I used to like snow, Ruth said as if encouraging himself to accept the return.
Wilth trumpeted from the fire-heights in surprised welcome. Half the firelizards of the Hold exploded into the air about them, giving raucous greetings and spurts of cluttering complaint about the snow.
“We won’t stay long, my friend,” Jaxom reassured Ruth, and shuddered with the damp cold even in his warm flying gear. How had he forgot the season here?
Ruth landed in the courtyard just as the Great Hall door opened. Lytol, Brand and Finder surged to the steps.
“Is anything wrong, Jaxom?” Lytol cried.
“Nothing, Lytol, nothing. Can fires be laid in my quarters? I forgot it was winter here. Ruth is going to feel the difference even through dragonhide!”
“Yes, yes,” Brand said, jogging across the court toward the kitchen, yelling for drudges to bring coal fires, while Lytol and Finder hurriedly ushered Jaxom up the steps. Ruth obediently followed the steward.
“You’ll take a chill changing climates like this,” Lytol was saying. “Why didn’t you check? What brings you back?”
“Isn’t it about time I did return?” Jaxom asked, striding to the fireplace as he stripped off his flying gloves and let his hands take warmth from the blaze. Then he burst out laughing as the other men joined him there. “Yes, at this fireplace!”
“What? At this fireplace?” Lytol asked, pouring wine for his ward.
“This morning, in the hot sun of the Plateau, while we were digging up one of the mounds the ancients left to puzzle us, Lessa told me that she had been taking ashes out of this fireplace the day my unlamented sire, Fax, escorted my lady mother Gemma to this Hold!” He raised his cup in a toast to the memory of the mother he had never known.
“Which obliquely reminded you that you are Lord of Ruatha now?” Lytol inquired, a slight lift to the comer of his mouth. His eyes, which before had seemed so expressionless to Jaxom, twinkled in the firelight.
“Yes, and showed me where a man of your talents could be better used now, Lord Lytol.”
“Oh, tell me more,” Lytol said, gesturing to the heavy carved chair which had been placed to get the most benefit of the fire.
“Don’t let me take your chair,” Jaxom said courteously, noticing that the cushions bore the recent imprint of buttocks and thighs.
“I suspect you’re about to take more than that, Lord Jaxom.”
“Not without due courtesy,” Jaxom said, dragging a small footstool beside the chair for his own use. “And a challenge in its place.” He was relieved at Lytol’s placid reaction. “Am I, sir, ready to be Lord of Ruatha Hold now?”
“Are you trained, do you mean?”
“That, too, but I had in mind the circumstances which have made it wiser to leave Ruatha in your charge.”
“Ay, yes.”
Jaxom keenly watched Lytol to see if there was any constraint in his manner as he answered.
“The circumstances have indeed altered over the past two seasons,” Lytol almost laughed, “thanks to you, in great part.”
“To me? Oh, that wretched illness. So, there is now no real bar to my confirmation as Lord Holder?”
“I see none.”
Jaxom heard the harper’s soft intake of breath but he was watching Lytol closely.
“So,” Lytol almost smiled, “may I know what has prompted you? Surely not just the realization that pressure is eased in the North? Or is it that pretty girl? Sharra, is that her name?”
Jaxom laughed. “She’s a large part of my haste,” lightly emphasizing the last word and then catching Finder’s grin from the corner of his eye.
“A sister to Toric of the Southern Hold, isn’t she?” Lytol pursued the subject, testing the suitability of the match.
“Yes, and tell me, Lytol, has there been any move to confirm Toric as a major Lord Holder?”
“No, nor any rumor that he’s asked to be.” Lytol scowled as he reflected on that circumstance. “What’s your opinion of Toric, Lord Lytol?”
“Why do you ask? Certainly the match is suitable, even if he hasn’t rank to match yours.”
“He doesn’t need the rank. He has the ambition,” Jaxom said with sufficient rancor to attract the undivided attention of both guardian and harper.