“What are they doing?” Temar demanded.
“Wherever their businesses touch on each other, wherever Tor Bezaemar holdings or tenants rely on D’Olbriot services, the Sieur and Esquires will find ways to make Tor Bezaemar feel the shoe pinching. They’ll break contracts if they can, refuse to buy or sell, deny Tor Bezaemar men passage over D’Olbriot lands, refuse carriage for Tor Bezaemar goods in D’Olbriot ships.”
“Will D’Olbriot interests not suffer? Will Tor Bezaemar not retaliate?” protested Avila.
“Fresil and Ustian will make sure Tor Bezaemar losses outweigh any D’Olbriot suffering.” I sighed. “But it won’t do the tenantry of either House any favours.”
“What does this mean for us?” Temar wanted to know.
“For Kellarin? You wanted less interference in your affairs, didn’t you?” I queried. “D’Olbriot’s certainly going to be too busy with this to tell you how to run your colony.”
“We will be caught up in this regardless.” Temar looked at me. “And if Tor Bezaemar or their allies believe hurting Kel Ar’Ayen will hurt D’Olbriot?”
“Any artefacts we still seek at once become pieces on this game board.” Avila was pale with anger.
I had no answer to that.
“These Sieurs, these Esquires, they can do this?” Temar began pacing round the room. “Has your Emperor no power? Even Nemith the Whorestruck knew better than to let two Houses break each other’s horns like this! His decree to end a quarrel was law.”
“A decision in the Imperial Courts should cut a lot of this short,” I offered.
“When?” Temar flung an impatient question at me. “Aft-Summer? For-Autumn? This year? Next?”
“Who’s to say your courts deliver justice, when Raeponin is denied?” Avila was packing the artefacts back into their coffer with rapid, angry hands. “When nothing holds a House’s mouthpiece to the truth but their unsupported word?”
I was about to protest, at least on Mistal’s behalf, when a footman followed a brisk tap on the door.
“My lady Channis sends her compliments,” he said as hastily as was polite. “She invites you to attend her as soon as convenient.”
“My compliments to Lady Channis, and we will be there as soon as suits.” Avila barely managed not to vent her anger on the hapless servant. “Find the mage Casuel Devoir and send him to D’Alsennin’s chamber.”
The footman left with alacrity and I didn’t blame him. Avila headed for the door. “You two, bring that.”
Temar and I carried the coffer between us, following Avila up the backstairs, sharing a puzzled look. We’d barely reached Temar’s opulent room when Casuel came hurrying along the corridor. “Demoiselle, Esquire,” he puffed. “How can I be of service?”
Avila stalked into Temar’s chamber and looked around with disfavour. “Where best to hide something? Under the bed?”
“The first place someone would look.” I was glad to let Temar give the obvious answer.
Avila smiled thinly. “Then that is the place we want. Put it underneath.”
“But—”
“Master Mage.” Avila cut through Casuel’s protest with a voice like steel. “Can you make this box invisible?”
Casuel thought for a moment. “Weaving an illusion of empty space might be more effective.”
“As you see fit, it is your magic’ Avila looked impatient as Casuel waited, smiling hopefully. “At once, if you please.”
“Of course.” Casuel dropped to his knees and threw a dizzying burst of magic beneath the bed, azure shifting to jade and blending to startling sunset hues. I blinked as the afterglow faded slowly from my eyes.
“I should have done this before,” muttered Avila, pulling up a stool. She sat down and drew a deep breath, laying her hands on the cream and crimson silk coverlet. “Zal aebanne tris aeda lastrae.” She repeated the invocation, each time more softly until her words were a mere hint of a whisper in the rapt silence of the room.
“Suspecting Elietimm malice looking over our shoulders every time we use Artifice, we hesitate to do the most obvious things,” she said crossly. “Master Devoir, has my enchantment affected your magic at all?”
Casuel bent down to peer under the bed and I couldn’t resist doing the same. All I saw was empty carpet.
“Not at all, my lady.” Casuel stood up. “What have you done?”
Avila smiled thinly. “Laid an aversion over the bed and beneath it. Anyone not knowing the coffer is there will have no interest in looking. Anyone searching for it will dismiss such an obvious hiding place with contempt.”
“A fascinating combination of the two schools of magic,” Casuel looked intrigued. “What—”
“Now let us see what Lady Channis thinks she can tell us about etiquette.” I hoped Lady Channis was equal to Avila’s belligerence. Temar and I dutifully followed the Demoiselle and Casuel came scurrying after us.
“I suppose I’ll have to bespeak Planir,” he was muttering. “To tell him about your latest successes.”
“And your working magecraft to complement Avila’s Artifice,” I pointed out.
Lady Channis’s apartments are on the cool north side of the residence, furnished with all the elegance Den Veneta coin can buy. The lackey ushered us all in, assuming Casuel and I were both in attendance, and we couldn’t retreat before two minor Demoiselles of the Name curtseyed themselves out, the door closing behind them.
“Demoiselle, Esquire, a tisane?” Lady Channis was wearing a simple cream chamber gown but her maid had already dressed her ebony hair high with amethyst-tipped pins. A naturally spare frame and the finest unguents lent her the appearance of youth. At second glance you would see the fine lines of age in her hands and neck but by then she’d have captured you with her charm.
I took a seat by the wall and Casuel did the same. Temar and Avila joined Lady Channis around a low table set with finest porcelain, crystal spice bowls and a small copper urn piping hot over a spirit lamp. The silver spoons and tisane balls marked with the Den Veneta sheaf of arrows gleamed with the soft lustre of antiquity. “Ryshad? Master Devoir?”
Casuel jumped up with an obsequious bow as she turned deceptively soft brown eyes on us. “My lady.”
“Your father is a pepper merchant, I believe?” Beauty had brought Lady Channis a long way from the minor House she’d been born in, and intelligence had carried her further still.
Casuel’s smile became a little fixed as he selected spices for his tisane. “He is, my lady, of Orelwood.”
“And your brother is the famous Amalin.” Lady Channis offered Temar a bowl of shredded citrus zest, ruby and enamel rings dark on her pale fingers. “Your mother must be very proud of such talented sons.”
Casuel hesitated. “Naturally, my lady.”
Channis filled Avila’s cup with hot water and reached for Casuel’s. “So, Ryshad, what’s your Sieur doing now?”
“He and the Esquires are planning to chastise Tor Bezaemar for their apparent hostility.” I filled my own tisane ball with a simple mixture of elder and sourcurrant.
“You can rely on the Sieur’s judgement.” Lady Channis’s dark eyes were shrewd in her flawless maquillage.
“I take it he acts on more than the suspicions Temar raised yesterday and the few things we learned this morning,” said Avila speculatively.
“Doubtless.” Lady Channis handed me my drink and waved Casuel and me back to our seats. “Den Veneta will be sorely exposed in any clash with Tor Bezaemar, I’m sorry to say. That’ll make things very awkward between Guliel and my cousins. But that’s a problem for another day.” She shook her elegantly coiffed head. “We’re here to talk about the Imperial dance. In your day, I understand the last day of Festival was set aside for Imperial decrees? Well, Tadriol will certainly announce new betrothals, any major project a Name might be undertaking, but the emphasis is mostly on pleasure.”