she was sure he knew she watched him, he kept his eyes on the small leaps and dance steps of the flame beneath the pot, as if letting her look her fill was a courtesy he did her along with filling her belly.
He was tall, she knew; sitting, he looked even taller, for he was so slender. His arms were spread wide from his sides to rest on the is of the chair; but his long fingers reached well over the curled fronts of the armrests, and his knees were several inches beyond long seat of the chair. He wore a dark green tunic, and a brown shirt beneath it, with long full sleeves gathered at the wrists with gold ribbons. He wore tall pale boots that reached just above his knees, where the tunic fell over them. The tunic was slit up the side to his waist, and the leggings beneath it were the gold of the ribbons. He wore no sash; rather a narrow band of dark blue cloth made a cross over his breast, and wrapped once thinly about his waist. The ends of it were tassels, midnight blue shot with gold. A huge dark red stone hung on a chain around his neck.
His face was thoughtful as he stared at the fire. His nose was long and straight and his lips thin; his eyes were heavy-lidded and blue. His hair was curly as well as bright gold, and it grew low over his collar and ears although he was clean-shaven. He should look young, Harry thought. But he did not. Neither did he look old. He turned to her as she set down her bowl and cup, and smiled. "Well? Did I know when to stop adding potatoes?"
Hill potatoes were golden and far more flavorful than the pale Homelander variety that Harry had eaten obediently but without enthusiasm when she was a child, and here they blended most satisfactorily with the delicate white fish that was the basis of the I stew. It was the first time she had eaten fresh fish since she had left her Homeland, where she had often brought supper home after a few hours beside a pool or stream on her father's estate; and she was pleased, now, to notice that remembering this fact caused no nervous ripples of emotion about her past or her future. "Yes," she said peacefully.
Their eyes met, and he asked, as though he were an old friend or her father, "Are you happy?"
She thought about it, her gaze drifting away from his and coming to rest on the tip of Gonturan, as she leaned against her sol's chair; for she had, without thinking about it one way or another, slung Gonturan around her as soon as she stood up from her bed. "No, not precisely," she said. "But I don't believe I wish to complain of unhappiness." She paused a minute, looking at the thoughts that had been with her constantly for the weeks since she had left her old life as a bundle across Fireheart's withers. "It is that I cannot see what I am doing or why, and it is unsettling always to live only in the moment as it passes. Oh, I know - one never sees ahead or behind. But I see even less. It is like being blindfolded when everyone else in the room is not. No one can see outside the room - but everyone else can see the room. I would like to take my blindfold off."
The man smiled. "It is a reasonable wish. No one lives more than a few moments either way - even those fortunate or unfortunate ones who can see how the future will be cast; and perhaps they feel the minute's passing the most acutely. But it is comforting to have some sense of ... the probability of choices, perhaps?"
"Yes," she sighed, and tapped a finger on Gonturan's hilt, and thought of the red-haired rider on the white horse. He had looked as though he knew where he was going, although she had to admit that he had also looked as if the knowledge gave him no joy.
"Not he," said the man with yellow hair. "The Lady Aerin. You should begin to recognize her, you know; you have seen her often enough."
She blinked at him.
"You carry her sword, and ride to a fate not entirely of your own choosing. It is not surprising that she in some manner chooses to ride with you. She