Sherwood Smith QUOTES

161 " He caught it one-handed, set it gently back in its place.
I clenched my teeth together to keep from screaming.
The Marquis stepped to the door, opened it. “Please bring Lord Branaric here.”
Then he sat down in one of the window seats and looked out as though nothing had happened. I turned my back and glared out the other window, and a long, terrible silence drained my wits entirely until the door was suddenly thrust open by an impatient hand; and there was my brother, tall, thinner than I remembered, and clean. “Mel!” he exclaimed.
“Bran,” I squawked, and hurled myself into his arms.
After a moment of incoherent questions on my part, he patted my back then held me out at arm’s length. “Here, Mel, what’s this? You look like death’s cousin! Where’d you get that black eye? And your hands--“ He turned over my wrists, squinting down at the healing rope burns. “Curse it, what’s toward?”
“Debegri,” I managed, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Bran, that’s not the worst of it. Look at this!” I stuck out my bare foot to show the purple scars. “That horrid trap--“
“We pulled ‘em all out,” he said, and grimaced. “It was the Hill Folk sent someone to tell us about you--that’s a first, and did it scare me!--but by the time we got down the mountain, you were gone. I’m sorry, Mel. You were right.”
“I was s-s-s-stupid. I got caught, and now we’re both in trouble,” I wailed into his shoulder.
The carved door snicked shut, and I realized we were alone. I gave a great sob that seemed to come up from my dusty bare toes, and all those pent-up emotions stormed out. Bran sighed and just held me for a long time, until at last I got control again and pulled away, hiccoughing. “T-Tell me how everyone is, and what happened?”
“Khesot, Julen, both are fine. Hrani cut up bad, but coming through. We lost young Omic and two of those Faluir villagers. That was when we tried a couple of runs on the greenie camp. Afterward, though, we got up Debegri’s nose but good,” he said with a grin. “Ho! I don’t like to remember those early days. Our people were absolutely wild, mostly mad at me about those accursed traps. After our second run, Shevraeth sent a warning under truce. Said you were on your way to Remalna-city, and we should hole up against further communication. Then we found out that the King had gone off on one of his tantrums--apparently wasn’t best pleased to find that this fop of a marquis had done better in two weeks than his cousin had in two months, and gave the command back to Debegri. We enjoyed that.” He grinned again, then winced. “Until Azmus appeared. Nearly killed himself getting to our camp. Told us about the King’s threat, and your escape, and that you’d disappeared and he couldn’t find you. Debegri left, with half his army, and we knew it was to search for you. We waited for word. Bad time, there.”
“You think it was bad…” I started.
“Mmm.” He hugged me again. “Tell me.”
Vivid images chased through my mind: Shevraeth over the campfire; Galdran’s throne room and that horrible laughter; the escape; what Ara’s mother said; that fortress. I didn’t know how to begin, so I shook my head and said, “Never mind it now. Tell me more. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

163 " We’ll burn those old clothes, my lady--they’re ruined.” And she pointed to where she’d laid out a long, heavy cotton shirt, and one of the blue and black-and-white tunics, and a pair of leggings. Renselaeus’s colors.
“I don’t mind putting that dress back on, dirty or not,” I said. “I’m used to dirt.”
She gave me a friendly shrug but shook her head. “Orders.”
I considered that as I rinsed the last of the sandsoap from my hair and twisted it to get the water out. Orders from whom? Once again my mind filled with recent memories. More awake now, I knew that the rescue at Chovilun had been no dream. Was it possible that the Marquis had seen the justice of our cause and had switched sides? The escort, the humane treatment--surely that meant I was being sent home. Once again I felt relief and gratitude. As soon as I got to the castle I’d write a fine letter of thanks. No, I’d get Oria to write down my words, I decided, picturing the elegant Marquis. At least as embarrassing as had been the idea of waking up in his arms again was the idea of his trying to read my terrible handwriting and worse spelling. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

