Last night in Westmore.
"Duke Evan's in his ready room, Sir Paris." The soldier was no older than she was, a corporal she could see by his insignia, and he rendered a crisp salute when he passed her through the great gates of the palace of Westmore. She made her way through the halls, nodding and greeting the people she knew slightly as she passed them, to the small room off the main throne room where the Duke worked.
Alexis wasn't on duty; it was the Duke's chief herald that hurried over to her when she entered the room. After quickly reassuring him that the rest of her group was fine, and that she was here for a brief report, she had only to wait a few minutes before the Duke finished with the problem he was working on. She made her report, reassuring him of the safety of her group and Cordelia, and letting him know that there was more. It took only a little longer to arrange for a nearly private audience with the Duke and his chief herald, where she went over the other urgent bits of information.
By the time she finished it was late afternoon. With a smile she knew exactly where a certain person would be. "Paris!" Lorraine squealed, wrapping arms around her in a diminutive bear hug. "How are your friends? Your brother? Is Cordelia safe? Are you back for long? Oh, Paris, I'm getting married! At the Harvest Festival! The first of the banns was published last Sevenday, and you have to agree to be in my party! We'll pick dresses that you can wear later too, you know, other functions than weddings. And you have to stay for dinner." It was hopeless getting a word in edgewise; this was Lorraine excited, a force of nature comparable to a winter storm. Paris contented herself with nodding and smiling in return, letting the bubbling run over her, happy for her friend. Somehow she found herself being put in one of her dresses and readied for the dinner with the class.
The pre-dinner meeting assembly room was the same hubbub of noise she recalled. The young women curtsied to her as she came in, arm in arm with Lorraine, the other girl careful to walk on her swordless side. Paris found herself unconsciously checking her gown and belt before greeting her hosts. "Sir Paris," Lady duGryphon replied. Her eyes flicked up and down briefly over Paris, and then she smiled slightly. "So nice to see you again." Sir Gryphon extended his hand in a warrior's clasp that Paris, slightly startled, returned with equal strength. "Good to see you again, missy," he said quietly.
"I apologize for disturbing your seating arrangements, Lady," Paris said. "Lady Lorraine insisted that I attend at short notice..." Her ears, attuned through practice to the sounds of conversation, noticed a ripple in that sound behind her, and she stopped before she could continue. She was turning as her ears made out the whispered word "Baron" and an immensely welcome voice intoned what were suddenly the most magical words in the world. "Sir Paris, may I have the honor of escorting you to dinner?" Ewen asked, grinning as he bowed slightly and extended his hand.
"I believe my daughter made arrangements to correct the seating," Lady Gryphon said with a smile in her voice.
Paris took his hand and curtsied, smiling. "I would be pleased, your Excellency."
He grinned his lopsided grin, slipping her hand into his elbow as the master of ceremonies' staff banged on the floor. "And I would be very pleased."
She and Ewen, Lorraine and Jules, were at the table distant from the Lord and Lady. Through dinner, catching up with them, she noticed Lorraine occasionally catching one of the younger student's eye and frowning, correcting small missteps. Paris told what she dared of their travels and adventures over dinner; trying, not always successfully, to stay away from the bits of sword work.
"I can't believe that Sir Avenal," Ewen was saying to Jules. "I argued with that helm-for-brains all day. We need to start outfitting the town police with horses. Not all of them, I agree we can't afford that, but we have a lot larger area to patrol with the same number of people. We're out away from the main street, we get a lot of drifters trying to steal from my people." They continued to talk about events of the town, their problems, their work.
She had not forgotten how to dance, but her memories of how it felt didn't do justice to the here and now. The first dance, of course, was with Ewen. They said almost nothing during the dance, simply felt. The second was with Jules. As the song ended, he made a sudden change in what they had been discussing. "You know, Paris, we Guard ought to stick together. I'll be getting married at the Harvest Festival. Would you be one of my ushers?" [I'm using the modern term for it, but let's assume he says guard of honor or something that sounds better.]
Caught in the irony of the situation, Paris smiled. "Jules, Lorraine has already asked me to be one of her attendants. I intend to be there for the both of you, but ... she asked first." Softly, "She's always been quick and beautiful; like sunlight sparkling on water. I think you will both be very happy."
