For another hour the dancing continued, and the hall was filled with the sounds of music and laughter. Keeva’s arms began to ache from holding the tray. Few people were now eating. Norda moved carefully around the edge of the hall. ‘Time to exchange that tray for refreshments,’ she said.
Keeva followed her downstairs. ‘Why did you call me an idiot?’ she asked, as the blonde woman began to fill crystal glasses with wine.
‘He is not loved,’ said Norda. ‘He is hated by them all.’
‘But why, if he grants them favours?’
‘That is why. Do you know nothing about the nobility?’
‘Obviously not.’
Norda paused in her work. ‘He is a foreigner and immensely wealthy. They envy him, and envy always leads to hatred. It doesn’t matter what he does, they will always hate him. Last year when there was a failure of the crops in the east the Gentleman sent two hundred tons of grain to be distributed among the starving. A fine deed, yes?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, this fine deed prevented the cost of grain from soaring, and thus reduced the profits the nobles and merchants could have made. You think they would thank him for that?’ Norda smiled. ‘You’ll learn, Keeva. Nobles are a different breed.’ Her smile faded, and her eyes became cold and angry. ‘I wouldn’t piss on one if he was on fire.’
‘I do not know any,’ said Keeva.
‘Best to keep it that way,’ replied Norda, her voice softening. ‘They bring nothing but grief to the likes of us. We’d better get back.’
Carrying a tray of drinks, Keeva returned to the Great Hall, and began moving through the throng. The musicians had ceased playing briefly, and were partaking of refreshments, and most of the nobles had gathered in small groups. They were chatting and laughing, and the mood was a happy one. There was still no sign of the Grey Man, though Keeva saw the one noble she did recognize: Lord Aric of House Kilraith. Resplendent in a grey and black striped tunic shirt of heavy silk, edged with silver braid, he was standing close to the terrace, talking to the young woman Keeva had earlier seen taking the pastry from the mouth of her companion. The two were laughing, and Keeva saw Aric whisper something in the woman’s ear. He was a handsome man, slim and elegant, his features fine, though his nose a little long, thought Keeva. He looked younger than she remembered, his hair uniformly dark. Keeva seemed to recall that he had had grey in his hair when he had ridden through the settlement last year. And his face had seemed puffier. He has probably dyed the hair, she thought, and lost a little weight. It suited him.
Just behind them stood a black-bearded man, tall and broad-shouldered with deep-set eyes. He was wearing an ankle-length robe of deep blue velvet edged with silver thread. In his right hand was a long staff, topped with an ornate twist of silver. The man was standing quietly, holding the hand of a young, blond-haired boy around eight years of age. Keeva moved towards them. The tall bearded man stepped away from the shadows of the terrace doorway and Keeva felt his gaze upon her. It was a shock, for she had become used to being invisible to these people. His eyes were dark and large beneath hooded lids.
‘Drink, sir?’ she said.
The tall man nodded. His face was broad, made even wider by the heavy black beard. He released the boy’s hand and took a crystal goblet filled with red wine. ‘I much prefer it white,’ he said, his voice low. He smiled at her and held up the goblet. Immediately colour began to drain from it, becoming first a bright scarlet, then a deep pink, until, at last, it looked as clear as water. Keeva blinked. The man chuckled, then sipped the changed wine. ‘Excellent,’ he said.
She glanced down at the silent boy. His bright blue eyes met hers and he gave a shy smile. ‘Can I fetch something for your son?’ she asked the bearded man.
He smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘He is my nephew and my page, not my son. And, yes, that would be most kind.’