Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Page 24

  Or maybe it had something to do with the feud.

  She hoped they were finding parties of their own they could go to, but even if they weren’t, Haven was a very big place indeed, the Midwinter Fair (which she had yet to see) was in full roar, and there were probably a lot of ways they could amuse themselves.

  “You were saying, Leverance?” her mother said, as Violetta selected a hard-boiled egg and began peeling it carefully.

  “Ah, yes. So, when I had a chance to talk with old Spelzan, he told me that Kaltar was furious. The Prince not only kept him waiting in the snow until he and his men were practically soaked through, he also ‘escorted’ them all the way back to their manor to be sure they didn’t take any unauthorized detours.” Father laughed, and took a bite of goose, putting down his bread to take up his beer. “I swear, it almost makes getting dragged out of the house and down into the city worth it, just to have had all that inflicted on that old bastard!”

  Mother primmed up her mouth. She absolutely loathed anything to do with the feud, and if she could have forbidden talk of it, she would have. “Well at least this has done our reputation no harm. In fact, I didn’t hear a word being breathed about it, and believe me I was listening.”

  “It was a quarrel among servants, milady, and had nothing to do with us,” Father countered. “And the Prince laid down the law to the miscreants. Why should it do our reputation any harm?”

  Mother sighed heavily, and gave him a look from half-lidded eyes, but Father was either oblivious to it, or chose not to see it. Brigette and Aleniel were now eating ham and pickles hungrily, with their hanging sleeves pinned up onto their shoulders to avoid getting them soiled. They must have been starving for Aleniel to be eating so much. Mother picked at her slice of egg pie with a tiny fork.

  “So who did you dance with?” Violetta asked her sisters, knowing that all she had to do was ask that one question to get an entire narrative of what had happened that night. In a way, having a conversation with the two of them was extremely relaxing; she never had to ask more than one question, and it didn’t matter if her thoughts drifted off elsewhere, because they never noticed.

  But tonight she kept her mind on what they were saying. I am going to try not to be sad, she decided. Being sad is not going to bring Brand to me. All being sad will do is make Mother suspicious and Father unhappy. If they find someone for me to marry I will marry him; Brigette and Aleniel are going to marry people they aren’t in love with, and it won’t be so bad. It might be nice to have my own household and all the books I want. I am going to try and be interested in all the parties. I may never get a chance to come to Haven again, especially if they find someone for me to marry! And how stupid would that be, that I never got a chance to wear my new dresses, or see new dances, never saw the big Midwinter Fair, never went to Court but the once, never really saw the Collegia . . . or anything?

  So she listened to Brigette and Aleniel describe the mansion where the party had been held (much, much bigger than this one, and much older as well), the decorations (this was new; none of the other manses that they had gone to had been decorated for the festivities), the music (twelve musicians!), the wine and the refreshments (again, something new; very light little bites of things, rather than the sort of food that would be served at a meal). She was starting to regret that she had not gone. It sounded like something out of a tale. The decorations in particular astonished her; according to the girls huge swags of evergreen and holly hung everywhere, scenting the air with their spicy fragrance. There had been actual trees brought in, covered with apples and nut-shaped sweetmeats, and tables between the trees had been festooned with more evergreen boughs and heaped with cookies and tiny cakes. She loved sweets. What a pity she had not gone!

  But then, Herald Amily would not have brought me those books, and been so kind to me.

  Her sisters had danced every dance, and at least four men had called them out often enough that it seemed they were interested in pursuing things further. Mother seemed to think so, at least. “Really, it’s not just this fete; those same gentlemen asked more than one dance at the last one, too!” she pointed out.

  “Well, no one has approached me officially, yet,” rumbled Father, and yet he sounded content. “But it’s early days yet.”

  “I hope you weren’t too unhappy, missing the fete,” Mother finally said to Violetta. “And I hope you weren’t too lonely, seeing as we left you all alone, and all the cousins seem to have deserted you.” That last sounded as if Mother was getting a little tired of the cousins fleeing as soon as the family was gone. Or perhaps the cousins were not attending nice parties. Perhaps they were taking their entertainment in other ways that Mother did not approve of. Violetta was a bit vague as to what that entertainment could be, but there were hints about “trouble” all the time when maidservants had to be sent away, so she supposed that might be something of the same sort.

  “But I wasn’t alone!” Violetta exclaimed, making both her sisters look at each other and roll their eyes. “No, it wasn’t Nurse. Father gave Herald Amily permission to come visit me when she asked. . . .”

  “Wait—” Mother interrupted. “The same Herald Amily who brought us Lady Dia? The King’s Own Herald? Came to visit you?”

  “She brought me some books—” Violetta began, when her father interrupted.

  “She was my escort back up here, milady, and asked how Violetta was. She’d heard our daughter was ill.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to distract you, and it seemed harmless enough.”

  “Harmless? It’s a tremendous honor!” Mother snapped and put the back of her hand to her forehead, theatrically. “Gods defend me! And you didn’t think to tell me. I would have made sure the servants treated her properly! I would have ordered refreshments! I would have given Violetta instructions! She must think we are worse than countrified, she must think that we are barbarians!”

