Page 51 of Valdemar

The Heralds did not lack for eager hands to help them. Their neighbors in this part of the wall (mostly the families of guards), seeing what was going on, had come to lend a hand. Packed up in the linens were sets of pottery, more than enough for everyone, for cooking and eating if someone didn’t want to traipse all the way to the Great Hall to get a meal. Metal pots, pans, and kettles too. A handful of Merano’s people intercepted Heralds as they could catch them, taking their measurements with brisk efficiency and writing them down in notebooks. With so many Heralds and helpers, the unloading went surprisingly fast, and their benefactors could not stop beaming with pleasure every time one of the Heralds paused to thank them. And there were a lot of thanks. :Quite the love-fest,: Darshay teased. :You all need to get used to this. You’re going to get more kisses than blows from here on in, now that you’ve established your reputation.:

When the measurements were all taken, and the goods all carried away, Restil took it on himself to invite the lot back to the Palace for biscuits and wine. Thanks to established vineyards right there on the Palace grounds, remnants of the Hawkbrother plantings, one thing that the Palace had never lacked from the very beginning was decent wine. Nothing special, but eminently drinkable.

They all settled in the gardens among the vegetables. Restil went to the kitchens and found someone to help him carry out wine and savory biscuits, and alerted to what was afoot by her Companion, his mother had a page waiting there for him with the drawings and plans for the new Herald uniforms. When he got back with his loot, the Guildsfolk were admiring the plantings with some astonishment.

“Never thought vegetables could look pretty,” Merano observed, accepting a cup of wine and taking a biscuit from a shared plate. “Think I’ll do the like with me garden next year.”

The rest agreed, and to tell the truth, it was exceedingly pleasant in the garden. Most vegetables were no longer in flower, but the herbs provided faint scent, and the breeze was just right, and felt damned good after all that work. Merano examined the papers Isla had sent, and agreed that these simple uniforms would not be difficult to make.

“Wouldn’t have thought of these gussets myself,” she admitted. “But they make sense, given how much jumpin’ about you Heralds do. Wouldn’t have thought the Queen knew that much about sewing!” It was clear from her approving expression that the Queen had just risen in her estimation, so Restil held his tongue about the other contributors to the designs.

Restil played host until a recollection of their own duties sent the Guildsfolk and their empty carts back down into the city, pleased, even delighted, that their offerings had been so gratefully received. Only then did Restil return to the Heralds’ quarters and his own apartment to discover that Beltran and Delia had been hard at work in his absence.

He stood in the front door and marveled. He’d seen these installations when there was nothing but the Mother’s stonework here, and while the potential was clearly there for making these apartments comfortable, initially they didn’t look much different from a gaol cell. There was only so much that the Mother could build, but in these last years a lot had been done both in the Palace and out here. In the Palace, for instance, wooden floors were slowly being laid over the stone, and wood paneling over the walls. All of the openings in the walls had been fitted with windows made of small panes of thick glass in rotating frames that could be opened to let fresh air in. Curtain rods had been put up all over the Palace, and it appeared that someone had come out here recently to do the same, because there were double curtains on the window in the common room, and, he presumed, elsewhere in the apartment. The curtains were crude—they’d been made simply by draping fabric over the curtain rods, and there wasn’t a hem in sight, but he reckoned the three of them could learn enough sewing to remedy that. There was a light unbleached muslin pair nearest the window, and a heavier canvas pair, better at blocking light, cold, and drafts, between the muslin and the room. The little common room didn’t look so sparse now, with a wooden pantry currently displaying their crockery and pots, a table and three chairs, a couple of stools, and storage chests.

“We took care of your room if you want to go up and look,” Beltran said, looking very proud of himself. “Delia is quite good at arranging things.”

Delia dimpled at Beltran, obviously pleased at his compliment—

She never dimples! Well, well, well. That’s a good sign.

“Oh, it’s not that hard,” she said modestly. “But go up and see if you like it.”

