She said nothing more. When they got upstairs, Cyncaidh was waiting, scrubbed and in uniform, damnably attractive. She went into her room and found a clean, soft cotton sleeping-shift on the bed. Though it was still afternoon, she changed into it, lay down, and rather quickly slept.
Caerith’s knocking drew her reluctantly from sleep. “It’s almost time for supper,” he called. She dressed and found him uniformed, and they went downstairs together. There were several alcoves off the dining room, and the soldiers, their commander and prisoner, were shown to one of the larger. Their conversations were quiet, perhaps because their commander was seated with them. When Varia had finished, she sat quietly watching him, observing her own response to his attractiveness. You’ll have to live with it, deal with it, she told herself. It’s physical, that’s all. Not love like you feel for Curtis. Just ignore it.
When most were done, Cyncaidh excused those who wished to leave. Varia waited till Caerith had finished his rhubarb cobbler, then left, the half-ylf a step behind.
“Can we go to the river bank and sit awhile?” she asked.
“Certainly, my lady.”
My lady. He sounds like Cyncaidh, she thought. The river passed perhaps a hundred yards from the inn, forty yards wide and of uncertain depth, a thinly milky blue from dissolved limestone. Someone, presumably the town fathers, had put out split-log benches, and they sat on one, the late sun behind them off their right shoulders.
She touched the bronze lozenge on Caerith’s collar. “What does this signify?” she asked.
“That I’m a sublieutenant in the imperial army.”
“An officer! I’d assumed you’re only half ylvin.”
He nodded. “That’s right, my lady.”
“What’s it like, being half ylvin?”
He looked at her with dark brown eyes, good-looking in his clean uniform, young in years as well as appearance, his brown hair washed and brushed now. “The Sisters are half ylvin, aren’t they?” he countered.
“In our ancestry, rather more than half. But we’re a people of our own. We don’t live under ylvin domination.”
He let that pass, turning instead to her question. “Life as a half ylf? Hmm. There’s no simple answer. Too many variables—who your father is, your mother, their ranks . . . It’s my father who’s full ylvin, a baronet’s son who was captain of the governor-general’s guard in the Kingdom of Quabak. My mother was the human, a daughter of the regent. It was a minor political marriage, but a happy one.”
“So you grew up in the Marches?”
“No. When I was four, my father was transferred to Duinarog, the imperial capital. I grew up within a mile of the imperial palace, wanting to be a soldier.”
“And what was that like, growing up in”—she paused over the name, realizing she’d never heard it before, and finding that strange—“in Duinarog?”
He laughed, something he hadn’t done in any conversation they’d had till now. “Ask me again when you have a day to spare. Mostly it was good.”
“Was there prejudice? Because your mother wasn’t ylvin?”
“Sometimes. Children can be cruel. But nothing troublesome. I had good friends.”
“And your career?”
He thought about his answer. “I’m unlikely ever to attain high rank, though such things aren’t unheard of. But then, few of my cadet class will, though only three of us were half ylvin. You hope for a good commander and serve diligently, and if he notices your service favorably, he’ll see to your development and advancement.”
“And you were assigned to serve Cyncaidh?”
“Not initially. The Cyncaidh is a general; he commands the 2nd Legion. I served in its 3rd Cohort, under Colonel Lonuaigh. Then I learned of a confidential mission I could apply for.” He exposed a smooth forearm. “Except for having little body hair, I hardly look ylvin at all, and I’d had certain training.” He shrugged. “Colonel Lonuaigh recommended me.”
His aura suggested he’d become uncomfortable with the subject, so she changed it. “I’ve assumed your commander’s name is Cyncaidh,” she said. “Yet you refer to him as ‘the Cyncaidh,’ as if it’s his title.”
“The Cyncaidh family is one of the noblest in the Empire. They rule a large domain on the Northern Sea—a sweet water sea bigger than all the Marches combined. Cyncaidhs have been regents, ministers of state, and chief counselors. One was even a pretender to the throne, in the Time of Troubles, though I’m sure the family doesn’t boast of it.” Sublieutenant Caerith grinned at that, then rearranged his face. “I hope you won’t tell him you know.”