Linnea Storn-Lanart was very young, certainly no older than Linnell, with russet hair falling in soft curls around a heart-shaped face. The Storns were old mountain nobility from the region near Aldaran who had intermarried years ago with Lanarts and Leyniers. What was a maiden so young doing alone in Thendara?
Linnea, although she seemed modest enough, raised her eyes with frank curiosity to my face. Mountain girls—I had heard this from my father—did not follow the exaggerated custom of the lowlands, where a direct glance at a strange man is immodest; hence mountain girls are often considered, here in the Domains, to be over-bold. She looked straight at me for a moment, smiling, then caught Javanne’s eyes, flushed crimson and looked quickly at the toes of her slippers. I supposed Javanne had given her a lesson in proper manners for the Domains, and she did not wish to be thought countrified.
I was at a loss what to say to her. She was my kinswoman, or had been so presented to me, although the relationship could not be very close. Perhaps that was it—Javanne wished to spend her time dancing, not looking after a kinswoman too young to dance with strangers. I said, “Will you honor me with a dance, damisela?”
She glanced quickly at Javanne for permission, then nodded. I led her to the floor. She was a good dancer and seemed to enjoy it, but I kept wondering why my father should go out of his way to make life easy for Javanne. And why had he looked at me so meaningfully as we moved on to the dance floor? And why had he introduced her as a kinswoman, when the relationship must surely be far too distant to notice officially? When the music ended, it was still perplexing me.
I bluntly said. “What is this all about?”
Forgetting her careful briefing in manners, she blurted out, “Didn’t they tell you? They told me!” Then her sudden blush flooded her face again. It made her look very pretty, but I was in no mood to appreciate it.
“Tell me what?” I demanded.
Her cheeks were like banners of crimson. She stammered. “I was t-told that—that we should look each other over, get to know one another, and that if we I-liked each other, then a—a marriage would be—” My face must have shown what I was thinking, for she broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Damn them! Trying to run my life again!
The girl’s gray eyes were wide, her childish mouth trembling. I quickly fought to control my anger, barrier myself. She was obviously very sensitive, at least an empath, perhaps a telepath. I hoped, helplessly, that she wouldn’t cry. None of this was her fault. I could just guess how her parents had been bribed or threatened, how she herself had been coaxed and flattered with the lure of a fine marriage to the heir of the Domain.
“Just what did they tell you about me, Linnea?”
She looked confused. “Only that you’re Lord Alton’s son, that you’ve served in the Arilinn Tower, that your mother was Terran—”
“And you think you can bear that disgrace?”
“Disgrace?” She looked puzzled. “Many of us in the Hellers have Terran blood; there are Terrans in my family. Do you think it is a disgrace?”
What could anyone her age know of this kind of court intrigue? I felt revolted, remembering Dyan’s gloating look.
Busy with his own affairs . . . Evidently he had known this was in the wind.
“Damisela, I have no mind to marry, and if I did I would not let Council choose a wife for me.” I tried to smile, but I suspect it was grim enough. “Don’t look so downcast, chiya, a maiden as pretty as you will soon find a husband you’ll like better.”
“I have no particular wish to marry,” she said with composure. “I had intended to apply for admission at one of the towers; my great-granddame was trained as a Keeper, and it seemed to her I was well fitted for it. But I have always obeyed my family and if they had chosen me a husband, I was not ill-content. I am only sorry that I seem not to please you.”