He’d found Sodrin earlier buried eyebrow-deep in water rights negotiations with a neighbor and fellow lord. Radimar had waited until their discussion had concluded before making his presence known. Like Jahna, Sodrin had matured in both body and mind. He was taller than Radimar now, and the awkward thinness had become a sinewy strength that showed in his arms and shoulders. Some things hadn’t changed though, and the exuberance with which he hugged Radimar and pounded his back until his spine cracked recalled months of hard training with a bright and eager, if sometimes undisciplined student.
He stretched his arm to indicate the garden as a whole. “It’s mostly as I remember it, though I see you still don’t participate with the others in the dancing, even when you obviously are familiar with the steps.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “No. I’ve resided here on the palace grounds long enough now that the permanent residents don’t pay much attention to my presence, but visitors still think me an oddity. I prefer to avoid all the stares and whispers if I can. There will be enough of that at the wedding ceremony.”
While she might still avoid large gatherings and the attention her birthmark always garnered, he suspected that now she weathered it with a certain quiet aplomb.
He’d been long away, and much wasn’t as it had once been, not the least, Jahna Uhlfrida. He held out a hand to her. “Would you care to dance with me? It’s been more than a few years since I’ve celebrated a Delyalda, so I might step on your toes. Are you brave enough to risk it?”
One delicate eyebrow rose. “Is that a challenge?”
After the disaster of their last moments together years earlier, he’d been afraid she would be cold to him if they ever saw each other again. She wasn’t. Reserved, yes. Cautious, most definitely. He could see it in her eyes. But not cold, and amusement played around her mouth. That soft, seductive mouth that had once shattered all his good sense. “Yes,” he said.
“Then how can I refuse?” She took his hand.
He led her into the steps that matched the rhythm of the song the musicians played. Her fingers were cold in his hands, and ink-stained. “Your brother told me you’re a full-fledged king’s chronicler now with an eye on becoming a Dame in a few years.”
She grasped his forearm and he hers as they tracked their steps to the music. “Sodrin is such a gossip. It’s a good thing I don’t tell him my most private thoughts. They’d be on the morning crier’s lips the next day.”
They both laughed, and Radimar came to his erstwhile student’s defense. “I doubt he’s as forthcoming with others as he is with me. And I suspect he’s decided that as Lord Uhlfrida now, he feels it his duty to advise you on every aspect of your life.”
Jahna rolled her eyes and twirled under his arm before neatly stepping back into the rhythm set. “Oh, Sir Velus, you have no idea.” She grinned. “Maybe once he’s married, he’ll be too busy pleasing his new wife to worry about lecturing me. He’s worse than Father ever was.”
The news of Marius Uhlfrida’s death had reached him almost six months after the event in a hastily scrawled letter from Sodrin. “I was gutted to hear of his death and worried for you and Sodrin.”
Jahna squeezed his hand. “Father didn’t suffer. His heart failed him. He died while on a hunt, his favorite activity. He wouldn’t have chosen a different way. I’d like to think he keeps my mother company now.” Her mouth turned down. “Of course he wasn’t two days in his grave, and the bride finders and matchmakers were rattling the gates to talk to my brother.”
“I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. He was your father’s heir.” Had the matchmakers sought out Jahna as well? Sodrin had said nothing about any attachment Jahna might have formed with some aristocrat wise enough to look beyond her birthmark, nor had Jahna mentioned anyone. A small part of him hoped she had found a man with whom to share her affections. A greater part seethed with wordless jealousy. He had no right to the emotion, but that didn’t stop it from plaguing him.
“Oh, there was a steady trickle of interested mothers with unwed daughters,” she said. “But his duty to the royal guard kept it to a minimum. Once he became Uhlfrida, it was like someone knocked down a dam and the potential brides came flooding in.”
“He did well for himself. The king’s niece as his wife places him even higher in the noble ranks. Is it a love match?”
Her disapproving frown faded to be replaced with one more contemplative. “More like a friend match, I think.”
“That’s a good start.”
She nodded. “A very good start. Even a good finish if they only remain friends.”
When the music’s tempo changed with the start of a different tune, neither paused but fell easily into a new rhythm.
“And you, Sir Velus? How have the years treated you?”
If he didn’t count the ever-present ache at the back of his soul for this woman or the two life-threatening wounds he’d received while fighting alongside the Nazim warrior monks, the years had been fair to him.
“No better or worse than most. After the Ghan died, most of us were dispersed to new assignments. I trained the son of a rich merchant.” He shook his head. “Dismal student. I stood down from the role after a year. After that, I trained and fought with the Nazim monks in the Lobak Valley.”
“Sodrin mentioned that. Did you know of one named Megiddo?”
Her question surprised him. The Nazim were similar to the Ilinfan Brotherhood in that some of their cenobites acted as guards or teachers for high-ranking families. Unlike the Brotherhood, they preferred to be known only by the general term “macari,” which meant monk. The knowledge of true names was typically kept within the isolated confines of the monastery itself and not often used. He wondered how Jahna had come to know this one.
He thought for a moment, remembering a solemn man with the natural air of an ascetic about him and a dignity to match Jahna’s. “I did know a Megiddo. I think he was Beladine. Capable swordsman. A left-hander but could fight almost as well with his right hand. Why do you ask?”
“He was one of the five who defeated the galla.”
Radimar did halt then, bringing Jahna up short with him. He peered down at her. “Are you certain?” How had a Nazim monk ended up fighting the dark demons that had razed an entire city in a single night?
“Very certain,” she said. “I sat with Serovek Pangion earlier today to record his accounting of the galla war. He told me the Nazim monk Megiddo fought alongside him, the Kai regent, a Queresi chieftain’s son, and a Gauri exile.”
A note in her voice alerted him that Megiddo’s bravery had not gone unpunished. “What happened?”
“Of the five, only Megiddo didn’t return to his home.”
Radimar closed his eyes for a moment. Good men died in wars all the time. One had even died in his arms, yet something about this death struck a deeper chord even though he had only known Megiddo as an acquaintance and fellow swordsman. “His fellow monks will mourn him justly and commend his spirit to the sacred fires.”
He wondered at the sadness in her expression before it slid behind a bland, studied fa?ade. She changed the subject. “Do you have a family?”