165 " I sat where I was and waged a short fierce inner battle. Either I could sit and sulk--in which case they would want to know why--or I could go out there, pretend nothing was amiss, and do what needed doing.
The table in the Marquis’s room was set for the three of us. I sniffed the air, which was pleasant with the summer-grass smell of brewing listerblossom. Somehow this eased my sore spirits just a little. I knelt down next to my brother, whose bed pillows cushioned him, and poured myself some of the tea. It felt good on my raw throat.
For a time I just sat there with my eyes closed, sipping occasionally, while the other two continued a conversation about the difficulties of supply procurement that they had obviously begun before I returned. At first I listened to the voices: Bran’s husky, slow, with laughter in it as a constant and pleasant undercurrent, and Shevraeth’s soft, emotionless, with words drawn out in a court drawl to give them emphasis, rather than using changes in tone or timbre. The complexity of Shevraeth’s reaction was thus masked, which--I realized--was more irritating to me than his voice, which didn’t precisely grate on the ears. It was an advantage that I had no access to; I seemed to be incapable of hiding my reactions.
The tea restored to me enough presence of mind to bring the sense of their words, instead of mere sound. They were still discoursing on supply sources and how to protect supply lines, and Bran kept looking to me for corroboration, for in truth, I knew more about this than he did. Then I realized that it was an unexceptionable subject introduced so that I might take part; but I saw in that a gesture of pity, and my black mood threatened to descend again. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

167 " So there I was, light-headed with hunger, footsore, with the perimeter of safety having closed to about ten paces around me, and the Marquis of Shevraeth standing just on the other side of the wall.
At least he didn’t--yet--know it.
As if in answer, I heard the klunk of footsteps on the tiled floor directly above me. Someone else had been listening at a window and was now moving about. To come downstairs? Would the searchers go to the front or come to the back?
I thought about, then dismissed, the idea of begging safety from the inhabitants. If they were not mercifully inclined, all they’d need to do was shout for help and I’d be collared in a wink. And if they were merciful, they faced a death sentence if caught hiding me.
No, what I had to do was get out without anyone knowing I’d been inside the house. And nippily, too.
Hearing the clatter of hooves and the jingle of harnesses and weapons, I edged close to the window and peered out again. All I could see was the movement of smeary colors, but it sounded like one riding had moved on. To divide up and start on the houses?
What about the other group?
Dark-hued stalks stood directly outside the window. Did one of them have a pale yellow top?
I could just see him standing there narrow eyed, looking around. Then maybe he’d glance at the window and see something flesh-colored and blue just inside the edge…
I closed my eyes, feeling a weird vertigo. Of course he couldn’t see me--it was dark inside and light out. That meant the window would be a blank, dark square to him. If he even gave it a look. I was letting fancy override my good sense, and if I didn’t stop it, his searchers would find me standing there daydreaming.
I took a deep breath--and the stalks outside the window began to move. Soon they were gone from sight, and nothing changed in the window at all. I heard no more feet or hooves or swords clanking in scabbards.
It was time for me to go.
My heart thumped in time to the pang in my temples as I opened the storeroom door, peeked out, then eased the outside door open. Nothing…nothing…I slipped out into the alley.
And saw two posted guards at the other end. They were at that moment looking the other way. I whisked myself behind a flowering shrub that bordered the street, wincing as I waited for the yells of “Stop! You!”
Nothing.
Breathing hard, I ran full speed back across the street and into the garden where I’d spent the night before. And with no better plan in mind, I sped along the paths to the shady section, found my fern, and crawled back in. The soil was still muddy and cold, but I didn’t mind; I curled up, closed my eyes, and tried to calm my panicking heart and aching head.
And slept.
And woke to the marching of feet and jingling of weaponry. Before I could move, there was a crackling of foliage and a spearhead thrust its way into my bush, scarcely an arm’s length above my head. It was withdrawn, the steps moved on, and I heard the smashing sound of another poke into the shrubbery there.
“This is my third time through here,” a low voice muttered.
“I tell you, if we don’t get a week’s leave when this is over, I’m going back to masonry. Just as much work, but at least you get enough time to sleep,” another voice returned.
There was a snorting laugh, then the footsteps moved on.
I lay in frightened relief, wondering what to do next. My tongue was sticky in my mouth, for I’d had nothing to drink since the night before, and of course nothing to eat but those few bites of the meat pie.
How much longer can I do this?
Until I get home, I told myself firmly.
I’d wait until dark, sneak out of that town, and never return. I’ll travel by night and go straight west, I decided. How I was to get food I didn’t know, but I was already so light-headed from hunger, all I could think of was getting away. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

