Romilly smiled. “Father has said much the same every Festival since I can remember,” she said, “And I doubt not he likes spicebread and sweetbaked saffron cakes and fruits as well as anyone else. He quoted from the Book of Burdens that the beast should not be grudged his gram, nor the worker his wage, nor his holiday, and Father may be a harsh man, but he is always just to his workmen.” She did up the last button on the gown and spun her sister around. “How fine you are, Mally! But it is fortunate you do not wear this dress on a work day – it needs a maid to do it up for you! That is why I had my festival gown made with laces, so I could do it up for myself.” She finished fastening the embroidered cuffs of her under-tunic, slipped the long loose surplice, rust-red and embroidered with butterflies, over her head, and turned for Mallina to tie up her braid at her neck with the butterfly-clasp that modestly hid the neck of her frock.
Mallina turned to choose a flower for her hair from the baskets. “Does this rose-plant suit me? It is pink like my dress . . . oh, Romy, look!” she said, with a scandalized half-breath, “Saw you not, he has put golden-flower, dorilys, into your basket!”
“And so what, silly?” asked Romy, choosing the blue kireseth blossom for her knotted braid, but Mallina caught her hand.
“No, indeed, you must not, Romilly – what, don’t you know the flower-language? The gift of golden-flower is – well, the flower is an aphrodisiac, you know as well as I do what it means, when a man offers a maiden dorilys….”
Romilly blushed, again feeling the lustful eyes on her. She swallowed hard – Alderic, was he too looking at her with this kind of greed? Then common sense came back. She said crisply, “Nonsense; he is a stranger to these hills, that is all. But if that kind of talk is commonplace among silly girls, I will not wear the flower – shame to them, for it is the prettiest of all the flowers, but do you choose me a flower, then, for my braids.”
The sisters went down in their finery to the family feast, bearing with them, as custom dictated, the fruits from their festival baskets to be shared with father and brothers. The family was gathered in the great dining-hall rather than the small room used for family meals, and Domna Luciella was there, welcoming her guests. Rael was there in his best suit, and Calinda in a new gown too, dark and decent as suited her station, but well-made and new, not a shabby or outworn family castoff; Luciella was a kind woman, Romilly thought, even to poor relations. Darren wore his best clothing too, and Alderic, though his best was sombre as befitted a student at Nevarsin, and bore no trace of family colors or badges. She wondered who he was, and kept to herself the thought that had come to her, that he might well be one of the king’s men, exiled, or even the young prince . .. no, she would say nothing; but she wished that Darren had trusted her with his secret.
The middle-aged Gareth of Scathfell, as the man of highest rank in the assembly, had been given the high seat usually assigned to The MacAran at his own table; her father had taken a lower place. The young couples and single men and women were at a separate table; Romilly saw Darissa seated beside Cathal and would have joined her friend, but her stepmother gestured to an empty seat left beside Dom Garris; Romilly blushed, but would not incite a confrontation here; she took her seat, biting her lip and hoping that in the very presence of her parents he would say nothing to her.
“Now, clothed as befits your beauty, you are even more lovely, damisela,” he said, and that was all; the words were perfectly polite, but she looked at his pale slab of face with
dislike and did not answer. But after all, he had done nothing, the words had been polite enough, what could she say, there was no way she could complain of him.