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She studied him, chilled by the raw language of his assertion.
After a moment, Gripp continued, ‘I don’t know my master’s awareness of this situation. Nor do I know if my report will twist pleasure from his brother’s day. We all know a paucity of joyous memories and I wouldn’t assail this one.’
‘Must it always be paucity, Gripp Galas?’ Her question was asked softly and yet it seemed to strike him like a slap to the face.
He looked away, eyes tightening, and Hish Tulla sensed the gulf that stretched between her and him, a gulf he had acknowledged in acquiescing to the child Orfantal’s insistence that he deliver the boy to her first. This was a man who had stood in the highborn shadow: a servant, a bodyguard, his life subservient and dependent upon the very privilege he was avowed to defend. By this measure, one of mutual necessity, all of civilization was defined. The bargain was brutal and implicitly unfair and it sickened her.
Gripp said, ‘Milady, there’s enough to worry about without thinking too much. Too much thinking ain’t never but bred problems. A bird builds a nest, lays her eggs and feeds and defends her chicks, and there’s no thinking to any of it.’
‘Are we birds, Gripp?’
‘No. The nest is never big or pretty enough, and the chicks disappoint at every turn. The trees don’t give enough cover and the days are too short or too long. The food’s short on supply or too stale and your mate looks uglier with every dawn.’
She stared at him in shock, and then burst out laughing.
Her reaction startled him and a moment later he shook his head. ‘I do not expect my master to do my thinking for me, milady. We must each of us do that for ourselves, and that’s the only bargain worth respecting.’
‘Yet you will take his orders and do his bidding.’
He shrugged. ‘Most people don’t like to think too hard. It’s easier that way. But I’m content enough with the bargain I’ve made.’
‘Then he would know your thoughts, Gripp Galas.’
‘I know, milady. I simply rue what he will lose in the telling.’
‘Would he rather you said nothing? That you wait until after the marriage?’
‘He would,’ Gripp acknowledged, ‘but will face what he must and voice no complaint, nor blame.’
‘You are indeed content with your bargain.’
‘I am.’
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She studied him, chilled by the raw language of his assertion.
After a moment, Gripp continued, ‘I don’t know my master’s awareness of this situation. Nor do I know if my report will twist pleasure from his brother’s day. We all know a paucity of joyous memories and I wouldn’t assail this one.’
‘Must it always be paucity, Gripp Galas?’ Her question was asked softly and yet it seemed to strike him like a slap to the face.
He looked away, eyes tightening, and Hish Tulla sensed the gulf that stretched between her and him, a gulf he had acknowledged in acquiescing to the child Orfantal’s insistence that he deliver the boy to her first. This was a man who had stood in the highborn shadow: a servant, a bodyguard, his life subservient and dependent upon the very privilege he was avowed to defend. By this measure, one of mutual necessity, all of civilization was defined. The bargain was brutal and implicitly unfair and it sickened her.
Gripp said, ‘Milady, there’s enough to worry about without thinking too much. Too much thinking ain’t never but bred problems. A bird builds a nest, lays her eggs and feeds and defends her chicks, and there’s no thinking to any of it.’
‘Are we birds, Gripp?’
‘No. The nest is never big or pretty enough, and the chicks disappoint at every turn. The trees don’t give enough cover and the days are too short or too long. The food’s short on supply or too stale and your mate looks uglier with every dawn.’
She stared at him in shock, and then burst out laughing.
Her reaction startled him and a moment later he shook his head. ‘I do not expect my master to do my thinking for me, milady. We must each of us do that for ourselves, and that’s the only bargain worth respecting.’
‘Yet you will take his orders and do his bidding.’
He shrugged. ‘Most people don’t like to think too hard. It’s easier that way. But I’m content enough with the bargain I’ve made.’
‘Then he would know your thoughts, Gripp Galas.’
‘I know, milady. I simply rue what he will lose in the telling.’
‘Would he rather you said nothing? That you wait until after the marriage?’
‘He would,’ Gripp acknowledged, ‘but will face what he must and voice no complaint, nor blame.’
‘You are indeed content with your bargain.’
‘I am.’
‘You remind me of my castellan.’
‘Rancept, milady? A wise man.’
‘Wise?’
‘Never thinks too hard, does Rancept.’
She sighed, eyeing the retinue once more. ‘I wish to be back in my estate, arguing with my castellan over his cruelty to his favoured dog. I wish I could just hide away and discuss nothing more significant than a dog’s wretched tapeworms.’
‘We would mourn your absence, milady, and envy the castellan your regard.’
‘Will you seduce me now, Gripp Galas?’
His brows lifted and his face coloured. ‘Milady, forgive me! I am always honourable in my compliments.’
‘I fear I mistrust men who make such claims.’
‘And so wound yourself.’
She fell abruptly silent, studying the man’s eyes, seeing for the first time the softness in them, the genuine affection and the pain he clearly felt for her. These notions only deepened her sorrow. ‘It is my fate to lose the men for whom I care, Gripp Galas.’
His eyes widened slightly and then he looked down, fidgeting with the reins.
‘In what comes,’ she said then, ‘take care of yourself.’
There was a shout from the party, and at once riders and carriages were crossing the bridge.
Gripp squinted at the group and then drew a deep breath. ‘It is time, milady. I thank you for the clean clothes. I will of course recompense you.’
She thought back to the torn, bloodstained garments he had been wearing on the night of his appearance at her door, and felt tears in her eyes. ‘I did not sell them to you, Gripp. Nor loan them.’
He glanced at her and managed an awkward nod, and then urged his mount towards the party.
Hish Tulla guided her warhorse into his wake. When he drew nearer, she would angle her mount to one side, seeking to join the procession at the rear. With luck, Anomander would not notice her arrival and so be spared embarrassment.
Instead, he caught sight of them both while still on the bridge, and as suddenly as the procession had begun moving it was stopped by a gesture from Anomander. She saw him turn to his brother Silchas. They spoke, but she and Galas — both now reined in — were too distant to make out the exchange of words. Then Anomander was riding towards them, with the attention of all the others now fixed upon the two interlopers.