169 " Now, tell me everything.”
He chuckled and leaned against the door. “That’s a comprehensive command! Where to begin?”
“With Galdran. How did he die?”
“Vidanric. Sword,” Bran said, waving his index finger in a parry-and-thrust. “Just after Galdran tried to brain you from the back. Neatest work I’ve ever seen. He promised to introduce me to his old sword master when we get to Athanarel.”
“’We’? You and the Marquis?”
“We can discuss it when we meet for supper, soon’s he gets back. Life! I don’t think he’s sat down since we returned yestereve. I’m tied here by the heels, healer’s orders, but there’ll be enough for us all to do soon.”
I opened my mouth to say that I did not want to go to Athanarel, but I could almost hear his rallying tone--and the fact, bitterly faced but true, that part of my image as the ignorant little sister guaranteed that Bran seldom took me seriously. So I shook my head instead. “Tell me more.”
“Well, that’s the main of it, in truth. They were all pretty disgusted--both sides, I think--when Galdran went after you. He didn’t even have the courage to face me, and I was weavin’ on my horse like a one-legged rooster. One o’ his bully boys knocked me clean out of the saddle just after Galdran hit you. Anyway, Vidanric went after the King, quick and cool as ice, and the others went after Debegri--but he nearly got away. I say ‘nearly’ because it was one of his own people got him squarely in the back with an arrow--what’s more, that one didn’t sprout. Now, if that ain’t justice, I don’t know what is!” He touched his shoulder.
“What? Arrow? Sprout? Was that somehow related to that strange humming just as everything started--or did I imagine that?”
“Not unless we all did.” Bran looked sober for a moment. “Magic. The Hill Folk were right there, watching and spell casting! First time I ever heard of them interfering in one of our human brangles, but they did. Those arrows from Galdran’s archers all sprouted leaves soon’s they left the bow, and they fell to the ground, and curse me if they didn’t start takin’ root. Soon’s the archers saw that, they threw away their bows and panicked. Weirdest thing I ever saw. That hilltop will be all forest by winter, or I’m a lapdog.”
“Whoosh,” I said, sitting down.
He then remembered the cloth under his arm and tossed it into my lap.
I held up yet another tunic that was shapeless and outsized, but I was glad to see it was plain, thick, and well made.
“Found that in someone’s kit. Knew you hated wearing these.” Bran indicated his own tunic, another of the Renselaeus ones.
Thinking of appearing yet again as a ridiculous figure in ill-fitting, borrowed clothing, I tried to summon a smile. “Thanks.”
He touched his shoulder with tentative fingers, then winced. “I’ll lie down until Vidanric gets back. Then, mind, we’re all to plan together, and soon’s we’re done here, we ride for Athanarel--all three of us.”
“Why all three of us?”
“There’s work that needs doing,” Branaric said, serious again.
“What can I possibly do besides serve as a figure of fun for the Court to laugh at again? I don’t know anything--besides how to lose a war; and I don’t think anyone is requiring that particular bit of knowledge.” I tried to sound reasonable, but even I could hear the bitterness in my own voice. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

