The Returning Read Free Page A

shaped like two rectangles, one abutting the other. The western one was the horse paddocks; the other, the eastern one, was the yard, with the house and outbuildings framing it about. A low stone wall divided the two. Graceful trotted after Father and Garrad, across the paddock and through the gate in the wall, from one rectangle to the other.
    Stepmother waited for them in the yard. “Moppet.” She linked her arm with Graceful’s, lifted her face to Father’s, for him to kiss. Stepmother was tall (so was Graceful tall), slender (Graceful was not), all gold and white, skin and hair. Standing next to her was like standing next to the sun, and when she smiled it was like standing in sunshine.
    The household entire was in the yard and jammed about the messenger. He was an Uplander, and he was here, in her yard. One hand on his hip, a leather wallet in the other, he flicked his cloak back over his shoulders and looked from the corners of his eyes at Stepmother. The work hands stood like a wall about her. At the messenger’s feet was a seedling, roots wrapped in sacking.
    Father and the messenger carried out a sort of mummery, bowing and pointing to the north, their only words the name of the new Lord in Dorn-Lannet, Lord Ryuu, repeated again and again. Father, smiling, steered Graceful forward.
    â€œDo you curtsy,” said Stepmother in Graceful’s ear, so she did, bent her head and curtsied, but the messenger looked no more at her; he’d already turned back to Father and Father to him.
    Stepmother, tugging on Graceful’s hand, led her into the house.
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    THEY ATE THE evening meal around the messenger’s delivery. The seedling stood half Graceful’s height, with palish bark and leaves as wide as Graceful’s spread hand.
    â€œWas he an Uplander, the messenger?”
    â€œWas he an—no, no, Daughter. He runs their messages, but he is not one of them.”
    Graceful was disappointed.
    Stepmother said, “He looked to be from Lodden, or the middle lands thereabouts. Those born there can be very Uplander in their looks.”
    Father was more interested in what the messenger had brought. “Do you look at this.” He untied the leather wallet and brought out a package wrapped in paper, then in cloth, then again in paper: a length of fabric, the same rose color of Stepmother’s cheeks.
    â€œSilk.” Father thwacked the roll of fabric with the back of his hand. “That’s what the Uplander Lords and ladies like.”
    â€œFenister linen is famed throughout the South,” said Stepmother. “Why would it not become as well-liked among the Uplanders?”
    Father draped the cloth about her shoulders. “Why not Fenister silk?”
    â€œO-oh, feel it, Moppet.”
    Graceful took a handful and held it to her face. It passed over her skin like a breath of air. “Why did the messenger give you a tree?”
    â€œWorms,” said Father. He was not listening to her—or was he? “That little tree, it’s a mulberry, and silkworms live on mulberry trees. How’d you like a silk gown, Fenister silk, eh?”
    After supper they walked the boundaries of the house yard, through the long summer dusk. The lamps in the village speckled the ridge and spread into the valley.
    â€œI’m to have Alyn’s foal, if it’s a filly.”
    â€œArno,” said Stepmother. “You did not, did you?”
    â€œGar, Vivrain. She’s an old hand at this, my Graceful.”
    It was true. The wagers had started when she was small. Father had been readying himself to ride out, and she had not wanted to go with him. “You shall,” Father had said. So Graceful had lain upon the stable floor, refusing to move or speak, or even to cry. Promises, threats, they all came to nothing.
    â€œSo.” Father had squatted on his heels, rocking on the balls of his feet. “You won’t get up.”
    â€œNot unless I can