“What in the name of the gods?” Mara murmured, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
Everyone else appeared to be wondering the same thing, so transfixed were they by the unexpected visitors. Eletians were still enough of a novelty in the land that they attracted attention no matter where they appeared. That one of those magical folk now stood in the castle’s common dining hall was almost too extraordinary a vision to apprehend, but there he was.
At first, Karigan’s hopes surged that maybe Lhean had come looking for her, then plummeted when she realized it was just his companion, Enver. Enver, for his part, searched the room with his gaze, and when it alighted upon Karigan, he brightened. “Galadheon!”
Everyone else in the room shifted their gazes to stare at her. Bad enough people looked strangely at her from time to time after her “return from the dead.” She didn’t need Enver adding to the whispers she sometimes heard behind her back.
As Enver, and the Weapon, Ellen, picked their way toward her table, she muttered, “Five hells. What does he want with me?”
“Be nice,” Mara warned her. “I am sure King Zachary would not appreciate a diplomatic incident just because you are feeling crotchety.”
“I am not crotchety.”
“Are, too.”
“Am not.” Then Karigan groaned. “Why did I even bother to get out of bed today?”
“Because you couldn’t sleep?”
Before Karigan could come up with an appropriate retort, Enver and Ellen halted at their table. Ellen said, “Master Enver wished to see a little of the castle, and visit with you, Sir Karigan.”
“Good morning,” Enver said with a slight bow.
“I leave him in your care, Riders.” And Ellen turned on her heel and strode away. Enver regarded them expectantly.
Mara recovered first. “Good morning, Enver. We were never properly introduced. I am Mara Brennyn, Chief Rider.”
Enver extended his hand to shake hers. Just as Karigan had been disconcerted by his manner the first time she’d been introduced to him, so now was Mara.
“How do you do?” he asked.
“I am well, thank you,” Mara replied.
Instead of releasing her hand, however, Enver pulled it closer to inspect it. Mara cast a sideways glance at Karigan and mouthed, Is this normal?
For an Eletian, she meant. Karigan shrugged. She had probably been around Eletians more than anyone, but they still defied expectation.
“You’ve missing fingers,” Enver observed. “And many deep burn scars.” He released Mara’s hand and bent close to study her face. She leaned as far back on her bench as she could without tipping over. “Very deep,” he murmured.
Karigan cleared her throat. “Enver . . .” His examination wasn’t making just Mara uncomfortable.
“Beautiful,” he said, raising his hand as if to touch her cheek.
“Enver,” Karigan said more sharply, half-rising from her bench.
He looked at her, startled. “Yes?”
A quick glance around revealed that others in the dining hall watched Enver with deep suspicion, which manifested in scowls and muttering over his presumption. His own expression was ingenuous. He had no idea, she realized, he had transgressed the boundaries of appropriate conduct, of appropriate human conduct. She took a deep breath to calm her own irritation, but needed to act quickly before anyone decided to “teach” him manners.
“Enver, please have a seat.” She patted the bench next to her.
“Have I done something wrong?”
So, he wasn’t entirely witless. “Please, sit.” When he slid onto the bench, she explained, “The attention you gave to Mara’s scars is considered . . . unseemly.”
He looked from Karigan to Mara and bowed his head. “My pardon, Chief Rider Brennyn. I did not mean to cause offense. I have some learning in the healing arts, and what I saw in you was a triumph of healing, and thus beautiful. It seems I need to learn more of your ways so I may express myself correctly.”
Karigan thought it strange that the Eletians would send to the castle one who was not versed in the customs and etiquette of its people, but then again, were any of them? They were other, and in Karigan’s experience, diplomacy did not seem to be of overriding importance to them. At least the tension in the dining hall eased, with the watchers returning to their breakfasts and their own conversations.
“No offense taken,” Mara said. “I had never thought of my scars in that way before . . . as beautiful. I think . . . I think I like it.”
“The healing is not only of the flesh,” Enver said, “but of the spirit, which shines through you. You are radiant.”
Mara looked taken aback, unable to speak, maybe a little flustered. Enver’s demeanor did not reveal whether he was intentionally flirting, or if this was another of the “ways” about Sacoridians he did not understand. If the latter, combined with his ethereal good looks, it could lead to a lot of painful misunderstandings.
“Thank you,” Mara said finally. “Would you like some breakfast? Kauv? Tea?”
“I thank you, but I am sated for the time being.”
Karigan sipped her tepid kauv as Mara questioned him about how his night had been. He and the others, he said, had passed the night outside the city for Lhean did not like sleeping upon the mortal dead. Mara’s brow creased, and Karigan shook her head at the oblique reference to the royal tombs that catacombed the small mount that the castle and city sat upon.