171 " The dining room was formidably elegant--I couldn’t take it in all at once. A swift glance gave the impression of the family colors, augmented by gold, blended with artistry and grace. The table was high, probably to accommodate the elderly Prince. The chairs, one for each diner, were especially fine--no angles, everything curves and ovals and pleasing lines.
The meal, of course, was just as good. Again I left the others to work at a polite conversation. I bent my attention solely to my food, eating a portion of every single thing offered, until at last--and I never thought it would happen again, so long it had been--I was truly stuffed.
This restored to me a vestige of my customary good spirits, enough so that when the Prince asked me politely if the dinner had been sufficient, and if he could have anything else brought out, I smiled and said, “It was splendid. Something to remember all my life. But--” I realized I was babbling, and shut up.
The Prince’s dark eyes narrowed with amusement, though his mouth stayed solemn--I knew I’d seen that expression before. “Please. You have only to ask.”
“I don’t want a thing. It was more a question, and that is: If you can eat like this every day, why aren’t you fatter than five oxen?”
Bran set his goblet down, his eyes wide. “Burn it, Mel, I was just thinking the very same!”
That was the moment I realized that, though our rank was as high as theirs, or nearly, and our name as old, Branaric and I must have sounded as rustic and ignorant as a pair of backwoods twig gatherers. It ruined my mood. I put my fork down and scrutinized the Prince for signs of the sort of condescending laughter that would--no doubt--make this a rich story to pass around Court as soon as we were gone.
Prince Alaerec said, “During my peregrinations about the world, I discovered some surprising contradictions in human nature. One of them is that, frequently anyway, the more one has, the less one desires.”
His voice was mild and pleasant, and impossible to divine any direct meaning from. I turned for the first time to his son, to meet that same assessing gaze I remembered from our first encounter. How long had that been trained on me?
Now thoroughly annoyed, I said, “Well, if you’re done listening to us sit here and make fools of ourselves, why don’t we get on to whatever it is you’re going to hold over our heads next?”
Neither Renselaeus reacted. It was Bran who blinked at me in surprise and said, “Curse it, Mel, where are your wits at? Didn’t Shevraeth tell you? We’re part of their plan to kick Galdran off his throne! "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

173 " I was fighting drowsiness when they finally emerged and started riding southward, again across the hills. I stared after them until my eyes watered. They kept disappearing beyond the hills but then eventually reappeared, each time getting smaller and smaller. Then they disappeared for a long time: another village or town. I made myself wait and watch. Again I was trying not to nod off when I saw a second line appear on the crest of a hill directly west of me, on the other lip of the valley.
The urge to sleep fled. I watched the line--it was a long one this time, with tiny bright dots at the front that indicated banners--descend into the town.
The banners meant the commander. Was the Marquis still with him, or had he finally gotten bored and gone back to the silk-and-velvet life in Athanarel?
“You might contemplate the purpose of a court…” You brainless, twaddling idiot, I thought scornfully. I wished he were before me. I wished I could personally flout him and his busy searchers, and make him look like the fool he was. And watch the reaction, and walk away laughing.
While I was indulging my fulminating imaginings, the long line emerged again, much more quickly than the previous one had. Delight suffused me: They had obviously discovered that the previous group had been there, and had probably decided that the place was therefore safe.
Excellent. Then that was where I would go. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

175 " And as I watched the dancers moving unheeded around him, an idea formed in my mind, a reckless, useless, stupid idea, but one that promised such fun I could almost hear Bran’s laughter.
It’s been too long since I heard him laugh, I realized grimly. I was gloriously angry at the whole world--at the commander sitting there at his ease, at his numerous soldiery all looking for my dockside-rat self, at the Marquis for scorning us and our ideals, at the ordinary people for not caring that Bran had worn himself tired and grim on their behalf when he should have been laughing and moving right along with all these dancers.
The dancers had been a brightly colored mass, but now I watched individuals. One in particular drew my eye: a big bull of a man, obviously half-drunk. His partner could hardly stop laughing when he lurched and staggered as the others twirled and stamped. I watched the figures of the dance, learning the pattern. The observers seemed to know it well, for when the stomping and clapping occurred, those who wished to cross the room threaded their way among the dancers; then when the couples did hands-high, the floor cleared for the resulting whirls and partner trades.
The drunk man was starting to look tired. He’d want to stop soon, I knew. I’d have to move now, or not at all.
My heart clumped in counterpoint to the music as I slipped through the crowd around the perimeter of the room and then, just as the clap-stamp-clap-stamp commenced, eased my way out among the dancers, ducking a tray here and a swinging arm there. My basket handle was over my elbow, so both hands were free.
When the horns signaled the next hands-high, I remembered my lessons from Khesot on Using Your Opponent’s Weight Against Him. Steadying my hand against the drunken man’s shoulder, I hooked my good foot around his ankle and yanked, pushing his shoulder at the same time.
He spun, bellowing, his fingers clutching at air, and fell--right across the commander’s table. His partner shrieked, waving her arms. I dodged between her and Debegri, who had leaped up, cursing, as he mopped at the wine splashed down his front. With one hand I nipped a chicken pie and with the other a cup of mulled dessert wine, just before the table crashed over on its side, flinging the food everywhere. People screamed and shouted, pushing and shoving to get away from the mess. I ducked between two dancers and backed, laughing breathlessly, toward the door.
The drunken man was yelling, “Where is she? Where is she? Where’s the little snipe that tripped me?”
“Calm yourself, sir,” Debegri grated, his voice harsh and somehow familiar. “Guards! Right this table…”
Trying to smother my laughter, I turned around on the doorstep and saw another chance. A single warrior stood holding the reins of the beautiful white horse. As I watched, the soldier stifled a yawn and looked over at the door, to where the two guards were busy with Debegri’s table.
Flinging the mulled wine squarely into her face, I jumped up across the horse’s back, and as it bucked and sidled, I jammed my heels in its ribs and it leaped forward.
The reins went flying. I grabbed at them with my free hand and thrust the meat pie into my mouth with the other.
The warrior sprang to stop me but the horse was too fast. I dashed my basket against the warrior’s head and slapped the reins on the horse’s white neck.
A spear whizzed right past my shoulder, and a few moments later something sharp pricked my neck. Ducking as low as I could, I clung desperately to the reins. The horse stretched its legs into a gallop, and then a canter. Behind I heard the blare of a summons horn.
The chase was on! "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

