* * *
Whatever the drug had been, it left an unpleasant taste. She poured a glass of water and rinsed her mouth, then drank. Her serving girl, an ylf maid named Ardain, came in from the adjoining room.
“Good morning, your ladyship,” Ardain said. “I hope you rested well.”
Varia assessed how she felt. Neither good nor bad. A sort of medium gray, she decided. “Well enough, I guess,” she said, and wondered if this girl read auras. Not likely. She also wondered again what A’duaill had learned from her the day before. He’d said he’d answer her questions today. Or no, that wasn’t it. He’d said he’d receive her questions. Pin him down, she told herself.
She bathed, the ylf maid scrubbing her back. What would Liiset say if she could see. She knew what Idri would say, or Sarkia, who as long as Varia could remember, had portrayed the ylver as evil, depraved. She reminded herself then of General Quaie, who’d made the slander convincing. Not that most of the Sisterhood needed convincing; if Sarkia said it, it was so.
I’m well out of all that, she told herself. The trick now is to get out of here, a much more pleasant prison.
Clean clothing had been put out for her, including a frock hanging at her dresser set. Ardain suggested she wear it this morning. It was lovely, a pale green; she was surprised that this house had one so suited to her coloring. If my hair were long, she told herself, I might put it on, then rejected the thought. It wouldn’t do to look too pretty, not where Cyncaidh would see, so she dressed in uniform.
She’d expected to eat breakfast with him, and perhaps Mariil. When they weren’t there, she told the steward she’d like to see them after breakfast. Mariil, he answered, usually slept through the morning, and the Cyncaidh was out inspecting the property. That, Varia told herself, could take awhile. “Then I’d like to speak with A’duaill,” she said.
“I’ll leave your message with his scribe,” the steward answered politely, “but just now, he can’t be disturbed.”
Varia wondered if she was being put off. It smelled that way. She ended up asking a reluctant Ardain to eat with her, clearly not the sort of thing a serving girl was supposed to do. But perhaps she could answer some questions.
“Why am I being treated so well?” Varia asked. “I was brought here a prisoner, you know.”
“A prisoner? No ma’am, I didn’t know that.” Ardain seemed to doubt the claim.
“Why do you imagine I’m being treated so well?”
Ardain was uncomfortable now. “The Cyncaidh is a gentleman, and thoughtful, my lady.”
He’s that, all right, Varia told herself, but it doesn’t answer my question. Besides, Ardain sweetie, you know something you’re not telling me. She tried another angle. “Ahain told me Mariil would be happy to see me, or something to that effect. Why would he say that, do you suppose? She’d never met me.”
The ylf maid’s discomfort clearly was growing. “I don’t know, my lady.”
But you suspect, Varia thought, then told herself to leave the girl alone; she’d hardly tell anyway. “Are you from around here?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady, from Salmon Cove. My family fishes. And harvests seals in their season.”
“That sounds interesting. How did you come to work here at the manor?”
“My uncle’s been with the Cyncaidh’s household troops since he was eighteen. He’s first sergeant now,” she added proudly. “So I got interviewed by Lady Mariil. I’ve been here since I was fifteen.”
“I’ll bet they like you; I do. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Suppose you want to get married? Or are those things arranged for you?”
Ardain blushed. “Noble girls get husbands arranged for them sometimes, though they can refuse. For folk like us though, fisher folk or farmers, it’s usual to marry a lad who catches your eye.” She laughed. “The boy’s supposed to ask the girl, but a girl can get him to, if she wants.”
“And do the lords ever, um, impose on a girl who works in the house? A lord or his sons?”