Chapter Three

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Liran paced the yard outside the stables. The evening was deepening into twilight but it wasn't time to leave yet. A group of his companions stepped into the light in the centre of the yard.

"My Lord, we are here and ready," said Silan, a short man with the broad shoulders of a swordsman.

"I hope you all got some rest," he replied as he scanned the group. They looked tired and grim. "They should be bringing out some fresh horses shortly,"" he added.

"I hope they will be able to find a decent one for you, My Lord," Silan said. "Kaldene mounts aren't bred for size, I'm afraid."

Liran shrugged. It would be a problem. It was always a problem. He came too seldom to Kalad for them to keep a horse just for his visits.

A boy exited the stable bringing two horses to them. Liran took their reins and looked them over.

"Help yourselves, gentlemen," he said, holding out the leads in their direction. He would have to wait for a larger horse since neither of these was especially tall. The boy returned to the stable.

Liran heard, "Freak...should never have been born..." as the boy disappeared from view into the shadows of the doorway. ""...son of a hairy Mundatar..." another voice added, coming from the same direction. Liran sighed. It was always like this when he visited Kalad.

"Perhaps we should complain about the stable hands' comments? They should never treat you that way, My Lord," Silan said.

"I won't win any friends if they get flogged, though. Just let it be." He had learned long ago to accept that not everyone saw he as the man he was.

"Don't listen to them, My Lord, we would never call your sire's people by such a filthy name. The trillas are our brothers, even though they live much shorter lives.""

Liran gripped his friend's shoulder in gratitude. At least the hilliri of Castillon had come to accept his mixed blood.

Out of the shadows by the nearest building, a woman stepped out into the light. She was tall for the hilliri. She moved gracefully, her golden hair swept back and held high on her head, her long gown swirling about her feet as she walked. She held out her arms as she drew near.

"Father!" she called.

Liran blinked. "Jaline!" He hardly recognized his own daughter. He drew her into the circle of his arms and held her close. She was warm and real in this strange night. He stepped back to look at her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at court earlier. I just returned from a party at a friend's house. I heard everything though, and you mustn't worry. The Captain will look after everything. Joran will be safe."

"What have you done to your hair, my dear?" he asked, ignoring her chatter.

"Oh, this?" Jaline stroked the side of her head. "I was just experimenting. I thought it might help people accept me better.""

He laughed, forgetting for a moment about his cares. He hadn't thought of this particular tactic, but he knew the struggle well: how to be accepted by the hilliri as a trillas half-breed. Jaline had hair as dark as his own, but had managed to lighten it to something closer to hilliri norms.

He cupped her face in his hands as she looked up at him.

"Your eyebrows too?" he asked, seeing that they were also golden. She could lighten her hair, but she couldn't hide her bright blue eyes and the black lashes that framed them. He kissed her forehead and released her.

"I'm glad you're here and safe. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you too," he said.

"Nothing is going to happen. I told you, the Captain will look after everything."

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