Lois Bujold - Paladin of Souls

Foix glanced at Liss, whose face was a trifle set. He said, "I find my gratitude quite limited, I'm afraid."

Liss tossed her braid. "It doesn't matter."

"Was she trying to convince you that I'd dismissed you?" asked Ista.

"Oh, yes. It made her quite cross when I played the fool and failed to take her hints." Liss's mouth twitched up, then down. "It's true, though. I'm not a proper highborn lady."

Ista smiled. "I expect we shall rendezvous with Iselle and Bergon's court before the year is up—in Visping, if not sooner. At which point, by my request and your valiancy, a lady you shall be made in fact - Sera Annaliss dy... what was the name of that sheep-infested village, again?"

Liss breathed, "Teneret, Royina."

"Sera Annaliss dy Teneret, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Royina Ista. Sounds very dignified, don't you think, Foix?"

He grinned. "Aye—I think m'mother will like it quite well. Well, Bastard knows I've got to offer something, now, to make it up to her for, er, the Bastard."

"Ah, you aspire to some social climbing, do you? Well, it's not impossible; this year will offer young officers many opportunities for advancement, I suspect."

Foix swept Liss a courtier's bow. "May I aspire, lady?"

Liss eyed him with smiling speculation, and drifted across the chamber to start putting Ista's things in order. "Ask again in Visping, dedicat."

"I shall."

ISTA HAD DY CABON BRING GORAM TO HER IN THE STONE COURT. SHE sat in the colonnade's shade on the bench where they had first spoken, and studied the differences.

Goram dy Hixar's clothing was still that of the groom, his figure still short, his legs still bowed, his beard still grizzled. But he had lost the turtle hunch; he moved now with a swordsman's balance. And tension. His polite bow was supple enough for any provincial court.

"Learned dy Cabon has told you, I think, of my need for a master of horse, yes?" Ista began.

"Yes, Royina." Dy Hixar cleared his throat, uncomfortably, and swallowed his spit in her presence. Goram, she thought, would have let the gobbet fly.

"Can you undertake the task?"

He grimaced. "The work, aye. But Royina... I'm not sure if you understand who I was. Am. Why I was not ransomed."

She shrugged. "Captain of horse, swordsman, bravo, quondam murderer, destroyer of lives—not just of enemies', but friends'—shall I go on? The sort of fellow whose funeral's orations are all on the theme of Well, that's a relief."

He winced. "I see I need not confess to you."

"No. I saw."

He looked away. "All my sins delivered... it's a strange, strange thing, Royina. The lifting of one's sins is usually considered a miracle of the gods. But your god has brought all mine back to me. Goram the groom... was a hundred times better a man than Goram dy Hixar will ever be. I was a blank slate, brought—saved, for no merit of mine—to live for three years with the two best men in Caribastos. Not just best swordsmen—best men, you understand?"

She nodded.

"I scarcely knew such lives were possible, before. Nor wanted to know. I would have mocked their virtues, and laughed. Lord Illvin thought I was overwhelmed with joy when I fell to my knees before you in the forecourt. It wasn't joy that knocked me down. It was shame."

"I know."

"I don't want to be ... who I am. I was happier before, Royina. But everyone thinks I should be praying my thanks."

She returned him an ironic smile. "Be sure, I am not one of them. But—your soul is your own, now, to make of what you will. We are all of us, every one, our own works; we present our souls to our Patrons at the ends of our lives as an artisan presents the works of his hands."

"If it is so, I am too marred, Royina."

"You are unfinished. They are discerning Patrons, but not, I think, impossible to please. The Bastard said to me, from His own lips—"

Dy Cabon's breath drew in.

"—that the gods did not desire flawless souls, but great ones. I think that very darkness is where the greatness grows from, as flowers from the soil. I am not sure, in fact, if greatness can bloom without it. You have been as god-touched as any here; do not despair of yourself, for I think the gods have not."

The dim gray eyes reddened, edged with water's gleam. "I am too old to start over."

"You have more years ahead of you now than Pejar, half your age, whom we buried outside these walls these two days past. Stand before his grave and use your gift of breath to complain of your limited time. If you dare."

He jerked a little at the steel in her voice.

"I offer you an honorable new beginning. I do not guarantee its ending. Attempts fail, but not as certainly as tasks never attempted."

He vented a long exhalation. "Then... that being so, and knowing what you know of me—which is, I think, more than ever I confessed to anyone, living or dead—I am your man if you will have me, Royina."

"Thank you, Captain: I shall. As my master of horse, you will take your instructions from my seneschal. I think you will find him a tolerable commander."

Goram smiled a little at that, and saluted her farewell.

Dy Cabon stood by her a moment, watching him exit the court. His face was troubled.

"Well, Learned? How do you feel about your witnessing now?"

He sighed. "You know, this god-touched business wasn't as much . .. urn ... as much pleasure as I thought it would be, back in Valenda when we started. I was terribly excited, in secret, to be picked out to do the god's work."

"I did try to tell you, back in Casilchas."

"Yes. I think I understand better, now."

"My court is going to need a divine, too, you know. As I am to become a lay dedicat of the Bastard's Order, of a sort, I think you might suit me very well. We will likely be riding into the Five Princedoms. If you truly aspire to martyrdom, as your early sermons to me implied, you may still have a chance."

He blushed deeply. "Five gods, but those were stupid sermons." He took a deep breath. "I'll be glad to forgo the martyr part. As for the rest, though—I will say you yes, Royina, with a glad heart. Even though I've had no dreams directing me. Well, especially as I've had no dreams directing me. Not so sure I want them, anymore." He hesitated, and added with a wholly inconsistent longing in his voice, "You did say— you did see Him face-to-face, in your dreams? Your real dreams?"

"Yes." Ista smiled. "Once, He borrowed your face to speak through. It appears that Someone thinks you not unworthy to wear His colors, Learned, to wear in turn the semblance of your flesh."

"Oh." Dy Cabon blinked, taking this in. "Is that so? Really? My goodness." He blinked some more. When he took his leave of her, his mouth was still tugging up.

IN THE EVENING AFTER SUPPER, WHEN THE SUN HAD SET AND WHITE stars were coming out in the cobalt sky above the stone court, Lord Illvin climbed the stairs and knocked on Ista's door. Liss admitted him to the outer chamber with a friendly dip of her knees. With a look of extreme bemusement on his face, he held out his hands to Ista.

"Look. I found these growing on the apricot tree in the forecourt, as I was passing through just now."

Liss peered. "They're apricots. Makes sense that's where they'd be ... doesn't it?" She hesitated.

The fruits were large and deeply colored, with a faint red blush upon their dark golden skins. Ista, bending to look, flared her nostrils at their heavy perfume. "They smell lovely."

"Yes, but... it is not the season. My mother planted that tree when I was born, and the almond for Arhys. I know when they're supposed to come ripe, I've watched them all my life. Not for months yet. There are still a few blossoms that haven't fallen, though half the leaves are gone. These two were hiding amongst the few that held on—I saw them by chance."