  “She was very nice, Mother, and when she left, she said she’d had a good time,” Violetta put in, a little timidly. “She wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t mean it, surely. Heralds are not allowed to lie, right?”

  Mother blinked at her a few times, as if the question stumped her. “Well . . . if you are certain she really said that . . .” Mother took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. “I am glad you managed to be a credit to the family, then.”

  I’m not sure how I managed that . . . But if Mother was under that impression, it was best not to disabuse her of it.

  “Leverance,” Mother said, and hesitated a moment. “I have something I want to discuss with all of you.”

  Father sighed. “This is going to involve money, isn’t it?”

  “You knew that coming here would,” she reminded him. “It’s this; Guildmaster Ambrose has sickness in his house, and he has canceled his fete—one of the ones we were being asked to attend. There is just enough time that we could hold a party in its place . . . and to help satisfy your frugal nature, I did ask of his wife that if we did this, could we purchase the supplies she had laid in. She was actually touchingly grateful, and offered to help me with the organization.”

  Father put down his goose leg and wiped his hands, for once giving Mother his entire attention. “The advantage to us hosting this party?” he asked.

  “Several. It shows the right people that we are willing to step in and provide hospitality as well as being the recipients of it.” She was counting off her reasons on her upraised fingers. “It will allow us to pay back those who invited us. Most of all, if there are gentlemen who wish to approach you about the girls, it is far less awkward to do so at a fete we are hosting.”

  Father fingered his lower lip, as Violetta slipped a little bit of cheese to her spaniel, who was keeping her feet warm under her skirt. “Good reasons, all of them, but particularly the last. I believe you are right, milady. We should do this.”

  Brigette and Aleniel clapped their hands in
glee. Mother smiled. “With Guildwife Saira to help me, things should go smoothly. I shall pay her the full value for her supplies, but she laid them by at Harvest and they will not be nearly as dear as they are now. Brigette, Aleniel, Violetta—you shall be in charge of decorations. You may commandeer as many of your cousins as you care to. I am tired of those layabouts doing nothing but take our hospitality and give us nothing in return.”

  “My dear,” Father said, mildly. “They are our defense, after all.”

  “Defense against what?” Mother retorted. “I have not seen hordes of thieves breaking in, nor any rioting in the streets. No, they can stay at home for a few days, the wastrels, and help the girls make us a credit to your name and House.”

  Father knew when not to argue with Mother, and this was one of those times. “Very well, my dear,” he said, bowing his head to her, a little. “It will certainly do them no harm.”

  Violetta turned her attention to what Brigette and Aleniel were saying about decorations, since Mother and Father were discussing costs. She was not concerned; Father’s tone was not taking on that strained quality it did when he thought something was unreasonable . . . or was going to eat too deeply into household reserves. Mother, it appeared, had gotten things well in hand before broaching this.

  Trust Mother to do what she needs to get what she wants. . . .

  Aleniel had some decidedly interesting ideas about what to do for decorations. “I was here as a child,” she was saying, “And I got up into the attics. There are tournament banners up there, and when I last saw them, they were still sound. If we can beat the dust out of them—”

  “Or the cousins can,” put in Brigette.

  Aleniel sniffed. “The cousins certainly can. They can stop talking about how strong their arms are and demonstrate it. At any rate, what if we were to hang those tournament banners up, festoon them with evergreen, and bring out some of the old arms and armor and stand it about? Positioned properly, people will easily see we are meaning to give the party the air of an antique tourney, and not that we just stuck this old stuff up because we didn’t know any better.”

  “What about—” Violetta began, and flushed when they turned to look at her as if surprised she had spoken. “—what about making the sweetmeats in the shape of little shields? And—I don’t know what other supplies Mother will be getting, but have the cooks make them look like an ancient sort of feast?”

  Her sisters exchanged an astonished glance, then looked back at her. “I never in all my life thought all that reading you do was going to have a use,” said Aleniel. “Tell us more? What do you mean by look like an ancient sort of feast?”

  So Violetta described the sorts of things that people were described eating in her other books, the romances and stories from hundreds of years ago. Father had concluded his talking with Mother at that point and gone back to his food, content to listen, while Mother joined their planning. “I know just the banners,” she said. “They should be still sound. And we can easily arrange our refreshments to give an impression of an antique tourney.” She smiled at them all, one of her rare smiles without a hint of doubt in it. “My dear girls, you are showing you have the makings of very clever women in you. I shall leave the decorations in your hands, you leave the rest to me.”

  Violetta went up to her room, accompanied by her little spaniel, much later than she intended to. In fact, by the time they all broke up, plans well in hand, the first of the cousins were trailing in. As Nurse helped her out of her gown and into her nightgown, she took stock of herself and realized that she hadn’t thought about Brand for at least two candlemarks.

  That was two whole candlemarks when she had not been miserable and sad.

  Perhaps tomorrow it will be three, she thought as she climbed into bed.

  —

  Brand was moping when Mags arrived.

