In pious recognition of the binding oaths he swore, Kanselin has sanctified his role as Toremal’s defender by taking up residence in the Old Palace and doing much to restore the dilapidation of the shrines within it. Rumour has it that he means to make a permanent court there, unwilling to spend his energies in crossing and recrossing the land when so much else requires his attention. This is of some considerable concern to those more remote Houses who know only too well that constant attendance on his brother was the only way to be certain of Imperial favour. I have ventured to differ with anyone I heard expressing such fears, trusting our Emperor’s assertions that it is the duty of every Sieur and Esquire to care for their domains, no matter how distant, just as it is the Emperor’s duty to secure the peace that enables them to do so. At Autumn Equinox Kanselin made no secret of his expectation that we would all depart for our various estates at the close of Festival, returning to celebrate Winter Solstice in unity undamaged for our sojourns apart. When we gathered for the rituals of Soulsease Night, even the most suspicious could not claim any greater good will apparent for those Houses proximate to Toremal. Nor could any claim disproportionate disadvantage accrued to far distant Names. I for one will gladly trade the expense and constraints of courtly life for the freedom to supervise D’Olbriot affairs more closely, if that can be done without risking a loss of status.
This Kanselin’s whole rule is open to scrutiny, even to the lowest ranks of nobility. Any and all Esquires may petition him and expect their concerns to be treated with due consideration. I truly believe we can take our new Emperor’s words at face value. For all their flaws, no one can deny the brother and cousin who preceded him were men of integrity, as was their sire and his uncle the Droll. Our new Emperor was raised within the same House, born of the same blood. Raeponin grant that the reign to come vindicates my trust in the man, and may Poldrion’s demons scourge him to the very gates of the Otherworld, if he proves false to his oaths.
A House on Lavrent Cut,
Toremal, Summer Solstice Festival, Fifth Day, Morning
The house was silent when I woke, an empty calm entirely unlike the rousing bustle of barracks or gatehouse. I rolled over, glanced at the window and sat bolt upright, swearing when I saw how high the sun was. Everyone would be wondering where in Saedrin’s name we were. Messire would have Stoll and the sworn turning the city upside down by now.
“Temar?” I yelled out of the bedroom door as I wrenched on my underlinen.
“In the kitchen.” That halted me. Why did he sound so relaxed? I went, boots in hand. The door to the street was securely bolted, the front of the house dark, but the back was airy, with shutters open to the morning sun.
Temar was dressed and leaning against the table, eating soft white bread and drinking from a tankard. “There is a note.” He nodded at a basket holding the other half of a flat, round loaf. The bag of artefacts lay beside it.
I read the note as I grabbed jerkin and breeches from a clotheshorse in front of the cooling range: Leave everything just as it is, lock the yard door behind you and take the key. I’ll send someone to collect it and my card at noon.
“Did you read this?” I set the note down to pull on my clothes.
He offered me the flagon. “So we have until midday to get the lady an invitation to the Emperor’s dance.” He sounded amused.
“So how do we do that?” I couldn’t see a joke. “Is there any wine or water?”
“Only beer.” Temar poured me some. “Better than the mercenaries make in Kel Ar’Ayen.”
I looked round the tidy kitchen; no sign anyone had spent the night here, apart from the things on the table. “Were the others here when you woke up?”
Temar shook his head. “No, they had all gone. I did not even hear them leave.” A forlorn look fleeted across his face.
Charoleia could certainly take care of herself and her own, that much I was sure of. I took a swallow of weak, bitter beer to wash down the bread. “We have to get back or the Sieur will be looking to nail my hide to the gatehouse door.”
“I used Artifice to tell Avila where we are.” Temar was unconcerned. “Well, not where we are, because I do not know, but I explained to her what had happened.”
“Earlier this morning? Was she alone? What did she say?” I hadn’t hidden behind a woman’s skirts since I’d grown out of soft shoes, but if Avila had told Messire what had happened that might just save my skin.
“Yes, she was alone.” Temar couldn’t restrain a childish grin. “She was still abed and I hardly suppose anyone comes knocking at her door on the dark side of midnight.”
I was about to tell him to mind his manners when his bright smile made me suspicious. “Someone came knocking at your door last night?”
Temar’s attempt to look innocent would have done justice to a cat caught eating cheese. “What has that to do with anything?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Arashil?”
“No.” He couldn’t hide the triumph in his eyes.
I took a deep breath but let it go. “If you’ve eaten all you want, let’s go and hire a ride.”
Temar followed me out of the kitchen door. I locked it, pocketing the key, and wondered how in Dast’s name I was supposed to get an Imperial dance card for Charoleia by noon.
The alleys in this district were wide, well paved and clean, bringing us out on to a broad street where the morning’s market was selling every fruit, vegetable or cut of meat a busy goodwife might need for the final banquets of Festival. Traders shouted loudly, as eager as anyone else to turn the day’s coin and set about celebrating. I snagged a bunch of grapes from a high-piled basket, tossing coin over to a swarthy man. He caught and pocketed the coppers without taking a breath from his exhortations to passing women. “Fresh as the dew still on it, good enough for any House in the city! Buy double and you can take a day of rest tomorrow, just like the noble ladies who never do half your work!”
That won him a laugh from a stout matron who reminded me of my own mother. She’d be at the markets by now, planning one last intricate meal before everyone returned to the usual routine of workaday life. Mother loved Festivals, especially if she could get us all together, eager for the day when we’d bring wives and best of all children home, to pack around the long table, swapping confidences and news, sharing triumphs and tragedies of the past season and planning ahead for the new. The only problem was that I couldn’t ever see it happening. Mistal’s passing loves usually went down like a pitcher of warm piss with our brothers, and on balance Livak would probably rather have her teeth pulled than spend another Solstice at home with me. Still, even Hansey and Ridner at their most irritating wouldn’t have given me half the anxieties of this Mid-Summer.
“Here!” Raising voice and hand together, I caught the eye of a hireling driver. He pulled up a fresh grey horse.
“Fair Festival,” he said perfunctorily. “Where to?”
“D’Olbriot’s residence?” At his nod we climbed into the battered vehicle, narrow seats facing each other. It was an open carriage, so we both sat silent as the driver chirruped at his horse.
“A few more hires like this and I’ll be stabled early today,” he said cheerfully over his shoulder.
“Good luck, friend.” I leaned back against the cracked leather and studied Temar, who was rapt in some happy recollection. I was sorely tempted to ask. If it hadn’t been Arashil putting a spring in his step, it must have been Charoleia. But what was Charoleia hoping to get out of the lad? What had she learned from their pillow talk? How was I going to handle Temar lost in some romantic haze, given his tendency to fall headlong in love with unattainable women? Charoleia had to be the most unattainable yet.