of them bit him. Dovina made a mental note to get the weasels some extra meat from dinner.
The women’s hall occupied half of the next floor up, across the landing from the gwerbretal apartments. When Dovina opened the door, her mother’s maidservant, Magla, hurried over to take the ferrets.
“Don’t bother to curtsy,” Dovina said to her. “You’ve got trouble enough. Gwarl fed them wine again.”
Magla, young and plump with raven-dark hair, sighed in annoyance and hauled the wriggling ferrets in.
“How is Mother?” Dovina dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Having bad days again. We’ve had the herbwoman in twice. She helps, but naught seems to cure.”
“It’s that inflammation of the womb. It lies very deep. I just wish she’d let us take her to Haen Marn.”
“I’m just so afraid, my lady, that the journey would kill her.”
“So is she, and truly, it’s a long way away.”
Magla sighed in agreement.
Bardek carpets lay thick on the floor of the semicircular room, and bright tapestries hung all along the curved wall. On little tables sat silver figurines and, here and there, showy enameled jars and dishes, filled with dried rose petals and spices in a vain attempt to hide the smell of ferret. In the midst of the color and sparkles, Lady Rhosyan was sitting in her favorite cushioned chair over by a window that looked out onto the rose garden far below. Like her sons she had pale eyes and high cheekbones, though her hair had gone mostly gray. Four children, one of them born dead, and two miscarriages in her first fifteen years of marriage had left her thin, ill, and, blessedly enough, incapable of conceiving again. Most days, like now, she could be found semi-reclining with her feet upon an embroidered footstool. Dovina smiled, sincerely this time, and leaned over to kiss her mother’s cheek. Rhosyan patted her hand in welcome.
“So he dragged you home, did he?” Rhosyan said. “Poor darling! But I do think you’ll like this new suitor.”
“That would be a welcome change. Have you met him?”
“I’ve not, but I’ve got a portrait of him.” Rhosyan raised a pale hand and waved vaguely in Magla’s direction. “Put my little furry babies in their den and bring me that little picture.”
By the time Magla found the picture among the clutter, other servants had brought up Dovina’s luggage and gone again. Dovina retrieved her reading-glass from a saddlebag and studied the portrait, a small thing that barely covered her outstretched hand. It showed a dark-haired young man with a face certainly not handsome but pleasant enough, with wide eyes that, as far as she could tell, were gray. What intrigued her, however, was the stack of books on the small table beside him. The artist had unfortunately represented their titles with squiggles of paint, not words.
“I’ve had lots of reports of Merryc from women I know at court,” Rhosyan said. “They tell me he’s much interested in the history of the kingdom. And in breeding horses, of course, but then, one expects that in a young lord.”
“Does he have land, then? Or is he mostly interested in marrying mine?”
“None of his own, but he’s not the usual land-hungry younger son. His mother despaired of ever marrying him off because he absolutely demands an educated wife.”
Dovina lowered her reading-glass and gaped.
“Well?” Rhosyan grinned and raised an eyebrow.
“Ye gods,” Dovina said. “This trip to Cerrmor might be worthwhile, after all.”
“Having those letter pouches going to and fro has certainly been a great help when it comes to arranging marriages! I have written to his mother—Lady Amara of the White Wolf, that is—you know her.”
“Of course I do! Well, if this fellow’s one of her sons, he might not be as bad as I feared.”
“Just so.” Rhosyan paused and looked toward the door. “What is it?”
A maidservant from the great hall staff took two steps into the chamber and curtsied. “My lady, you have a visitor. Lady Taclynniva of Lady Rhodda Hall. Are you receiving?”
“Most assuredly,” Rhosyan said. “Do show her straight up, and then fetch Bardek wine and some little cakes.”
The maidservant curtsied again and left.
Dovina sat down on a nearby chair and considered strategies. Dressed in a walking costume of blue, green, and pale tan, Lady Tay swept into the women’s hall in a storm of tartan shawl and skirt.
“You little weasel!” Lady Tay said to Dovina. “Did you truly think you could get away with this?”
Rhosyan rolled her eyes and sighed. “And what has my beloved daughter done now?”
“Worked a most