By agreement, Leah and Betwyr would be going home the next day. The commons were still riled, and celebrations in the street were not uncommon. The Dilettante Dove was giving its custom to the commons for free tonight, though lords paid double. The line was around the block. The nobles of Cairhien treaded softly this evening, but tomorrow would be a different story, as the peasant rage faded and was forgotten. But the lords would not forget, and they would not forget Dobraine.
Morganfleed had the cook prepare a host of Leah's favourite foods and pastries. And the little girl was devouring them at the table. His wife was wan, and reserved. Her admonishments to Leah about overeating, and getting hyper from the sugar were almost robotic. Leah was bitterly disappointed to be leaving so suddenly, but the angry crowds frightened her, and after much convincing she had given way on the need to return to the Taborwin estates.
When the time to say farewell arrived, Dobraine suddenly remembered that he had never given his second gift to the young girl. He sent Morganfleed to his study to get the object and wrap it.
As they stood together, father and daughter, wife and husband, Dobraine felt an inexplicable urge to look north, towards the Blight, towards Shayol Ghull. Was the Dark One real? Troyce seemed to think so. And certainly the man was undeniably evil. But Orliss, had he been evil too? No doubt, but no darkfriend. Just a man. Evil enough without Myddraal and Trollocs and whatever else the stories said was coming for them. It made him wonder, if man were so terrible on his own, what need had they for Dragons at all?
Looking at his daughter, he had his answer, of course, it was the Dragon who had seen what was right. What was just. Without that, both Troyce and Orliss would have gone unchecked.
Morganfleed came back down, huffing and puffing.
Leah squealed, "a gift Papa? For me?"
"Of course little one, unwrap it."
Leah went to it with a will, tearing through the colourful paper. Morganfleed gave a mournful sigh as he saw his beautiful, but hurried work of art destroyed by small eager hands.
Unveiled, Leah's soft intake of breath, her face splitting smile, and her ear splitting shriek momentarily erased Dobraine's cares.
"Papa, it's amazing!"
It was a small dancer, wrought in tiny interconnected pieces of steel. It was on a brass base, with a tiny crank coming out. The sides of the base were glass, and within it, a score of small wheels with strange teeth on them.
"Turn the handle, go on" said Dobraine gently.
As if touching something made of the One Power, Leah gently, and with the sort of reverence only a child can command, began to turn the tiny crank. The dancer began to move, swaying above her platform, her arms unclasping and extending, her tiny leg lancing out.
"Oh Papa, it's amazing. Where did you get it?"
"One of the inventors at the School of Cairhien, he makes these to support his inventions, and of course, for his own daughter. You see? Those wheels with the spokes on the outside? They're called gears. Someday soon, when the troubles are all over, I'll bring you to the School, and you can see all the wonderful and strange things that the future holds."
With one last hug, his wife and daughter got into the carriage, and rumbled down the street.