  This was not a surprise. Mags had expected that Lord Kaltar would probably take out his spleen on anyone who got in his way once the Prince saw him mewed back up in his mansion. It was a pretty common reaction, after all; whenever something goes wrong, most people seemed to look for anyone to blame other than themselves. That was doubly true for people who were accustomed to having a lot of people around they could blame things on.

  He actually expected Kaltar’s manse to be full of moping young men, or cowed ones. In fact, the mansion was . . . unwontedly quiet. The servant that let Mags in was quite beyond “subdued;” Mags would have termed the man “cowed” or better still, “browbeaten.” But the rooms were empty of loungers, and as the servant conducted Mags to Brand, their footsteps echoed in the silence.

  Now, if Mags hadn’t already known what had happened, he would not have greeted Brand with the salutation he did—

  “Good gods, Brand, who died?” he asked, after finally locating the young man slouched in a window-seat in the Great Hall. Brand looked up at him, but did not smile. Instead, he grimaced.

  “No one, and that’s the problem,” Brand replied, not entirely in jest. “Evidently our servants and Leverance’s decided to have a dust-up, it got broken up, the Prince came down off the Hill to oversee it all, and decided to blame it on Leverance and my father.” He sighed heavily, and shook his head. “When Father and the servants got back he lined them up in the Great Hall and lectured them until he was hoarse, and handed out some beatings just to be sure he was understood. Then he drank down a pitcher of wine, gathered up all the rest of us, and read us a lecture on . . . well . . . I’m not quite sure. He didn’t actually say anything about not fighting in public with House Chendlar. It was more about ‘respecting his wishes,’ and ‘obeying his commands as Lord of the House and your rightful ruler.’ In any event, it wasn’t pleasant, and it was pretty obvious that no matter what the truth was, in his mind, it was all our fault.”

  “So did his Lordship have anything to do with it?” Mags probed, leaning nonchalantly against the frame of the window-seat.

  “Hanged if I know. What I do know is that he actually was kitted up for a fight at the time. And the old man doesn’t get in much sparring practice when we’re not at home. I haven’t seen him spar with his Weaponsmaster since we got here. If he wasn’t planning on getting involved, it was a damned strange coincidence.” Brand shrugged. “He’s been spoiling for a confrontation since we got here, so you be the judge. I’m guessing the Prince had the same idea about it being an unlikely coincidence, since he kept Father down there in the snow until Leverance got safely home, and escorted him here personally to make sure he didn’t make any unauthorized visits elsewhere. I think what added insult to injury is that, if the story I heard was correct, it was Leverance’s people who were coming to attack ours in the first place—ours just had advance warning and were going to meet force with force. But because he was caught in armor, he’s getting more of the blame. He’s been in a foul temper ever since and today he’s been taking his temper out on anyone who crosses his path.”

  Mags considered that. “What did he do to you?” Because it was pretty obvious that Brand had had some sort of edict imposed on him. He wouldn’t have been sulking, otherwise. And while he was at it . . . since he and Brand were alone for the very first time ever, he decided he was going to try something.

  He had noticed that Brand never “leaked” thoughts—not even when he was emotionally wrought up. Lord Kaltar didn’t either. Now he decided that, all things considered, it was worth a careful probe. Not to actually read what Brand was thinking, but to see if he could, at great need.

  “Told me I’m to start attending ‘proper fetes’ from now on. And that he expects me to find myself a wife before we head home.” Brand groaned, and rubbed his temple. “Seriously . . . I thought he was supposed to be doing that for me.”

  Well, well, well. Brand’s mind might just as well have been behind a brick wall. It wasn’t like the Sleepgivers—something that had been conferred by an outside source, in their case,
the bespelled medallions they all wore. And it wasn’t like the sort of shield that someone who was Gifted could put up. No . . . no, this was something else entirely. Mags had run into people like this on circuit. They were rare—as rare as the Gifted, in fact! But they were completely shielded from being read, or having someone like Mags impose thoughts on them. The trait seemed to run in families, so it made sense that both Kaltar and his son were blocked in this way.

  :Well that’s disappointing,: Dallen observed. :If we need to know what they’re thinking . . . :

  Mags knew from experience that if he absolutely had to, he could probably force his way in, but it would be extremely hard, and might be damaging, and the only time he had done so, it had left him feeling knackered for a week. It had taken him a full month to recover his own mental strength as well. It was not something to be tried lightly, particularly not when there were so many other ways to find out what he wanted to know about Brand and Lord Kaltar.

  Mags chuckled. “And he thinks he’s punishing you, but, old lad, he’s done you a favor, can’t you see that?”

  “How?” Brand asked, incredulously. “How could he possibly be doing me a favor by forcing me to go to these . . . things . . . that no one in his right mind would care to attend? I’ve gone to enough to know how deadly dull they are! Granted, the afternoon fetes are worse, but it’s only a small matter of degree!”

  “He’s letting you pick the girl yourself.” Mags spread his hands wide. “So . . . that means you can look for someone who lives here in Haven.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in. But Brand wasn’t entirely stupid and when he realized what Mags meant, his eyes widened. “So I could actually live here, instead of back at that estate. And I would be in charge of the household money, not Father. So—”