Page 180 of Silverbow
Alsbet sniffed. “It’s been three years, Oryn.”
Leon harrumphed his agreement.
“How long do you intend to stay in the Vale?” She demanded.
“The Vale?” Dozmac gasped. “Can I go with you, Uncle?”
A chorus of agreement came from the boys and girls alike. Oryn eyed Alsbet over his glass. She lifted a brow in challenge.
“Not this time, Doz. I have some business to see to with Lady Enya.”
“Are you coming back?” Gargitrude asked.
“I always come back.”
“No you don’t.” The crinkled brow made her a mirror image of her mother. “You stay away for an eternity.”
“Long enough to forget the customs of our court, it seems,” Alsbet chided. “The absence of your hearth gift was noted, Oryn.”
Enya seemed to sink into the piano bench as Leon fixed him with a stare. “Is that true, brother?”
“I hope her ladyship will forgive the delay. I couldn’t find a suitable gift so I’m having something made.”
Alsbet turned her attention on Leon. “Husband, what of Enya’s marriage offers?”
Enya jerked, clanging a key and Oryn smiled into his cup.
“Marmok Ironspike, Budrud Ashbellow, and Khestrig Kragfall.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Who…?”
“You danced thrice with Marmok Ironspike,” Oryn answered levelly. “Red beard, green tunic. Budrud Ashbellow wore the maroon tunic with gold embroidery. Khestrig Kragfall was all in gray, with the great golden chain. I believe you robbed him of a fair bit of gold over a game of Dragons.”
Slack-jawed, Enya swiveled to Alsbet.
“Oh don’t fret so, my dear. A dwarf isn’t really serious until he’s showered you in jewels and asked at least three times. Leon had to ask me five before he dined with my parents.”
The Prince of Dwarves grunted around his pipe. Oryn remembered the battlefield that was that courtship. He’d seen less interesting fights with Durelli sellswords.
“I’ve no want for a husband.”
“Here here,” Gitaela said, raising her own wine cup under her mother’s bored look.
“You seemed to like Enya’s friend last night,” Orimum shot.
Scarlet flooded Gitaela’s face as she scowled at her brother. “And what about you, Ori? Not bold enough to make your own marriage offer?”
“Children!” Alsbet clapped only half-heartedly, her face painted with amusement. “Children, I do believe you are offending the lady’s sensibilities.”
Oryn got to his feet to rescue the Silverbow from a fight she had no business in. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to play a duet with my niece?”
Enya leapt from the bench, bowing herself out as Dothebelle settled on his knee.
That was the last he saw of her for days. Every morning, she was whisked out of the palace on hearth visits and what time she had alone, he learned she was holed up in the library tower or behind her door. Oryn mourned that delightful little hum, even if her scent lingered on the staircase when he came to and from his own rooms.
On the fourth day, he perched atop the low wall surrounding the plaza, watching her make good on her word to let the children ride Arawelo. The mare was far from a children’s pony, which she let everyone know with her ears flattened in irritation, but she stood stoically as Dothebelle reached up trying to scratch a place behind her girth.
A handful of gawkers had gathered to see the now famed Lady Silverbow, who wore new sweeping sky blue divided skirts and a more tailored version of her usual white linen shirt, courtesy of the royal seamstress. He caught the glint of the knife at her belt that he’d helped Orimum select. He’d assured the lad that she would prefer it to jewels and the boy had been strutting around like a proud peacock, reporting it was the only hearth gift she’d been seen wearing.
