She grimaced.
A flicker of light caught her attention. Looking beyond her father she saw that several lamps surrounded a clearing ahead. Though it was only mid-afternoon, the trees here were so close together that little sunlight penetrated to the forest floor.
One lamp stood in the middle. Several men and women were sitting in a circle around it. She recognized Styll, the Speaker of her tribe. Beside him sat her father’s latest proposed suitor for her, Sveel. The boy smiled at her and she felt a pang of guilt. He was obviously enthusiastic about the match.
She looked at the woman sitting beside Styll and felt a mild surprise. Speaker Sirri and her son, Sreil, sat among her tribe. A mad thought came to her. Perhaps Sirri had come seeking a wife for her son, too. Perhaps Sreil and Sveel would have to battle for her. Drilli smothered a laugh at the thought.
Her family joined the circle, her father managing to direct her to the place beside Sveel. She made herself talk to the boy. There was no point being rude. If she must marry him, she may as well try to get along with him. He wasn’t a dislikeable person, just not interesting or particularly smart.
“So why have you joined us, Speaker Sirri?” her father asked. “I have heard you do not agree with our marriage traditions.”
Sirri smiled. “It is not that I disagree with them, Zyll, but that I think it is foolish for Siyee to marry so young. They haven’t fully developed as individuals at fourteen.”
“Which is why it is best that their parents select a partner for them.”
She shook her head. “If only that were so. I have observed parents make bad matches as often as good ones. While they may take great care with their choice, they are hampered by the fact that their sons or daughters haven’t yet become the person they are going to be. How can they decide who will make a suitable mate when they don’t yet fully know their offspring’s character?”
Zyll scowled. “This is not just about character. It is about bloodlines and tribal connections.”
She frowned. “Huan released us from our interbreeding laws over a century ago.”
“Yet we don’t want to regress to a state where half of our children are born—”
“There is little danger in that now,” Sirri interrupted, her eyes suddenly cold. Drilli suddenly remembered hearing that the Speaker’s first child had been born wingless and shrivelled, and had died an infant. “There are enough of us now that such occurrences rarely happen.”
“I was not talking of inter-tribal connections,” Zyll said. “I was talking of links within a tribe. My tribe is scattered. If we are not careful, it will vanish in a few years.”
Sirri’s expression changed subtly, somehow becoming thoughtful and dangerous at the same time. “You need not be worried about that anymore. The White will return your land to you, and you now have an effective means to defend it, thanks to young Tryss.”
Zyll’s jaw tightened at the mention of Tryss’s name. “Even so, we need to strengthen the bonds between our families, or we will return only to find we are strangers to each other.”
Her eyebrows rose, then she nodded respectfully. “If you must go to such lengths to reassure yourselves, then, that is what you must do. I will miss your family’s presence here in the Open.” She looked at Sveel. “You’ve been training with the warriors, haven’t you? How are you finding it?”
Sveel straightened. “It’s hard, but I’m practicing every day.”
She nodded. “Good. You’ll need those skills to defend your land after you return. Which is what I wanted to talk to you all about.” She paused, then turned to look at her son. “Sreil, did you bring that basket?”
The boy blinked, then his eyes widened. “No, I forgot. Sorry.”
She shook her head and sighed. “Well, go fetch it then. Bring some water, too.”
“How am I supposed to carry all that?”
“Take Drilli with you.”
Drilli blinked in surprise, then looked at her father. He nodded his approval, though he did not look happy. She got to her feet and hurried after Sreil.
Speaker Sirri’s son set a rapid pace, and soon the voices of her tribe had faded beyond hearing. He glanced back, then slowed so she could catch up.
“So you’re going to be married,” he said.
She shrugged. “Looks like it.”
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“Don’t I?” she asked dryly.
“No. You don’t like Sveel, do you?”
“He’s all right.”
“But not who you’d like to be marrying, right?”
She frowned at him. “Why are you asking?”
He smiled. “It was pretty obvious who you favored at the trei-trei, Drilli. So why aren’t you marrying Tryss? He’s more famous than the founders.”
Her stomach twisted. “Because I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do.”
She scowled. “Do I? I haven’t spoken to Tryss for weeks. He hasn’t even tried to talk to me. I don’t even know if he wants to get married.”
“I could find out for you.”
Her heart skipped. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.” He smiled, then chuckled in a self-satisfied way. At once she felt a stab of suspicion. She stopped and crossed her arms.
“What’s in it for you, Sreil? Why help us?”
He turned to face her, still smiling. “Because...” He paused and began to chew his lip. “I shouldn’t say.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Well...” He grimaced. “All right then. Your father is a tribal snob. It’s not just that he won’t even consider letting you marry someone whose invention might save our people and get him back his lands - though that just tops everything - it’s other things he’s said and done since coming here.” His expression changed from angry to apologetic. “Sorry.”
She nodded. What he’d said was fair, though she did feel a little offended that this was how her family was regarded. Surely after all they’d been through...
“Mother also thinks you probably contributed to Tryss’s success,” he added. “He might need you in some way, so it’s foolish to take you away from him.”
She blinked in surprise and was about to deny it when she remembered that she was the one who had shown him how to use blowpipes. He had come up with the idea of using them as part of the harness, but if she hadn’t been there...
“Ask him,” she said. “But don’t tell him why. I don’t want him to marry me just to save me from marrying someone else. He has to want to marry me because he wants to.”
Sreil grinned. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
Millo Baker was a quiet man. Leiard had come to understand that Jayim’s father knew the value of being content rather than happy. Millo might not be overjoyed with his life, but neither was he unhappy with it.
He rarely joined his wife, son and guest for the morning meal. Today, however, a bout of the usual winter head infection had forced him to rest. He had surprised Leiard by being unusually talkative, telling them of the news, official or speculation, that he had heard. But then the cure Leiard had given him sometimes had that effect on people.
