a Valmieran. He had no doubt that most of the pairs named were coupled literally as well as metaphorically.
He stared so hard, the taverner noticed. “What’s the matter, pal?” he asked. “See somebody you know?” He threw back his head and laughed uproariously at his own wit.
What would he do if Skarnu said aye?
Worst was that Skarnu couldn’t just up and leave. He had to hang around and finish his ale and keep on chatting while he was doing it. Anything else would have been out of character and drawn notice.
Concealing his anguish was as hard as hiding a physical wound would have been. He’d always known Krasta was headstrong and willful, but what could have possessed her to take up with an Algarvian officer? He wondered if she knew; she’d never been long on self-examination.
After he could finally start back to the farm with propriety, he heaved a long sigh. His sister had made, or more likely unmade, her bed; now she would have to lie in it... with this Colonel Lurcanio. Skarnu sighed again. Whatever Krasta had done, he couldn’t do anything about it.
He walked on for a while before realizing that wasn’t true. If he and his comrades did somehow manage to expel the Algarvians from Valmiera, Lurcanio would go and Krasta, presumably, would stay. What would happen then? He couldn’t imagine. Nothing pleasant--he was sure of that.
“My own sister,” he muttered as he tramped along the road. It was safe enough; he could see a good long blaze in every direction. “My own
When he got back to the farm, he told Raunu and Merkela the news straightaway. He knew he didn’t have to; no one else was likely to associate his name and that of a noblewoman in Priekule. But he preferred not to take the chance: better they should hear it from him than from anybody else.
Raunu had been repairing the steps that led up to the farmhouse porch. He paused to pound in a couple of nails, using what struck Skarnu as needless force. Then he said, “That’s hard, sir. Aye, that’s about as hard to choke down as anything I can think of.”
Merkela took Skarnu by the hand. “Come upstairs with me,” she said. Raunu’s ears went red. He drove one more nail in a tearing hurry, then almost ran out of earshot of the farmhouse; Skarnu listened to the veteran’s footfalls fade as he himself followed Merkela up the stairs to her bedchamber. If this was how she wanted to make him feel better, he had no doubt she’d succeed.
In the bedchamber, she turned his way. He held out his arms to her. She stepped toward him--and slapped him in the face almost hard enough to knock him off his feet.
He staggered back, one hand coming up to his cheek, the other grabbing for the door frame to help him stay upright. “Powers above!” he exclaimed, tasting blood in his mouth. “What was that for?”
Merkela’s eyes blazed. “I’ll tell you what that’s for,” she snarled. “It’s for caring about your sister now that she’s an Algarvian’s whore.”
“She’s still my sister,” Skarnu mumbled. His cheek felt as if it were on fire. He probed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, trying to find out whether Merkela had loosened any of his teeth for him.
“You haven’t got a sister, not anymore.” Merkela spoke with great certainty--in that, at least, she was a lot like Krasta. “If she knew what you were doing, don’t you think she’d blab to this redheaded colonel and count, whatever his name was? Powers below eat him and eat his name, too.”
Skarnu started to say,
Darkness Descending
sputteringly alive in the countryside. Maybe she would keep silent. But maybe she wouldn’t, too.
Merkela saw the doubt on his face. She nodded. “You aren’t trying to lie to me, anyhow. That’s something.”
