Page 3 of Silverbow
A newly raised minor house, Ryerson House was more sprawling farm than proper lord’s estate. Horses were their trade and Enya altogether thoughttheir modest holdings far superior to the few other noble houses she’d seen with their overstuffed pomp and inflated ideas of grandeur, peeling whitewash included.
“None, sir,” Marwar assured him.
“Rather surprising for these two, wouldn’t you say?”
He smiled down at Liam, pink beyond that of the cold creeping into his cheeks. Just before her father’s departure in the last throes of winter, Liam and Enya had upset the stable boys with wild tales of the snowbeast that sometimes came down from the mountains. The monstrous, manlike creature would make fine snacks of the boys who didn’t run fast enough.
Of course, there was no snowbeast in the low peaks that were rarely blanketed in white, and the boys had said as much until one appeared in their midst. Enya thought her father and Liam’s da, Del, both would have found it funny themselves, if it hadn’t been for Wil Sheahan crashing into poor Master Marwar in his fright, sending the old man sprawling on the ice. His usual limp was still more pronounced all these weeks later.
Another of the boys had abandoned Tyndar where he stood, letting her father’s prized stallion run loose in the yard. Del had to scramble after him before he could round up the stable boys, and Oslee Amcot made it all the way home to his mother before Del could assuage their panic.
Mistress Amcot had been rather cross over the whole ordeal and gave the stablemaster an earful that he relayed to his son. Liam had in turn relayed it to Enya as she doubled over, clutching her side in a fit of laughter. It took Del three days to get the boys all back to work, Liam and Enya picking up their extra chores in the meantime.
Even now, the stable boys still jumped at shadows, despite the revelation that Enya had put her sewing lessons to work, badly stitching pelts to Liam’s jacket and dusting him in flour. She had taken the brunt of Mistress Alys’s tongue lashing. It was clear the woman hadn’t been impressed with Enya’s sorry stitches as she bandied a wooden spoon about.
“See to Farrah for me, would you lad?” Her father asked with a chuckle, as if he too recalled the snowbeast.
“Of course, sir,” Liam nodded.
“There’s something for you in my saddle bags,” her father called after Liam as he strode toward the sprawling stable - the crown jewel of Ryerson House. “Come, Enya.”
She followed him into the front hall where Mistress Alys met them to take their cloaks. With her usual crisp white apron over her no-nonsense gray wool, Alys Ashill was as much a fixture of Ryerson House as the front door.
The plump woman patted her neat gray bun, assuring it was in order as she said, “My lord, it is good to see you. I put a kettle on as soon as Griff saw you coming up the road, and there’s a fresh log on the fire.”
“You’re a saint, Alys,” her father smiled, rubbing his hands together as he strode into the drawing room. He dropped into one of the worn, high-backed armchairs facing the hearth.
Mistress Alys turned to Enya, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. For all her life, Mistress Alys had been trying to make Enya look the part of a proper lady, and for all her life, Enya had been running barefoot in the forest and wrestling stable boys in the dirt.
“This hair child,” she clucked with more than a touch of exasperation.
Enya batted away the hands that reached out to smooth her braid and dropped into the twin armchair at her father’s side.
“I had hoped spring would arrive before I did,” he sighed.
It had been well over a month since her father and two of the stable hands had gone south with a band of horses to deliver to Lord Barranson’s court. He had departed as soon as winter started to loosen its grip along the coast and the first frost-hardy merchants started to trickle up the Sunset Road.
Mistress Alys bustled back in bearing a tray with two steaming cups and a small plate of bread, cheese, and blackberry jam. “I’ve put water on for your bath, my lord. Plenty of time before dinner.” The woman was already scurrying back to tend to the kitchen before her father could answer.
From a pocket inside his coat, he produced a small paper bag and upended it on the tray set between them, sending chocolates rolling across the silver. “Don’t tell Alys I’ve gone and spoiled your dinner.”
Enya snatched one up and popped it into her mouth. She cradled her teacup in both hands, savoring the warmth. They sat quietly, letting the joyful crackle of the fire fill the drawing room until her father produced a large parcel wrapped in brown paper from beside his chair.
“Happy name day, my darling.”
“My name day isn’t until tomorrow,” Enya objected half-heartedly, but she was already reaching for the gift.
“It makes up for the years the trip goes long.” Her father watched her over the rim of his teacup as she pulled the paper away and exclaimed gleefully over the quiver wrapped within. “For my own Sana Silverbow.”
Enya laughed, tracing her finger over the leaves and vines tooled into the fine leather. She was far from the legendary archer. With her silver-tipped longbow, Sana felled beasts and turned battles. She was even said to have brought down a dragon and ended the Ayath Uprising with a single arrow. No, she was nothing like Sana, but it would be a fine thing to have a grand adventure.
“It’s wonderful!” She smiled.
“I hoped you’d like it. I thought about having a new bow made, but I know you’re rather fond of the old one.”
Enya was rather fond of the one Marwar had carved for her. It was a plain thing, unadorned, but it washerbow and it never failed her.
“We’ll take a ride in the morning. Perhaps you can put it to use.” She was still beaming, running her fingers along the vines, when her father’s usual easy tone shifted. “There’s something we need to speak about, En.”
