The High King's Tomb
Page 5
“What is he up to now?” Karigan muttered under her breath. She cleared her throat and said more loudly, “I’m Karigan G’ladheon.”
The stout fellow, out of breath from the short walk across castle grounds, assessed Karigan for a moment with a raised eyebrow, then placed his hand over his heart and bowed. “Good day, mistress. I am Akle Mundoy, of Clan Mundoy, from the guild, at your service.”
Laren frowned. He could only mean the merchants guild. The “he” Karigan wondered about had to be her father, Stevic G’ladheon, one of the premier merchants of Sacoridia.
Karigan copied Mundoy’s bow. “And I’m at yours.”
Mundoy nodded. “I bring you a message from your esteemed father, and one from Bernardo Coyle, of the Coyle merchanting family in Rhovanny.”
Karigan stared in disbelief at the two envelopes Mundoy passed her, one sealed with a blue and purple ribbon Laren recognized immediately, having opened enough letters from Stevic G’ladheon herself.
“And there are gifts,” Mundoy added, gesturing at his servant. “My man Reston will bear them to your chambers, if you like.”
“Er, chamber,” Karigan corrected. “Thank you, no. I’ll—” Then she glanced at Robin.
“Let me take him,” Laren said, and Karigan gratefully handed over the reins and slipped through the fence rails.
Laren sensed some undercurrent here, that this merchant, Mundoy, was making judgment on Clan G’ladheon based on Karigan’s appearance and circumstances. Why was she uniformed? Where was her servant? Only one chamber? Appearances must be just as important to merchants as to nobles. If Karigan appeared anything less than prosperous, rumors would spread across the lands, perhaps damaging the clan’s image.
“You’ve a servant to convey these?” Mundoy asked.
Karigan retained a pleasant expression, though Laren could tell it was forced. “I will see to the packages personally.” She addressed the servant rather than his master.
“They are an armful, but not overly heavy, mistress,” Reston assured her.
Karigan took them into her arms and Mundoy said, “Reston will return tomorrow for your reply to Master Coyle’s message. Good day.”
Mundoy struck off, his faithful servant close on his heels, Karigan glowering after the pair.
“Fish merchant,” she muttered. Then she turned to Laren. “May I be excused?”
Laren nodded her assent and Karigan trotted off toward the castle. Absently she stroked Robin’s neck. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
“I can’t believe it,” Karigan fumed a few hours later. She held the dress up to her shoulders so Mara could fully see it. It was made of deep, sapphire blue velvet patterned with leaves. Depending on the light and fold of the fabric, it took on the hue of midnight blue. The sleeves were puffed and slashed to reveal blue silk, and silver thread glistened in the sunlight beaming through the narrow window.
Mara, propped against a pile of pillows on her bed, smiled. “It brings out your eyes. It’s gorgeous.”
“But—” Karigan frowned, realizing how petty she must sound. It was deceptive to stand here next to Mara, for her near side appeared unchanged and unmarred, but when she gazed at Mara straight on, half her face looked like melted, puckered wax, and the hair on that side of her head grew back in crazy, curly patches. Much of the right side of her body had been burned. Only Ben’s intervention, the use of his magical healing ability, had helped Mara survive the wounds and her ensuing illness. In fact, the speed with which she was recovering was remarkable, and Ben’s ability had diminished some of the disfigurement.
“Yes, it’s gorgeous,” Karigan admitted. Her father had spared no expense on this dress and had sent along additional funds so she could have it properly fitted. It was more the intent behind the gift than the actual dress that concerned her. She fell into the chair next to Mara’s bed and let the dress blanket her legs.
“And so who is this Braymer Coyle?” Mara asked. “Is he handsome?”
Karigan sighed. “I’ve no idea. We were children last time we met. His father, like mine, is a textile merchant, but from Rhovanny; in fact he’s one of my father’s leading competitors. Braymer is the heir to the family business.”
Mara raised an eyebrow that no longer existed. “I see. So this is about more than two old friends getting their children together.”
Karigan nodded. “Yes. It’s about two middle-aged men concerned about their legacies and expanding their textile empires.” She rolled her eyes. “If Braymer and I get along, they are undoubtedly hoping for a–a marriage alliance.”
“And here I thought nobles were the only ones who worried about such things.”
“It isn’t the first time my father has tried to find a suitable match for me, though he’d never force it on me the way some would. But this—” and she rumpled the dress in emphasis “—this is serious.”
An amused smile formed on Mara’s lips, and there was humor in her eyes Karigan had not seen in a long while. “Much more serious than adventures in Blackveil and visitations by spirits of the dead?”
“Thank you for putting it in perspective for me.”
“My pleasure. I should think an afternoon out in that beautiful dress, and on the arm of a wealthy man, a nice change of pace for you from cleaning out the new Rider wing. New faces, different sights.”
