She always professed herself pleased, or least not too terribly disappointed. Then she always went away as she had come, leaving the child in her father’s care.
But those days would not go on forever. When Merris reached her fourteenth birthday, the Lady would come as before, but this time she would take the child whom she had bought for so noble a price.
Merris ran up the stair at a pace that would have given her tutors palpitations. She meant to have her hair up and her skirts down and her breathing back to normal by the time she reached the schoolroom, but while she could, she gave way to the restless energy that had been tormenting her all day.
One month from today was her fourteenth birthday. Everyone knew what that meant. Her life in this Keep was nearly over. It was time, finally, for her to fulfill the bargain her parents had made.
She had been preparing for it since before she was born. She was not afraid, but her mother’s words had never left her.
She was going into a house of strangers. No matter how many tutors she had had, or how much instruction she was given in manners, deportment, and the conduct befitting a Lady of Darkwall, she had never visited the Keep she was to rule. She knew every nook and cranny, but only in books.
Her tutors never said anything but good of Darkwall. Still, servants talked, and Merris had sharp ears. She only caught fragments, whispers of fear, rumors that had no real substance—but they were enough to keep her on her guard.
Halfway up the stair, she stopped short. It was time to make herself decorous for Master Thellen and Mistress Patrizia, but that was not what brought her to so abrupt a halt. While she stood frozen, the bell rang at the gate.
Preparations for her birthday celebration were already underway. People had been coming and going for days. This morning alone, the bell had rung half a dozen times to let in trains of provisions, companies of workmen, and a succession of messengers bearing replies to the Lord’s invitation.
This felt different. It felt . . . bright.
She did not know what she meant by that, but she had to see. Even if her tutors set her a punishment, she reckoned it worth the cost. She turned and ran back down the stair.
There was always a commotion in the courtyard these days, but when Merris came out into it, there was a circle of unexpected quiet near the outer gate. Brightness filled it, shot through with the tinkle of bells.
She blinked hard. The blur of light resolved into a pair of white horses with bells on their bitless bridles, and a pair of men dressed in the same striking color. By that she knew that the horses were not horses, and the men were men, but not exactly ordinary.
Everyone knew about Heralds. Books and stories were full of them.
Merris had never seen one. Forgotten Keep was small and out of the way, and her father involved himself only rarely with affairs of the royal court far away in Haven. Except for the occasional Bard wandering through to sing his songs, Forgotten Keep was as forgotten as its name.
Now not one Herald had appeared in the Keep, but two. She found that her mouth was hanging open. She shut it with a snap.
Everyone else seemed as taken aback as she was. Just as it dawned on Merris that someone ought to at least offer the Heralds a greeting, one of them swayed and sagged against the other.
The dazzle of what they were vanished abruptly. The one who had fainted was old, she realized, and the one who held him up was young. Inside their shining Whites, they were human—and the old one did not look well at all.
She ran forward without even stopping to think, calling to people who stood around with their mouths open. “Rolf! Gerent! Take the Companions to the stable. Remember they’re not horses, no matter what they look like. Danil—find the Healer. Move!”
People moved. Merris planted herself on the other side of the old Herald and took part of his weight, thinking distantly that one of the servants should do this. But she wanted to do something, however unsuitable, and that seemed like the most useful thing.
She met the young Herald’s brown eyes over the bowed white head. They were deeply worried. There was nothing she could do to soothe that worry, but she could say, “Come with me.”
The Herald nodded. He looked fairly done in himself, but he could walk. Between them, he and Merris carried the old Herald into the Keep and up to one of the guest rooms.
The bed was freshly made and the room was aired. The shutters were open to the late spring sunlight. Merris and the young Herald laid the old one carefully on the bed.
His breathing was rapid and shallow. His skin was clammy and his lips were blue. Merris opened her mouth to ask what had happened to him, but the young Herald staggered and sat down abruptly on the stool beside the bed.
The water jar was empty, but there was wine in the cupboard. Merris poured a few sips into one of the cups and made the Herald drink it. He choked and spluttered, but a little color came back into his cheeks.
“Good,” said Merris, reclaiming the cup. “We don’t need you passing out, too.”
He drew himself up. Apart from the glamour of the Whites, he looked perfectly ordinary: not too tall, not too short, well built and sturdy, with a pleasant, blunt-featured face and curly brown hair. There was nothing noble or heroic about that face, and she doubted he was highborn. He looked like half the villagers around Forgotten Keep.
“I’m Herald-Intern Coryn,” he said, “and this is Herald Isak.” His accent bore out her suspicions. It had a hint of a drawl in it, a countryman’s twang. “And you are . . . ?”
“Merris,” she said.
“Thank you, Merris,” he said. “We’ve lost our way, I think. Are we very far from the road to Nottaway?”
“It’s a day or two west of here,” she said.
He sighed, then sagged. She jumped toward him, but he had not fainted. It was relief, that was all.
He might have spoken or she might have asked questions, but the Healer arrived just then. She took in the scene with an all too sharp eye, shooed Merris out, and took both Heralds in hand.
Merris would have argued, but she had tutors waiting—and an extra hour’s worth of exercises in correct etiquette at banquets for being so drastically late. The exercises were deadly dull, but there was no getting out of them. There was a bargain, as she never failed to remember. This was her part of it.
It was two wildly frustrating days before Merris could escape the stranglehold of duty and discipline. The Heralds were still in the Keep—she was able to determine that much.
The old one, Isak, was very ill. Something to do with his heart, she gathered. The Healer was doing her best. The young Herald never left his elder’s side except for a daily visit to the Companions.
All this, Merris learned from obliging servants. Even with the flurry around her birthday, Heralds were a great excitement.
Merris’ tutors seemed determined to keep her from ever going near them again. Mistress Patrizia insisted that she be fitted for a trunkful of entirely new and to her mind completely unnecessary gowns, which took untold hours. When she was not strangling in folds of silk and brocade, Master Thellen had her memorizing endless lists of names and dates and places from one of his beloved and deadly dull chronicles, none of which had anything perceptible to do with either Darkwall or Forgotten Keep.
She came terribly close to asking him questions she should never even think about asking. “Is it true the last Lady but three used to take a monthly bath in infants’ blood? Are there really creatures of darkness in the caves below the Keep? Why has there always been a Lady but never a Lord, and how is it that she never marries but always adopts an heir?” Not to mention, “Why did she choose me? There are four Keeps between hers and ours, all of which have surplus daughters. What do I have that those ladies don’t?”
But she kept her questions bottled up inside as she always had, because her mother had told her to trust her instincts, and instinct told her not to speak of such things. On the surface it was all ordinary, dull, dry facts and ancient history, and so many gowns she would need an entire train of pack mules to carry them all.
Late the second day, as Merris dressed for dinner, Mistress Patrizia entered without knocking as she always did, and dismissed the maid. Merris looked at her in what she hoped was innocent surprise. “Mistress! What a pleasure to see you at this hour. Will you be joining us for dinner?”
“That would not be proper,” Mistress Patrizia said. She was a tall, thin, forbidding person at the best of times. Tonight she was ramrod-stiff. “I have a gift for you from our Lady.”