Stout wooden pillars at the corners of each room supported the wooden second floor, with an opening cut to provide entry from below. A clever set of wooden stairs that folded up against the wall led up to the opening, which was more than big enough to allow even bulky furniture to pass through. That did make the room above the stairs a little smaller, but Beltran said he didn’t mind and had taken that one—presumably he counted the Palace itself as being among his rooms, as could Restil. Being Heralds did not require them to forfeit their personal possessions, and he wasn’t going to suggest that to anybody. The stairs led up to the back of the room; there was a wooden partition between the rooms, with a curtained door that led to Restil’s room so they both had welcome privacy. He trotted up the stairs and through the partition to see what had been done.

Curtains at the window, as he had hoped. He hadn’t needed a mattress; he’d purloined his own featherbed from his Palace room. The bed was neatly made up with the linens he had also requisitioned from the Palace, with more linens and blankets in a new blanket chest at the foot of the bed. A chair and small table stood at the window. An actual wardrobe for his clothing stood flat against the partition wall. He’d purloined quite a bit from his room at the Palace, so there were nice warm rugs on the floor, and now there were a couple of stools along with the cushions he’d fetched here, and a couple more chests and an armor stand, all of it arranged in such a comfortable and efficient way that he couldn’t see a single thing to change.

“Delia!” he called, as he trotted down the stairs again. “It’s perfect!”

He found Delia and Beltran sitting on either side of the table sharing a bottle of wine. He was quite satisfied to see that they seemed to be quite comfortable with each other.

“It’s not quite perfect,” Delia said, with a tiny frown, as he sat down to join them. “Those stone walls need some sort of fabric wall hanging or they are going to be quite cold in the winter. And we need more rugs.”

“Furs?” Beltran suggested. “I’ve always wanted a fur rug . . .”

Restil laughed. “Furs, even furs from weirdling Pelagirs beasts, are extremely desirable. I don’t think anyone is going to give us any.” He sipped the wine. This was a nice respite from training with Darshay. “Still, if we Heralds get called out to help dispatch such a beast, I think if we ask nicely, we can probably get furs now and again.” He sighed. “It’s kind of nice to sit here and rest in our own quarters.” Living in the Palace in the royal suite made him feel now and again as if he were still a child. Now, here he was, with his very own quarters. Not a child. Able to take care of himself without any supervision.

“I know!” Beltran agreed. “It makes it all feel solid and real! I keep waking up at night and thinking that being Chosen was some sort of fantastical dream. Maybe now that I’m here, that won’t happen anymore.”

They were all doing a lot of training with their Companions. Even his father and mother were training, slipping away from the Court just after dinner when the evening’s entertainment had begun and working out in the horse meadow. And Darshay had nudged him into still more: morning training with one of the Old Men . . . augmenting his magic with hers. Sometimes she made even Sai speechless!

A tap at the door made all three of them look up, to see Rothas standing there with an expectant look on his face.

“May I come in?” he asked. “Have you got some time to spare?”

“A little,” Restil admitted, “but not too much for me at least. I need to go talk to the shipbuilders about another bridge.”

The budding Bard nodded. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you all about. The rescue, I mean. Oh, and what it was like to have those white horses pick you. And—” He took a deep breath, and paused, because all those words had come out in a rush. “I want to write some songs! This is all material that is much too good not to make songs about!”

Restil stifled a groan, because he really did not want to be the subject of a song, but . . .

:It would be very good for us to have songs about us. Songs spread as fast as gossip, if not faster.:

:I know. I know.:He put a good face on it, and smiled.

“And Lythe is dreadfully curious. She’s met Delia’s horse, but not any of the others, and I want to tell her all about everything since she’s not awake to see it for herself!” Rothas sounded just as enthusiastic about explaining to Lythe what had happened as he was about making songs, which was an excellent development. With a glance at Beltran and Delia, who each nodded, Restil gestured to one of the stools.

“Get a seat, and we’ll tell you everything we can,” he said. “I’ll have to leave shortly, but I think Beltran and Delia can do as well as I could in that regard. Maybe better. Beltran is very articulate!”