177 " I do not like to remember that trip.
Not that I was awake for much of it--for which I am grateful. I kept sliding in and out of consciousness, and believe me, the outs were much more welcome than the ins.
I knew that Chovilun Fortress lay at the base of the mountains on the Akaeriki River, which bisects the kingdom, but I didn’t know how long it took to reach it.
All I can report is that I felt pretty sick, nearly as sick as I’d been when I fell into Ara’s chickenyard. Sick at heart as well, for I knew there was no escape for Meliara Astiar after all; therefore I resolved that my last job was to summon enough presence of mind to die well.
Not, of course, that the truth would ever get to Branaric. The Merindars had captured and held a kingdom by a winning combination of treachery, bullying, and lying. I had made the Baron look silly during that episode at the inn, and I knew he was going to take his revenge on me in the privacy of his fortress, making it last as long as possible. And every weakness he could get me to display was going to get noised as excruciatingly as possible over the entire kingdom--especially aimed at Tlanth.
So my only hope, therefore, was to make him so angry he’d kill me outright and save us both a lot of effort.
These were my cheery thoughts--not that my head was any too clear--as we clattered into a stone courtyard at last. The ever-present rain had nearly drowned me. My hands and feet were numb. When the guards cut me loose I fell like an old bundle of laundry onto the stone courtyard, and once again hands gripped my upper arms and yanked me upright.
This time I made no pretense of walking as I was borne into a dank tunnel, then down steep steps into an even danker, nasty-smelling chamber. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)

179 " Waking to the sound of the bells for third-gold, I found myself staring up at a pair of interested brown eyes.
“She’s awake!” my watcher called over her shoulder. Then she turned back to me and grinned. She had a pointed face, curly dark hair escaping from two short braids, and a merry voice as she said, “Splat!” She clapped her hands lightly. “We were fair guffered when you toppled right off Drith, facedown in the chickenyard mud. Lucky it was so early, for no one was about but us.”
I winced.
She grinned again. “You’re either the worst horse thief in the entire kingdom, or else you’re that missing countess. Which is it?”
“Ara.” The voice of quiet reproach came from the doorway.
I lifted my eyes without moving my head, saw a matron of pleasant demeanor and comfortable build come into the room bearing a tray.
Ara jumped up. She seemed a couple years younger than I. “Let me!”
“Only if you promise not to pester her with questions,” the mother replied. “She’s still much too ill.”
Ara shrugged, looking unrepentant. “But I’m dying to know.”
The mother set the tray down on a side table and smiled down at me. She had the same brown eyes as her daughter, but hers were harder to read. “Can you sit up yet?”
“I can try,” I said hoarsely.
“Just high enough so’s we can put these pillows behind you.” Ara spoke over her shoulder as she dashed across the room.
My head ached just to watch her, and I closed my eyes again.
“Ara.”
“Mama! I didn’t do anything!”
“Patience, child. You can visit with her next time, when she’s stronger. If she likes,” the woman amended, which gave me a pretty good idea they knew which of the two choices I was. So much for a story, I thought wearily. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)