He’d taken too much ale, that was it.
The evening moved on and the music began. Old Coll, his father’s harper, had much skill in his hands, and his songs always affected Deathan most strongly. Stirred up unaccustomed feelings.
At last the party at the head table rose. Their guests had traveled far, he could almost hear Da say, and must be weary. They would be shown to their quarters.
When she came down from the head table, still with Rohr at her back, the princess passed close by Deathan. And they looked into one another’s faces once again.
Aye, she had silvery eyes, bright silver, like a glass women used for primping. Like light on water or, more properly, the polished surface of a war shield.
She did not appear the slightest bit friendly or welcoming of his interest. And yet…
He felt precisely as if he’d been anchored by a rope and drawn toward her.
In reaction, he took a swift step backward, almost treading on his neighbor’s feet, and bowed.
She did not so much as incline her head, and sailed by. Disdainful of him.
And yet…
There had been something. Glittering bright in the depths of those unusual eyes. Acknowledgment. Curiosity.
Recognition.
But how could that be? They did not know one another.
He quit the hall, but he did not go to his bed. Instead, he walked far up the shore, alone in the dark save for his feelings.
*
Darlei did notknow what to make of her quarters. A prison, it looked like, all bound round with stone walls. A bed such as the westerners used instead of a sleeping bench, standing out into the room as if sleep—or some other act that might take place in a bed—was of primary importance.
Only one window.
She went to it immediately, ignoring Orle, who stood in the middle of the floor looking bewildered. Could she escape through the window? Given, she was terribly high in thebuilding, but hurling herself to her death would, at this point, be preferable to her other choices.
The window was too narrow for her to fit.
“Darlei? Are you unwell?”
All at once, Darlei wanted to weep. She wanted to rage and scream and stamp her feet, and tear the room apart in protest of her fate.
Instead she stood staring at what little she could see of the outside world. Darkness. A few stars.
“Darlei?”
Emotion choked her throat so she could not speak. She turned from the slit window and looked at her friend.
“Oh!” Orla tossed aside the robe she’d been holding and hurried to embrace Darlei. “My dear one. Is he so terrible, this man you must marry?”
Darlei said nothing.
“Is he ugly? Old? Nasty?”
“None of those things.”
“Well, then.” Orle drew away far enough to look into Darlei’s face. “It might be worse. Tell me of him.”
“He—” Darlei tried to focus on the man she was to wed. Fair hair, freckles. A frowning face. Another image intruded instead—the man who had been seated near her feet.
