The dozen or so women surrounded Mavi
and Vinca when they came out of the Archbishop's study, Mavi's mother
leaning on her husband's arm, both of them looking frail enough to
blow over in a stiff wind. The Archbishop seemed to specialize in
deceiving appearances, although she liked her prospective
father-in-law. It took a strong man not to be stomped flat by a
personality that forceful. She understood why Mavi'd taken the
commoner name, when Grendel would make his tie to the Archbishop more
obvious. “Oh dear.” Mavi stopped, his arm still around her
shoulder.
“What's wrong.” She looked around
for some new threat, but only saw a gathering of older women,
converging on them. She looked up at him as his arm fell away. By
now the women formed a rough circle around them, and the men in the
room were moving away.
“I believe your son is looking for
you, Young Brother,” the eldest of the women said, her hands
clasped before her and her hair covered in a scarf that covered head
and neck. She'd been told it was called a hijab, it looked itchy.
Wrinkles etched her frown permanently around her mouth. “Why don't
you go see to him?”
Mavi kissed Vinca on the forehead and
patted her shoulder. “I'll make sure they have a place for you to
sleep in the nursery while I'm gone,” and he slunk off, leaving her
behind.
Vinka looked around the circle. They
ranged in age from the eldest, she of the hijab and the permanent
frown, to one who looked almost Mavi's age, with a scarf covering her
head making her face look even rounder. Those were called yaliq,
Vinca knew.
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