Read Online The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin McKinley
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forehead three golden birds held
green stones in their beaks. He saw her wince away from the courtiers’ smiles,
and he shook Galanna’s hand from his arm impatiently, and then Galanna no
longer even pretended to smile.
Aerin did not notice this, for she never looked at Galanna if she could help it,
and if Galanna were near Tor she didn’t look at Tor either. But Arlbeth noticed. He
knew what it was that he saw, for better or for worse, and it was not often that
he did not know what was best done about the things he saw; but in this case he
did not know. What he read in Tor’s face tore at his heart, for it would be his
heart’s fondest wish that these two might wed, and yet he knew his people had
never loved the daughter of his second wife, and he feared their mistrust, and he
had reason to fear it. Aerin felt her father’s arm around her shoulders, and turned
to smile up at him.
After the banquet she went to sit in her window seat, staring into the dark
courtyard; the torches around its perimeter left great pools of shadow near the
castle walls. Her bedroom was dark as well, and Teka had not yet come to be sure
she had hung her good clothes up as she should instead of leaving them on the
floor where she would step on them. There was a light knock on the door. She
turned and said, “Come in,” with surprise; if she had thought about it, she would
have been silent and let the visitor leave without finding her. She wished to be
alone after the hall full of food and talk and bright smiles.
It was Tor. She could see him outlined in the light from the hall, and she had
been sitting in the dark long enough to see clearly. But he blinked and looked
around, for her figure was only a part of the heavy
“Why do you sit in the dark?”
“There was too much light in the hall tonight.”
Tor was silent. After a moment she sighed, and reached for a candle and flint. It
seemed to Tor that the shadows it cast upon her face made her briefly old: a
woman with grandchildren, for all her brilliant hair. Then she set the candle on a
small table and smiled at him, and she was eighteen again.
She saw that he carried something in his arms: a long narrow something,
wrapped in dark cloth. “I have brought you your birthday present—privately, as I
thought you might prefer.” And so that I need not do any explaining, he thought.
She knew at once what it was: a sword. She watched with rising excitement as
he unrolled the wrappings, and from them, gleaming, came her sword, her very
own sword. She reached for it eagerly, and slid it out of its scabbard. It was plain
but for some work on the hilt to make the grip sure; but she felt it light and true
and perfect in her hand, and her hand trembled with the pride of it.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the sword, so she did not see the
look of hope and pity on Tor’s face as he watched her.
“At dawn you shall try it out,” said Tor, and the tone of his voice shook her out
of her reverie, and she raised her eyes to his. “I will meet you at our usual place,”
he said, and tried to speak as if this were a lesson like any other lesson; and if he
failed, Aerin still did not guess why he failed.
“This is ever so much better than another dressing gown,” she said lightly, and
was pleased to see him smile.
“It was a very beautiful dressing gown.”
“If it had been less beautiful, I would not have disliked it so much. You were as
bad as Teka, trying to keep me in bed, or trailing about my rooms in a dressing
gown forever.”
“And a lot of good it did us, despite the fact that you could not stand on your
feet without either fainting or falling over.”
“It was concentrating on my lessons with you that finally sweated the last of
the surka out of me,” Aerin said, waving her birthday present gently under his
nose.
“I almost believe you,” he replied sadly.
So they were standing, looking at each other, with the
green stones in their beaks. He saw her wince away from the courtiers’ smiles,
and he shook Galanna’s hand from his arm impatiently, and then Galanna no
longer even pretended to smile.
Aerin did not notice this, for she never looked at Galanna if she could help it,
and if Galanna were near Tor she didn’t look at Tor either. But Arlbeth noticed. He
knew what it was that he saw, for better or for worse, and it was not often that
he did not know what was best done about the things he saw; but in this case he
did not know. What he read in Tor’s face tore at his heart, for it would be his
heart’s fondest wish that these two might wed, and yet he knew his people had
never loved the daughter of his second wife, and he feared their mistrust, and he
had reason to fear it. Aerin felt her father’s arm around her shoulders, and turned
to smile up at him.
After the banquet she went to sit in her window seat, staring into the dark
courtyard; the torches around its perimeter left great pools of shadow near the
castle walls. Her bedroom was dark as well, and Teka had not yet come to be sure
she had hung her good clothes up as she should instead of leaving them on the
floor where she would step on them. There was a light knock on the door. She
turned and said, “Come in,” with surprise; if she had thought about it, she would
have been silent and let the visitor leave without finding her. She wished to be
alone after the hall full of food and talk and bright smiles.
It was Tor. She could see him outlined in the light from the hall, and she had
been sitting in the dark long enough to see clearly. But he blinked and looked
around, for her figure was only a part of the heavy
“Why do you sit in the dark?”
“There was too much light in the hall tonight.”
Tor was silent. After a moment she sighed, and reached for a candle and flint. It
seemed to Tor that the shadows it cast upon her face made her briefly old: a
woman with grandchildren, for all her brilliant hair. Then she set the candle on a
small table and smiled at him, and she was eighteen again.
She saw that he carried something in his arms: a long narrow something,
wrapped in dark cloth. “I have brought you your birthday present—privately, as I
thought you might prefer.” And so that I need not do any explaining, he thought.
She knew at once what it was: a sword. She watched with rising excitement as
he unrolled the wrappings, and from them, gleaming, came her sword, her very
own sword. She reached for it eagerly, and slid it out of its scabbard. It was plain
but for some work on the hilt to make the grip sure; but she felt it light and true
and perfect in her hand, and her hand trembled with the pride of it.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the sword, so she did not see the
look of hope and pity on Tor’s face as he watched her.
“At dawn you shall try it out,” said Tor, and the tone of his voice shook her out
of her reverie, and she raised her eyes to his. “I will meet you at our usual place,”
he said, and tried to speak as if this were a lesson like any other lesson; and if he
failed, Aerin still did not guess why he failed.
“This is ever so much better than another dressing gown,” she said lightly, and
was pleased to see him smile.
“It was a very beautiful dressing gown.”
“If it had been less beautiful, I would not have disliked it so much. You were as
bad as Teka, trying to keep me in bed, or trailing about my rooms in a dressing
gown forever.”
“And a lot of good it did us, despite the fact that you could not stand on your
feet without either fainting or falling over.”
“It was concentrating on my lessons with you that finally sweated the last of
the surka out of me,” Aerin said, waving her birthday present gently under his
nose.
“I almost believe you,” he replied sadly.
So they were standing, looking at each other, with the
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