The stout fellow, out of breath from the short walk across castle grounds, assessed Karigan for a moment with a raised eyebrow, then placed his hand over his heart and bowed. “Good day, mistress. I am Akle Mundoy, of Clan Mundoy, from the guild, at your service.”
Laren frowned. He could only mean the merchants guild. The “he” Karigan wondered about had to be her father, Stevic G’ladheon, one of the premier merchants of Sacoridia.
Karigan copied Mundoy’s bow. “And I’m at yours.”
Mundoy nodded. “I bring you a message from your esteemed father, and one from Bernardo Coyle, of the Coyle merchanting family in Rhovanny.”
Karigan stared in disbelief at the two envelopes Mundoy passed her, one sealed with a blue and purple ribbon Laren recognized immediately, having opened enough letters from Stevic G’ladheon herself.
“And there are gifts,” Mundoy added, gesturing at his servant. “My man Reston will bear them to your chambers, if you like.”
“Er, chamber,” Karigan corrected. “Thank you, no. I’ll—” Then she glanced at Robin.
“Let me take him,” Laren said, and Karigan gratefully handed over the reins and slipped through the fence rails.
Laren sensed some undercurrent here, that this merchant, Mundoy, was making judgment on Clan G’ladheon based on Karigan’s appearance and circumstances. Why was she uniformed? Where was her servant? Only one chamber? Appearances must be just as important to merchants as to nobles. If Karigan appeared anything less than prosperous, rumors would spread across the lands, perhaps damaging the clan’s image.
“You’ve a servant to convey these?” Mundoy asked.
Karigan retained a pleasant expression, though Laren could tell it was forced. “I will see to the packages personally.” She addressed the servant rather than his master.
“They are an armful, but not overly heavy, mistress,” Reston assured her.
Karigan took them into her arms and Mundoy said, “Reston will return tomorrow for your reply to Master Coyle’s message. Good day.”
Mundoy struck off, his faithful servant close on his heels, Karigan glowering after the pair.
“Fish merchant,” she muttered. Then she turned to Laren. “May I be excused?”
Laren nodded her assent and Karigan trotted off toward the castle. Absently she stroked Robin’s neck. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
“I can’t believe it,” Karigan fumed a few hours later. She held the dress up to her shoulders so Mara could fully see it. It was made of deep, sapphire blue velvet patterned with leaves. Depending on the light and fold of the fabric, it took on the hue of midnight blue. The sleeves were puffed and slashed to reveal blue silk, and silver thread glistened in the sunlight beaming through the narrow window.
Mara, propped against a pile of pillows on her bed, smiled. “It brings out your eyes. It’s gorgeous.”
“But—” Karigan frowned, realizing how petty she must sound. It was deceptive to stand here next to Mara, for her near side appeared unchanged and unmarred, but when she gazed at Mara straight on, half her face looked like melted, puckered wax, and the hair on that side of her head grew back in crazy, curly patches. Much of the right side of her body had been burned. Only Ben’s intervention, the use of his magical healing ability, had helped Mara survive the wounds and her ensuing illness. In fact, the speed with which she was recovering was remarkable, and Ben’s ability had diminished some of the disfigurement.
“Yes, it’s gorgeous,” Karigan admitted. Her father had spared no expense on this dress and had sent along additional funds so she could have it properly fitted. It was more the intent behind the gift than the actual dress that concerned her. She fell into the chair next to Mara’s bed and let the dress blanket her legs.
“And so who is this Braymer Coyle?” Mara asked. “Is he handsome?”
Karigan sighed. “I’ve no idea. We were children last time we met. His father, like mine, is a textile merchant, but from Rhovanny; in fact he’s one of my father’s leading competitors. Braymer is the heir to the family business.”
Mara raised an eyebrow that no longer existed. “I see. So this is about more than two old friends getting their children together.”
Karigan nodded. “Yes. It’s about two middle-aged men concerned about their legacies and expanding their textile empires.” She rolled her eyes. “If Braymer and I get along, they are undoubtedly hoping for a–a marriage alliance.”
“And here I thought nobles were the only ones who worried about such things.”
“It isn’t the first time my father has tried to find a suitable match for me, though he’d never force it on me the way some would. But this—” and she rumpled the dress in emphasis “—this is serious.”
An amused smile formed on Mara’s lips, and there was humor in her eyes Karigan had not seen in a long while. “Much more serious than adventures in Blackveil and visitations by spirits of the dead?”
“Thank you for putting it in perspective for me.”
“My pleasure. I should think an afternoon out in that beautiful dress, and on the arm of a wealthy man, a nice change of pace for you from cleaning out the new Rider wing. New faces, different sights.”
