Tigana by Guy Kay (novel24 txt) 📕

father had endured infinitely worse in thirty years at sea, and she was not going to let herself be frightened or discomfited by a minor spring squall from the east.

She made a point of going back up on deck as soon as she felt the waves and the wind die down. It was still raining, and she covered her head with the hood of her cape. Careful to stay clear of where the men were labouring, she stood at one rail and looked up. East of them the swiftly scudding clouds revealed rifts of clear sky and briefly Vidomni’s light shone through. Later the wind died down even more, the rain stopped and the clouds broke up, and she saw Eanna’s bright, far stars come out above the sea, like a promise, like a gift. She pushed back her hood and shook out her dark hair. She took a deep breath of the fresh clean air, and knew a moment of perfect happiness.

She looked over and saw that her father was watching her. She smiled at him. He did not return the smile, but as he walked over she could see that his eyes were tender and grave. He leaned on the rail beside her, looking west at the coastline. Water glistened in his hair and in the short beard he was growing. Not far away—a series of dark, massive forms touched by the moonlight—the cliffs of Tregea moved slowly by.

‘It is in you,’ her father said quietly, over the slap and sigh of the waves. ‘In your heart and in your blood. You have it more than I do, from my father and from his.’ He was silent a moment, then slowly shook his head. ‘But Alais, my darling, a woman cannot live a life at sea. Not in the world as it is.’

Her dream. Clear and bright as the glitter of white Vidomni’s light upon the waves. Laid out and then undone in such simple words.

She swallowed. Said, a speech long rehearsed, never spoken: ‘You have no sons. I am eldest. Will you surrender the Maid and all you have worked to achieve when you . . . when you no longer wish to pursue this life?’

‘When I die?’

He said it gently, but something heavy and hurtful took shape, pressing upon her heart. She looped her hand through the crook of his arm, holding tight, and moved nearer to him, to lean her head on his shoulder.

They were silent, watching the cliffs go by and the play of moonlight on the sea. The ship was never quiet, but she liked the noises it made. She had fallen asleep the past few nights hearing the Sea Maid’s endless litany of sounds as a night song.

She said, her head still on his shoulder, ‘Could I be taught? To help you in your business, I mean. Even if not to actually sail on the journeys.’

Her father said nothing for a time. Leaning against him, she could feel his steady breathing. His hands were loosely clasped together over the rail.

He said, ‘That can be done, Alais. If you want it, it can be done. Women run businesses all over the Palm. Widows, most often, but not only them.’ He hesitated. ‘Your mother could keep this going, I think, if she wanted to, if she had good advisors.’ He turned his head to look down at her, but she did not lift hers from his shoulder. ‘It is a sharp, cold life though, my darling. For a woman, for a man, without a hearth at the end of day for warmth. Without love to carry you outward and home.’

She closed her eyes at that. There was something here that went to the heart of things. They had never pressed her, never harried or urged, though she was almost twenty years old and it was time, it was well past time. And she had had that one strange dream many nights through the dark of the winter just past: herself and a shadowy figure against the moon, a man in a high, unknown place, among flowers, under the arch of stars, his body lowered to her own, her hands reaching to gather him.

She lifted her head, withdrew her arm. Said carefully, looking down at the waves: ‘I like Catini. I’m happy for Selvena. She’s ready, she’s wanted this for so long and I think he’ll be good to her. But, father, I need more than what she will have. I don’t know what it is, but I need more.’

Her father stirred then. She watched him draw a deep breath and then slowly let it out. ‘I know,’ she heard him say. ‘I know you do, my darling. If I knew what, or how, and could give it, it would be yours. The world and the stars of Eanna would all be yours.’

She cried then, which she seldom did. But she loved him and had caused him grief, and he had spoken just now, twice, of dying one day, and the white moon on the cliffs and sea after the storm was like nothing she had ever known or was likely to know again.

Catriana couldn’t see the road as she climbed the slope from the dell, but from the distant sounds and the way Baerd and Sandre were both standing, rigidly watchful on the grass at the edge of the trees, she could tell that something was wrong. Men, she had long since concluded, were significantly worse than women at hiding their feelings in situations such as this.

Her hair still wet after bathing in the pond—a favourite place of hers, one they had passed every time they went back and forth between Ferraut and Certando—she hurried up the slope to see what was happening.

The two men said nothing as she appeared beside them. The cart had been pulled into the shade off the north–south road and the two horses let free to graze. Baerd’s bow and quiver were lying in the grass beside the