they waited for rooms to be prepared. “It’s what we pay for bein’ so high up. You’d best settle in. This storm’ll close Lumuhu a week—maybe longer.”
“What about Chitral?” Liam asked.
The man laughed. “Mother Chitral won’t open till Beltane, and then only for the strongest. The snow never leaves. Him that told you Chitral’s a good road was jestin’. I hope you never paid for the pleasure.” He walked away, still laughing.
“Now we know why no one took this jewel before,” Buri sighed. Thayet stared wistfully into the fire. Alanna huddled in her cloak, listening to the growing shriek of wind.
Liam stayed downstairs while Alanna went to their room to wash and dress in cleaner clothes. Unpacking her bags—since it appeared they were going to stay for a while—she found the violet gown she’d carried since leaving Corus. “How long’s it been since I wore a dress?” she asked Faithful.
The cat looked up from his grooming. You wore that one when you stayed with George, last fall.
“That’s right.” She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “This was his favorite.”
It wasn’t so wrinkled then, the cat remarked.
Alanna rang for the chambermaid.
Thayet applauded when Alanna entered the common room in the violet silk gown (the maid had smoothed most of the wrinkles). Buri whistled; Coram grinned. Liam surveyed her from head to toe, an odd look on his face.
“Well?” Alanna finally demanded, blushing from the others’ reactions. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s well enough,” he said at last. “Doesn’t seem practical, though.”
Would she ever understand him? “It isn’t supposed to be practical. It’s a dress. A dress that feels beautiful when you put it on.”
“Feeling beautiful won’t win a fight.” His eyes were the pale grey that told her nothing about how he felt.
“I hardly think I’ll fight anyone here, unless it’s you,” she snapped. “Why can’t I wear impractical garments every now and then?”
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “I suppose you’ll want earbobs next, and bracelets and other frippery. What comes then? A noble-born husband and court intrigues?”
“I’m female.” Emba
rrassed, she realized Coram, Thayet, and Buri were trying to slip away. “Why can’t I wear a dress without you deciding I want to give up everything I am?”
“Our road is rough and cold and muddy. Maybe you realize now that a knight-errant’s life isn’t as glorious as you expected.” There was enough truth in this to hurt. He waved toward her gown. “Maybe this is the Lady Alanna you mean to show your Prince when you go home.”
She walked out, knowing that if she spoke she would cry. Running into her room, she slammed the door behind her. She did question her life as a roving knight, but not for the reasons he had claimed.
Alanna tore off the dress and threw it into the corner, following it with her shift and stockings. Her breeches and shirt were half on when she did begin to cry. Within seconds her handkerchief was soaked.
“I hate him!” She punched the bed for emphasis. “I hate him! It isn’t right that one person can hurt someone else this much!”
“You scare him.” Thayet closed the door behind her. “Just when he thinks he understands you, you do something new. He can’t put you in a neat little box the way he does the rest of us.”
“I never asked to be something new to him!” Alanna wiped her eyes on her sleeve and finished buttoning her breeches. “I never asked to be anything to him! It just—happened.”
Thayet buttoned Alanna’s shirt. “I have a feeling it ’just happened’ to Liam, too, and that’s what frightens him. Our Dragon is the kind of man who likes to be in control of everything, particularly himself.”
Alanna stared at Thayet. Did this explain why Liam feared magic? “What’s wrong with falling in love with me? And what does wearing a dress have to do with any of this, Thayet?”
The Princess smiled. “Alanna, when you wore that dress, he saw the daughter of a noble house—a woman whose family tree reaches back to The Book of Gold. Liam is common-born.”
“If I don’t care about that, why should he?”