They had taken advantage of the orchestra breaks to go out into the garden and kiss; so it was not until the dance was over, and Ewen was escorting Paris back to the duGryphon quarters, that they really had a chance to talk. "Paris," Ewen said with a sigh, his smile gone. "This has been a wonderful night." He swallowed and stopped, turning to her just down the hallway from the Gryphon apartments. "But the Duke has let me know that I cannot leave Westmore until I am settled down. Married. To someone settled down. He doesn't want me neglecting the barony, off chasing adventures. Mother is more anxious, but the Duke is willing to give me some time." He took a deep breath. "A little time." He waited several heartbeats. "How much longer is your quest?"
Something caught in her chest, painfully. There was the Quest -- and there was the Order. "A little time. Only two gods are left in the quest. We will ask the Sun how to find Judgement -- and the Tower. We suspect those two Majors -- will come very quickly together at the end, with the World. A month, give or take a little, is all the time we have left, we think, to succeed or fail."
"Afterwards... I do not intend to be off chasing adventures. But I must be prepared to full fill my oath as a member of my Order. With Jules stationed here in Westmore, I do not know what -- or where -- will be required of me." Paris felt herself on the edge of tears.
He nodded, face serious. "I can make them wait a month. Yes. Just... just be sure you come back. We need magic here," he whispered, as he leaned in for a kiss.
Paris responded as she always did, her world both widening and focusing with him at its center. "Ewen," she whispered, her voice trembling a little, "I do love you. You have taught me love and faithfulness, given them warmth, solidity, a reality that no lais or story tales possibly could. I very much want you to keep on teaching me." She hesitated. "But what happens if I am wrong about the month? I have been wrong about time before.... Will you have to ask -- someone else to -- settle down with you? Shall I -- not come back then?"
"God no," he said, and kissed her. He pulled back with a confused grin. "I mean yes come back. However long it takes." His grin turned more lopsided. "If you can chase gods and fight dragons, I can face the Duke and my mother. I meant a month was not a problem." His grin faded a bit. "Past the Harvest festival will be a problem. Winter I will be cooped up in close proximity with them." He paused for a moment, face very close, staring into her eyes. "Say that first part again. The 'I love you part'."
Paris started blushing, but she met his gaze. Softly, "I haven't had much practise saying that sort of thing, but I hope you'll never doubt it. Ewen, I love you."
"I love you too," he said as he moved in for another kiss. Which was broken when they noticed a distinct shuffling sound from the guard down the hall outside the duGryphon doorway. When she looked, though, the man's face was rigidly bored, eyes unfocused and staring straight ahead. She and Ewen finished their goodbyes, and Paris, slowly, backed into the Gryphon's doorway. With a sigh, and one more soft good night, she closed the door, and turned to perform her changeling act.
Lorraine was standing there, arms crossed, tapping her foot. "Well?" she said in her mock stern imitation of her mother, but with a broad smile betraying her. "Well? WELL?"
Paris stood still, hugging her feelings to herself. "I think it's very well, Lorraine," she said softly, smiling. "Ewen loves me!" Wonder tinged her voice. "He loves me and is willing to wait until I come back from the quest." She sighed, relaxing a bit. "I think it'll take about a month. That's what we've -- my adventuring comrades have estimated. I do so hope we're right!" If Paris had had dimples they certainly would have shown as she smiled at her friend, and let herself be enveloped in Lorraine's delighted shrieks.
"Good night, Sir Paris." A different guard, a different corporal, but the same salute as she left leading Beaujolais through the gate.
She stopped on the horse a little distance from the palace and looked back at it along the main street. Its white shape was apparent in the faint light, soaring fairy-tale tall into the glittering starry sky. She had been in there, moving as if she had belonged. Walked right in and got an immediate meeting with a Duke, danced with a Baron, spoke with knights and princesses (well, practically) as if she were an equal. She pulled off her riding glove and looked at her hand. Calluses from holding a sword, not a hoe, and fingernails clean and pointed like a lady's, not dirty and cracked like a farmer's.
For a moment she wanted to turn around, race back in, and hug all of them tightly. 'Now where did that thought come from?' she wondered, as she slipped her glove back on and turned the horse away.
She'd never yet found a way of showing -- or telling -- how much she loved them all. It must be that impulse wanting to find expression. All she could do was continue working to keep them free and safe, Binah and Jataala -- and Murphy -- willing. And Ewen would be waiting.
"Last Night" copyright 2000 S.Knowles & P.Shea. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.