“As soon as he discovered I’d been made a master imager,” I said.
“That way he loses no prestige among the other High Holders,” added Grandmama Diestra. “Prestige is another form of power.”
“A master imager of twenty-five is a worthy foe?” My words came out sardonically as I reclaimed the card and envelope and tucked them inside my waistcoat.
“There are far fewer master imagers than High Holders,” Diestra said.
“There are far fewer total imagers.” By that standard, poor scared Shault was a worthy opponent. I didn’t like either of Ryel’s sons, and from what I’d experienced, his daughter was just as cutthroat-all of which confirmed that they took after their father.
The knocker thumped loudly.
Both Seliora and I stood immediately, and she headed for the steps down to the entry. I let her lead the way.
Once on the street level, Seliora glanced out the side window. “It’s Aunt Staelia and Uncle Clyenn.” She opened the heavy polished oak door. “Do come in!” Her voice and posture were warm and welcoming.
“Every time I see you,” replied Clyenn, stepping into the small foyer at the base of the steps, “you’ve gotten more beautiful.” He turned to me. “You must be Rhennthyl. You’re a most fortunate man.”
“I am, indeed,” I replied, keeping a smile on my face. I couldn’t say that I disliked Clyenn on sight, but I would not have trusted him any farther than I had Johanyr. I didn’t wonder that he had a scar that ran from below his left earlobe almost to the corner of his mouth.
Staelia was statuesque, more like Odelia and Aegina, but not so attractive, just tall, plain, and graying, but she had a radiant smile, bestowed primarily on Seliora.
“Aunt Staelia,” Seliora said, “this is Rhenn. I didn’t have a chance to tell you, but he’s been made a master imager.”
Staelia looked me over-our eyes were close to level-and smiled again, not quite so radiantly, but certainly warmly. “You two suit each other, I think.”
Seliora led the way up to the main foyer.
Seliora’s parents must have heard the knocker or the greetings, or been watching the lane from the third floor . . . or Bhenyt had told them. The possibilities were numerous, but Shelim and Betara moved to join us within moments of the time that Seliora and I had escorted Staelia and Clyenn up to the entry hall. In that short time, various servants had appeared, and a sideboard with wines had been opened. Shomyr-Seliora’s older brother-brought out several bottles of wine. He was followed by Methyr, her younger brother.
“I see you’ve met Rhenn,” said Betara, her voice and expressions so much like Seliora’s that mother and daughter looked like sisters.
“We have indeed,” boomed Clyenn. “Yes, indeed.”
“Indeed,” said Staelia. “Clyenn . . . if you wouldn’t mind getting me a white Cambrisio.”
“I can do that.” He turned and started for the sideboard.
“You’re one of the younger master imagers, I’d imagine,” Staelia said.
“Yes, madame.”
“Staelia, please.” An amused smile appeared. “Save the ‘madame’ for Betara or Grandmama. Perhaps one of the youngest master imagers ever?”
“One of the younger ones,” I admitted. “Not the youngest ever.”
“Polite and modest, too. Dangerous, as well. I’ve seen that with the patrollers. The most deadly ones are the most courteous.”
The instant assessments by Seliora’s family-or by the women in the family-were both amusing as well as unsettling. I inclined my head. “And I believe no one is ever disorderly in your establishment.”
Both Staelia and Betara laughed.
“A point to you. With Taelia and Sartan running it tonight, I hope it stays orderly.” The last words combined dryness and worry.
Another series of thumps issued from below.
“That must be Duerl and Aesthya,” offered Betara. “I’ll greet them.”
Shelim, who had said nothing, departed with his wife, leaving Seliora and me with Staelia.
“You must come and eat lunch or dinner at the bistro with us when you can.”
“I’d like to, but it might be a while. I’m still learning my way around headquarters.”
“It won’t take you long,” she predicted. “But don’t order the baked pastry sausages. They’re the one thing that Clyenn does that aren’t that good-but people don’t want them good. They want them soft and slathered with greasy white gravy.” She shrugged. “So that’s the way we fix them.”
Betara and Shelim reappeared with another couple, guiding them toward us.
“Aesthya, Duerl, this is Rhenn.”
“Ah, yes,” offered the slightly plump but still sprightly Aesthya. “We have heard so much about you, and”-she looked to Seliora-“learned so little . . . other than you’re a master imager.”
“Very recently, I must confess,” I replied. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”
After that, there were goblets of wine in everyone’s hands, and many pleasantries, and a few more questions about what I’d done. Before long, a set of chimes rang, and we all repaired to the dining chamber, through the recessed doors at the end of the foyer that the serving girls began to open as the sound of the chimes died away.
The dining chamber held a table set for eleven, but I could tell that the long cherry table could have taken leaves enough to seat twice that many, and the unused chairs set against the walls at the sides of the china cabinets and sideboards reinforced that impression. The chamber was illuminated by wall lamps set in polished bronze sconces with reflectors, as well as by three sets of candelabra on the table itself. The cutlery was all silver, and the porcelain chargers were gold rimmed with the NordEste design in the center.
Seliora offered the grace, and then we all took our seats. She and I had been placed in the middle of the table, with Shelim at one end and Betara at the other. I was flanked by Aesthya on my right, and Staelia on my left, with Seliora across the table-sort of, because with four on her side and five on mine, I was actually across from the space between her and Clyenn.
The meal began with a light red wine I didn’t recognize and a cream of gourd soup with wild mushrooms, followed by sweet and bitter greens with vinegar and nuts, and then by what I could only have called a Pharsi ragout in flaky pastry.
The entire time the conversation varied from topic to topic, but never touched on any form of business.
“. . . people fleeing here from everywhere . . . causes problems and unrest in taudis, especially in the hellhole.”
“. . . hasn’t been this bad since the troubles years back . . .”
“Mama Diestra . . . she has fewer connections there . . . or in the south . . .”
“Capolito is bringing back the traditional Pharsi singers to sing . . .”
“. . . won’t draw diners . . . people want to eat and talk . . .”
“. . . factors, maybe, they only talk about business anyway.”
“. . . wager it’ll be less than three weeks before Stakanar and Tiempre are inside Caenen.”
“. . . couldn’t believe that a high factor’s wife would wear pink after the end of harvest . . .”
I ate sparingly, but I still took in more than I should have, and that was before dessert, which was a pastry tart with jelled and sweetened lime glaze over apples.
There was more conversation over dessert, and over the tiny goblets of warm brandy that followed, and it was approaching ninth glass before people began to drift away, although Grandmama Diestra had slipped out before dessert.
In the end, Seliora and I found ourselves sitting in the dim light of a single lamp, back on the same settee as where we had started, seemingly alone in the entry foyer.
“What did you think of the rest of the family?” asked Seliora.
“I like Duerl and Aesthya, and I really enjoyed meeting Staelia.”
“Your feelings are much like everyone else’s.”
“What does Clyenn do?”
“You know Staelia runs a small bistro. It’s only about two blocks from the Patrol headquarters. It’s east of there and a half block off Fedre on Pousaint. Clyenn isn’t too bad a cook, and he does exactly what Staelia tells him to. He’s only strayed once.”