The Song of Andiene by Elisa Blaisdell Read Free Book Online Page A

taught you to do this kind of work? Where did she come from?”
    “From the forests. The forests to the south.”
    Kare brought her hands to her forehead, palms out, the old sign to ward off evil. “Do they all know this craft there? I have never seen it. Still, I suppose that not many from there … come back to the city.”
    Ilbran smiled in amusement to see that his mother, so soon after her lecture to him, still feared some things. It seemed that there was a difference between the northern forest and southern forest.
    “Could you sell this kind of lace?” asked Andiene hopefully.
    “Yes. It is fine craftsmanship. But, no!”
    “Why?”
    “How many in the city know how to do this kind of work?” Kare asked. “Few. Some servant buying goods would see it. And they might guess. The risk is too great.” She took the lace from Andiene, unraveled it. The thread came rippling free.
    “Then what can I do? What can I do to help you?” Andiene looked around the bare room again. “What became of my rings?”
    “We buried them,” said Ilbran. “They are safe, never fear.”
    “The plain gold one I must have. It is my signet. The other two you may take as payment.”
    “No.”
    She went on, unlistening. “You can crush the settings, and sell them as lumps of gold. Surely there are people who will buy.”
    “Enough,” said Hammel. “If we took payment for helping you, we might take payment for betraying you.”
    “What do you wish me to do, then?” The look she gave him would have daunted many men.
    “Learn patience. Stay here until they have given up searching for you, and until you have learned to put on a peasant’s manners with your peasant’s clothes. Then you may walk out of the city past the guards. We know where you can find shelter.”
    “You have no peasant’s manners about you, for all the way you live.”
    He smiled slightly. “I thank you.”
    “I am rightfully Rejin, the lady of this land. What if I declared myself openly?”
    He shook his head. “You would be killed before you had a chance to speak more than a few words. From what I have heard, Nahil planned well, and his men guard the city well. None would dare to help you openly.”
    Her gray eyes were unfathomable. “What if he died?”
    “You have no hope of that,” he said, answering her meaning, rather than the words. “If you walked ten paces in the streets someone would call the hunting cry after you. Forget the throne.”
    “You are wise. Very wise. But it is your wisdom, not mine. And what has it gotten you?”
    Ilbran stepped forward, ready to punish her impudence as he had been punished when he was young. His father shook his head slightly, looked at Andiene and waited silently. In a moment, she said, “I ask your pardon.”
    “It is given.”
    She went back into her sleeping corner. No one spoke. The storm lashed the house, driving water through the roof, here and there, to soak the floor into sticky mud. Autumn storm, Ilbran thought, and another kervissen run to follow it. Enough money to pay for the thatching, maybe.
    They heard a loud “Halloo there! Shelter from the storm!” and their door was brushed aside. Giter, the fat butcher, stood on the threshold, the least welcome guest that Ilbran could have imagined. Fel raised his head and growled. “Quiet!” Ilbran said. He knew that a stranger must be welcomed to one’s hearth, whether he was invited or not.
    The butcher did not wait for a welcome. He walked across the room, and planted himself by the fire with a gusty sigh. “I give you great thanks, and you, my lady,” he added to Kare. “This is not fit weather for man or beast. My home is far on the other side of the city, and a man could drown before he reached it.” He held his hands to the fire. Water streamed from his fine clothes, and puddled on the floor.
    Ilbran frowned. A touch of falseness in the man’s speech. “What brought you down by the seaside, on a day such as this?”
    The butcher’s eyes