Dragon Keeper. Робин Хобб

to her work again this afternoon. With a sigh, she went to her mirror, to be sure that no errant smudge of charcoal remained on her face or hands. No. She was fine. She wasted just a moment looking into her own eyes. Grey eyes. Not snapping black eyes, nor yet placid blue nor jade green. Grey as granite, with short lashes, above a short, straight nose, and a wide, full-lipped mouth. Her ordinary features she could have tolerated, were they not dotted everywhere with freckles. The freckles were not a gentle sprinkling across her nose like some girls had. No. She was evenly dotted, like a speckled egg, all over her face and on her arms as well. Lemon juice did not fade them and the slightest kiss of the sun turned them darker. She thought of powdering her face to obscure them and then decided against it. She was what she was, and she wasn’t going to deceive the man or herself by dabbing on paint and powder. She patted at her upswept red hair, pushing a few dangling tendrils back from her face, and spent a moment making the lace of her collar lie flat before she left her room to descend the stairs.

      Hest was waiting for her in the morning room. Her mother was chatting with him about how promising the roses looked this year. A silver tray set with a pale blue porcelain pot and cups rested on a low table near him. Steam from the pot flavoured the air with the delicate scent of mint tea. Alise wrinkled her nose slightly; she did not care for mint tea at all. Then she controlled her face with a pleasant smile, lifted her chin and swept into the room with a gracious, ‘Good morning, Hest! How pleasant to have you come calling.’

      He rose as she approached, moving with the languid grace of a big cat. The eyes he turned toward her were green, a startling contrast to his well-behaved black hair which, in defiance of current fashion, he wore pulled back from his face and fastened at the nape of his neck with a simple leather tie. Its sheen reminded her of a crow’s folded wings. He was attired in his dark blue jacket today, but the simple scarf at his throat echoed the green of his eyes. He smiled with white teeth in a wind-weathered face as he bowed to her, and for just that moment, her heart gave a lurch. The man was beautiful, simply beautiful. In the next moment, she recalled herself to the truth. He was far too beautiful a man to be interested in her.

      As soon as she had taken a chair, he resumed his own seat. Her mother muttered an excuse that neither one paid any attention to. It was her pattern, to leave them in one another’s company as often as she decently could. Alise smiled to herself. She was certain her mother’s vicarious imaginings of what she and Hest said and did in her absence were far more interesting than the reality of their quiet and rather dull conversations. ‘May I offer you more tea?’ she asked him politely, and when he demurred, she filled her own cup. Mint. Why would her mother have chosen mint when she knew that Alise disdained it? As he raised his own cup to drink from it, she knew. So that her mouth and breath would be fresh, if Hest should decide to steal a kiss.

      She inadvertently gave a tiny snort of scepticism. The man had never even tried to take her hand. His courtship had been painfully free of any attempts at romance.

      Abruptly, Hest set his cup down on its saucer with a tiny clink. Alise was startled when he met her eyes with something of a challenge in his glance. ‘Something amuses you. It is me?’

      ‘No! No, of course not. That is, well, of course, you are amusing when you choose to be, but I was not laughing at you. Of course not.’ She took a sip of the tea.

      ‘Of course not,’ he echoed her, but his tone said that he doubted her words. His voice was rich and deep, so deep that when he spoke softly, it was sometimes hard to understand him. But he wasn’t speaking softly now. ‘For you’ve never laughed, or truly favoured me with a smile. Oh, you bend your mouth when you know you should smile, but it isn’t real. Is it, Alise?’

      She had never foreseen this. Was this a quarrel? They’d scarcely ever had a real conversation, so how could they have a quarrel? And, given her complete lack of interest in the man, why should his displeasure with her make her heart beat so fast? She was blushing; she could feel the heat in her cheeks. So silly. What would have been fine and appropriate in a girl of sixteen scarcely was fitting for a woman of twenty-one. She tried to speak plainly in an effort to calm herself, but found herself falling over the words. ‘I’ve always tried to be polite to you – well, I always am polite, to everyone. I am not a giggling girl, to simper and smirk at every jest you make.’ She found a sudden curb for her tongue and forced herself to claim the higher ground. ‘Sir, I do not think you have any grounds to complain of my behaviour toward you.’

      ‘Nor any grounds to rejoice at it,’ he replied easily. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. ‘Alise, I’ve a confession to make to you. I listen to gossip. Or rather, I should say that my man Sedric has a positive knack of hearing every rumour and scrap of scandal that Bingtown ever breeds. And from him I hear the tale that you are not happy with the courtship, nor pleased at the prospect of attending the Summer Ball with me. According to what Sedric has heard, you would rather be in the Rain Wilds, watching the sea serpent eggs hatch into dragons.’

      ‘The serpents hatch from dragon eggs,’ she corrected him before she could stop herself. ‘The serpents weave cases that some folk call “cocoons”, and in the spring the new dragons emerge from them, fully formed.’ Her mind darted frantically. What had she said and to whom, that he had come to know of her other plans? Ah, yes. Her brother’s wife. She had commiserated with her over the wasted ticket money, and Alise had carelessly replied that she wished she were going on her journey rather than to the ball. Why on earth had that stupid woman repeated such a thing; and why had Alise ever been so careless as to utter it aloud?

      Hest leaned forward in his seat. ‘And you would rather witness that than attend the Summer Ball on my arm?’

      It was a blunt question and suddenly it seemed to deserve the bluntest possible answer. She thought she had accepted her fate, but now a final spark of regret blazed up as defiance. ‘Yes. Yes, I would. Such was my intent when I purchased a ticket on a liveship bound up the river. But for you and the Summer Ball, I would be there right now, sketching them and taking notes, hearing their first utterances and watching Tintaglia as she ushered them into the world and up into the sky. I’d witness dragons come back into our world.’

      He was silent for a time, watching her very intently. She felt her blush deepen. Well, he had asked. If he didn’t want the answer, he shouldn’t have asked the question. He steepled his fingers for a moment and looked at them. She fully expected him to rise and stalk, insulted, out of the door. It would be a great relief, she told herself, for this mockery of a courtship to be over. Why, then, did she feel her throat tightening and her eyes begin to prickle with tears? He kept his gaze on his hands as he asked his final question. ‘Dare I hope that the chill of your displeasure over the last few weeks has been a result of your disappointment in missing your trip rather than a disappointment in me as a suitor?’

      The question was so unexpected that she couldn’t think of an answer for it. He continued to regard her with a direct and enquiring glance. His lashes were long, his brows perfectly shaped. ‘Well?’ he prompted her again and her thoughts suddenly snapped back to his question. She looked away. ‘I was very disappointed not to go,’ she started huskily. Then she amended it, ‘I am very disappointed not to be there now. It is not just a once in a lifetime occurrence; it is something that will never ever happen again! Oh, there may be other hatches – I fervently hope there will be other hatches. But none like this, none like the first hatch of dragons after generations of absence!’ Abruptly she set down the cup of horrid mint tea with a clatter on the saucer. She rose from her chair and went to stand at the window, looking out over her mother’s cherished roses. She didn’t see them.

      ‘Others will be there. I just know it. And they will sketch it and write of what they see, at first hand. Their knowledge will not come from musty bits of calf-skin with faded letters in a language no one knows. They will study what happens there and they will become known for their learning. The respect and the fame will go to them. And all of my studies, all of my years of puzzle-piecing will be for naught. No one will ever think of me as a scholar of dragons. If anything, they will think only that I am the dotty old woman who mutters over her tatty old scrolls, rather like Mama’s Aunt Jorinda who collected boxes and boxes of clam shells, all of the same size and colour.’

      She halted her tongue, horrified