Chen-lun only nods for a moment; for the drugs she has been given are by now overwhelming her senses. “But do you never wonder, Rendulic?” she murmurs weakly, as Ju appears again, to neaten her bed coverings. “If all that we have endured in the years since has not been a result of it—of sending a second child to the Wood? She was so young … and had been so beautiful … Loreleh …”
Standing in the doorway, Rendulic Baster-kin watches as his wife is overcome by slumber: a far more dangerous slumber than she, or Ju, or anyone, save her husband and Healer Raban, knows. And he can feel his own features harden as he replies silently, Yes, Loreleh was beautiful — until she was no longer …
Finally free of his duties of state and family, Rendulic Baster-kin leaves his wife’s bedchamber, pulls a pair of black leather gauntlets from his belt, and strides purposefully toward the great staircase of the Kastelgerd, pausing briefly when he passes a large mirror. Satisfied with the image before him, he proceeds, pausing once more behind the first column of those that run from the front edge of the gallery to the ceiling it shares with the great hall, and peers downstairs:
She is here, he realizes, as two figures come into view at the base of the grand staircase; actually here, within these walls …
Rendulic Baster-kin finds that his blood runs faster and hotter as he begins his descent, and the fine, healthy woman in the gown of green comes into clearer view. In her arms she holds a cloak, of the same color that she was accustomed to wearing when she and Gisa were treating him; and one that (as Baster-kin did not know then, but is aware now) he could insist she cast off, if he were to be scrupulous about Kafran law. For it is the dark blue-green cloak with which healers of the old faith, in Broken and surrounding kingdoms, identified themselves to the people. Of course, it could be pure coincidence that Lady Arnem favors this color; but ignorance of the God-King Saylal’s deep strictures against any hint of the old ways among his people is no excuse for flaunting them …
“Lady Arnem,” his lordship calls, in as courteous yet commanding a tone as he can manage, still pulling on his impressive gauntlets; although he fears that his voice betrays too much excitement, when he does say the name, and he tries hard to calm both his heart and his voice as her face — that face about which he has wondered for so many years — turns up to meet his gaze.
By Kafra, he declares to himself in the half-light; how beautiful she still is …
“I hope you will forgive my delay in greeting you,” he says, still worried about the tone of his voice. “Unavoidable matters of state and household …” Reaching her, he takes her hand, kissing it more lightly than he would like.
And, in an instant, he realizes that his plan, his great hopes and secret arrangements, will be far more magnificent than even he had dared dream. She has aged, without question; the maiden who was just reaching the height of her charms when he knew her so many years ago has matured, as the mother of five should, and wears small amounts of face paint to hide this fact.
“My lord,” Isadora says, bending her knees and dipping her body in a most graceful manner, then standing again to face him. “I can only imagine, given all that is happening, how busy you must be — and I thank you for taking the time to see me.” Then she smiles: it is the same radiant smile that she possessed as a maiden, that much has not been changed by the intervening years. And she even laughs gently, quietly, just once, and but with what he takes for affection. “Forgive me,” she says. “It is — a shock, that is all. But a happy one. To see, so closely, that you have become—”
“The man you hoped, I trust,” Rendulic replies, pleased with the control of his own spirits and voice, the sense of careless good cheer, that he now achieves, and offering Lady Isadora his arm. “For you were instrumental in that formation. And so if you are not pleased”—he turns his head to one side in mock severity—“you must look to yourself, I fear.”
“No, no,” Lady Arnem replies, taking his arm and tossing her head lightly, so that those still-golden tresses float away from her head, as if they are wisps of some magic, celestial fire. “No displeasure. I am impressed, that is all, and that credit you must give to yourself. And to Radelfer”—she indicates the seneschal, who walks several paces behind them—“who always guarded your safety, as well as my own. And, in addition to all his other services,” she continues, more unsteadily, yet hopefully, “he has put my fears to rest, concerning any difficulty that there might be upon our meeting.”
“I should not have thought that you would have required Radelfer for such assurance,” Baster-kin replies. “But that is only one of many things that we can and ought to discuss …” Ever more delighted that the meeting is going so well, Rendulic adds quickly, “Among them your own concerns about your family, I understand. Come — let us return to my library, where we can determine all.”
Lady Arnem, however, stops before the imposing doorway to the silent library, and her face suddenly turns far more grave, as she looks to Rendulic Baster-kin. “Although I have been much impressed, my lord, by that chamber and its contents during the time that I have awaited your arrival, may I suggest that we instead discuss all such matters as we proceed to the remarkable and alarming discovery that I have made along the southwest wall of the city? For I believe that I can say, with no exaggeration, that there is no precedent for either it, or for the danger it may pose to the safety of Broken itself.”
Baster-kin’s smile shrinks, but not out of displeasure: he had expected the former nurse and healer’s apprentice who had played the key role in his own recovery as a youth to speak immediately of his recent communication concerning her son, and of her worries concerning his entrance into the royal and sacred service; yet instead she has spoken, first and, apparently, most urgently, of the safety of the city, as he would expect the best of patriots to do. So impressed is he by this unexpected arrangement of priorities, that he is immediately inclined to oblige her request — just as Radelfer, when Lady Arnem originally told him her story, had thought his master would be.
As for Lady Arnem herself, she in fact is most vitally concerned with her son Dalin’s fate. But when Isadora followed the woman Berthe to her squalid home deep in the Fifth District earlier this evening, to determine the nature and cause of her husband’s illness, she not only discovered a danger to the city: she found a tool with which to sway and, if necessary, coerce the Merchant Lord into delaying any determination concerning Dalin, at least until Sixt returns from his campaign …
“I see,” Lord Baster-kin at length replies, in slow appreciation of what he believes is taking place. “Your husband’s faithful nature and service would seem to have healed much of the anger bred by the fate of your own parents that I recall your expressing, so many years ago. Commendable, Lady Arnem. Radelfer?” The Merchant Lord turns toward his friend and counselor, still seeing, to his amazement, that Radelfer’s expression of amused disbelief is yet present. “Have a litter brought round at once, Seneschal, for Lady Arnem and myself. We must determine just what it is that has roused such creditable alarm in her spirit. And assemble four or five of your most able men, as well. It has become difficult enough to get the supposed Merchant Lord’s Guard to even enter the Fifth District, much less to rely on them for protection.”