‘I do not love him,’ she said aloud. Lalitia had never loved anyone. Why then, she wondered, did she want to save him? Partly, she thought, it was that he never sought to possess her. He paid for his pleasure, was never cruel or dismissive, never judgemental or dominating. He did not seek to question her life, or offer her advice.
She rose from the bed and walked naked to the window where he had stood only moments before. She watched him ride the steeldust gelding through the open gates, and the heavy weight of sadness bore down on her.
Aric called him the rich peasant, but there was nothing of the peasant about the man. He radiated power and purpose. There was something elemental about him. Unyielding.
Lalitia smiled suddenly. ‘I do not think they will kill you, Grey Man,’ she whispered. The words, and the accompanying lift to her spirits, astonished her.
Life, it seemed, still had the capacity to surprise.
Keeva had never attended a Noble Gathering, though as a child she had seen the elaborate carriages of the wealthy, and caught glimpses of the ladies in their silks and satins as they attended such events. Now she stood by the western wall of the Great Hall, a silver tray in her hands, bearing a selection of delicately crafted pastries, some filled with cheese, others with spiced meats. She was one of forty servants moving among the Grey Man’s two hundred guests.
Never had Keeva seen so much satin, so many jewels: golden bangles encrusted with precious stones, ear-rings that sparkled in the light cast by a hundred lanterns, dresses or tunics embroidered with pearls and edged with silver, glittering tiaras, and even shoes decorated with rubies, emeralds and diamonds.
A young nobleman and his lady paused before her. The man was wearing a short cape edged with sable, over a red satin jacket embroidered with gold thread. He reached out and took a pastry. ‘These are wonderful. You should try them, dearheart,’ he said to the woman beside him.
‘I’ll try a taste of yours,’ she said, her white satin gown rustling as she moved in closer to her lover. He grinned at her and placed a small portion of the pastry between his teeth. She laughed, leant in and took it from him with a kiss. Keeva stood very still, aware that she was invisible to them. It was a curious feeling. Not once did their eyes meet hers, and they moved away into the crowd without ever registering her presence. Other guests flowed by, some pausing to take a pastry, others merely moving towards the dance floor. Her tray empty, Keeva edged around the wall and down the short staircase to the long kitchens.
Norda was there, refilling goblets with fine wine. ‘When does the Grey Man arrive?’ asked Keeva.
‘Later,’ she said.
‘But it is his Gathering.’
‘He is here already,’ said Norda. ‘Have you not noticed a steady stream of people moving through to the Small Hall beyond?’
Keeva had, but had not thought about it. The young sergeant, Emrin, was stationed at the rear door and Keeva was determined not to be seen looking at him. She wished to give the man no reason to pursue his interest in her.
‘Most of the nobles and merchants here this evening will be seeking some favour from the Gentleman,’ said Norda, ‘so, for the first three hours, he sits in the Walnut Room and receives them. Omri is with him, and he will be writing down their requests.’
‘So many people wanting favours,’ said Keeva. ‘He must be very well loved.’
Norda’s laughter pealed out. ‘Idiot,’ she said, as she took up her tray and moved back to the stairs.
Keeva was confused, and she glanced around and saw some of the other girls smiling. Embarrassed, though she did not know why, Keeva refilled her tray and returned to the Great Hall.
Twenty musicians were playing now, the music fast and lively, and dancers whirled on the polished floor. It was warm in the hall, but all the wide doors leading to the terrace were open, and a fresh sea breeze was filtering into the room.