Aldrio stayed behind after most of the Thandryon coterie had gone up to their rooms. He'd bathed back at the inn and dressed neatly and carefully in his own colors, dark green and cream, though he wore a black-and-white cloak with a silver Thandryon unicorn for a pin. Away from Fallial, or even away from the Horn, no one would reliably recognize the Mirak name or coat-of-arms, or its loyalties.
He also had one of his hats, green with a feather, and paid for by Vethrys like his cloak-pin. He took it off and set it carefully on a bale of hay while he tended his courser. She was an aging gray mare and still fast and agile, but her hocks were bad and her arthitis got worse every year. He'd bought her cheaply a few years ago and, since, learned the healing tricks to keep her in shape for riding. Her pain had made her bad-tempered, inclined to bite and kick. She was still mean to most, but Aldrio had wooed her with treats, rubs, healing, and a loose rein; she only bit him sometimes. He called her Snake, because she was quick and bit like one.
He clicked his tongue at her and palmed a handful of the dried corn he kept in his pocket. She lipped it out of his hand and searched for more, but Aldrio pushed her nose away before she could slobber on his tunic. He didn't have another.
"Here we are," he murmured, running a hand down her neck, over her shoulder, and then down the swollen joints of her foreleg. They were hot to touch, and she bared her teeth and stamped her foot irritably, nearly catching his toes. He danced back in time, and wrapped a hand firmly around her pastern, fingers tickled by feathers of white hair. He couldn't heal arthritis, but he could send away some of the swelling and release the fluids that would numb the pain. Eyes shut in concentration, he did so.
When he'd finished all four legs, he scratched Snake on the withers and backed out of the stall, offering his fingers to her tongue in farewell. He brought his hand back and wiped it with a cloth once she'd finished. Then he retrieved his hat, settled it at a jaunty angle, and started out of the stables for the bright light of the yards. They'd set up his accommodations already. At some point he'd ask a servant where they'd put him. Likely not hard by the Lady Thandryon this time, he rather thought; she might be trying to make a good impression on the High Lady. Marriage was the word of the day, apparently.
He'd made it only halfway down the central aisle of the stables when he caught sight of a noblelady pulling away from her horse. A stableboy stood by to untack it, which made him curious. More curious still when he saw what she was wearing. Aldrio was always conscious of clothing, not in a dandyish way; rather, it was a reliable status marker, in quality and color. She was well-to-do. More striking were her looks. He'd looked carefully at the High Lady, and this young woman was nearly her younger double. Calyse, no doubt.
Aldrio removed his hat and bowed to her in acknowledgment. "My Lady," he said.
