Page 44 of The Boy Bride

He found himself thinking of Master Hadda, and how useful it would be to have a good mirror for the stealth-craft lessons, to study one’s own expressions.

He handed the mirror back to Gurti, with a Zashian-style bow of thanks that made her laugh.

“You’re a mountain bride now,” she said. “Do it like this.” She folded her hands to one side and bent her knees in a curtsey.

He imitated the motion, and she looked impressed. “Very good. You learn quickly. I guess we should start talking to you in Hawada, too, so you can learn that.”

He stepped into his shoes, and they went downstairs together, Gurti hovering to make sure he didn’t trip over his long skirts. He was in no danger of that, but it didn’t bother him the way it would have if Halza or someone else had done it. If he could have spoken to her in her own language, he would have said that she reminded him of his mother. He wasn’t sure if that was quite true—he didn’t remember much about his mother—but somehow it sounded right. He thought she might have liked to hear it.

He felt cold suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He was letting himself get perilously distracted. He should be focussed on his mission.

Tirtu was pacing about the room downstairs.

“There you are!” He looked up at Lill on the stairs for a moment, then his gaze moved to Gurti behind him. “Gurti, you have outdone yourself—he looks splendid!”

Gurti gave a snort of laughter. “He’s a handsome young man and brought a fine set of clothes with him. I didn’t do much.”

“Right, then!” Tirtu clapped his hands briskly and said in Zashian, “Let’s get going—time to prepare for the bride hunt. I’ve found you the perfect hiding place.”

* * *

It was Barda who arrived at Vanu’s door with the invitation to the feast. This was usually a job for one of the youngest children of the family, so Vanu wasn’t surprised that he looked embarrassed and mumbled his way through the traditional invitation rhyme. Vanu tried to keep a straight face and not to meet Mikhi’s eye.

“Lost the throw of the dice, did he?” she signed to him when Barda had turned to walk away.

Vanu grinned. “Guess so.”

That probably meant that Khatu was going to act as the bride’s defender. Not that this particular bride needed anyone in that role.

“Can I take on Khatu?” Mikhi signed, obviously thinking the same thing.

“Certainly not. Go fetch your sisters.”

They all walked across to the village gathering place in their wedding finery. The tables had been set up here and decorated with boughs. The feast was modest: a platter with wizened apples from the last harvest, a couple of loaves of freshly baked bread, steaming in the cold morning air, dishes of cheese and nuts and jugs of beer. But it had all been arranged to look good.

Gurti and Padunu stood behind the tables. She wore her best clothes and had a smile on her face that made her look years younger than usual. He was wearing his cloak and his shaman’s headdress and holding his staff.

“Welcome to our feast,” said Barda woodenly.

“Please eat and drink,” Gurti signed.

Everyone stood around munching bread and apples for a few minutes before a noise from inside the great house made Vanu look up. The door opened, and the lowland guide emerged with a musical instrument, a small hand drum with jingling metal discs around the edges. He had lost the stick he’d been leaning on and was limping only slightly. He held his drum aloft and shook it and sang, in the up-and-down style of the lowlands that made it difficult to understand all the words, something about blessings. It was quite arresting. He was a good singer.

Then his voice faltered, and for a moment his mouth hung open. Vanu followed his gaze and saw that it was fixed on Susami. It would have been his first sight of her.

He began singing again immediately, with a renewed passion, and banging his hand drum noisily. No one else seemed even to have noticed the hitch in his performance.

Vanu had seen deadly rivalries kindled and friendships turn to enmity before his eyes, but he had never been witness to someone falling in love in front of him. Yet he was pretty sure that was what he had just seen. Maybe it would have been charming if it hadn’t involved his own daughter. He positioned himself between Susami and the lowlander and gave him a forbidding look. The young man went on singing, but the colour drained from his face.

Tirtu came out of the house then, ready to play his part. Although Vanu hadn’t wanted to do the bride hunt, he couldn’t regret agreeing to it when he saw the entertainment it was providing to his friends. He just hoped Lill wasn’t hating this, that somebody had taken the time to explain things to him. They weren’t very good at explaining things to each other in Umtúshta.

Tirtu was wringing his hands with exaggerated woe, preparing to make his announcement. Gurti had tapped Susami and Atari on the shoulders to alert them, and would no doubt interpret for them. Vanu could see Tirtu watching her out of the corner of his eye, waiting until the girls were looking his way because he knew they would not want to miss this. Halza was jingling his hand drum softly.

“What is going on?” a loud voice demanded.

It was Faru, standing in the open door of his half-ruined house, staring around as if he’d never seen a wedding breakfast before.

He was not dressed for a wedding; he wore riding clothes, dirty and wet in patches, as though he’d fallen in something after getting down from a horse. He really had not been in the fortress. How long had he been away? Vanu wondered.