Elkan ran his hand through his hair. “I know. And I won’t lie to you. This could be very bad. If it’s at all possible to get someone back here quickly, you’ll be at the top of the list. But you have to understand, if the wheat harvest fails, all of you will be at risk, not just Azien.”
Master Ilcha grabbed Elkan’s hands and pressed them between her own. “Please. We’ll travel out to the farms with you. Just a little bit of energy each day; that won’t interfere with your work. Your apprentice could do it. We can help; I’ll cook for you, do your laundry. Whatever you ask.”
Josiah caught his breath. Surely that would be an acceptable arrangement?
But one look at Elkan’s face dashed his hopes. “I’m sorry. We can’t make any exceptions. Bring him by first thing in the morning, so Todira can give him one last treatment. But after that you’ll have to wait with everyone else until someone comes back.”
“Are you sure?” Master Jomin glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “Is there anything I can offer you to change your mind? We have very little, but it’s yours if you’ll take it. If it’s not enough, I can get more, somehow—”
“No.” Elkan stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. Josiah, come.”
“Bye, Azien.” Josiah gave the boy a quick hug and hurried out after Elkan.
Seven
Gevan stopped outside the door of his sister’s house. He took off his plumed velvet hat, brushed his hair back from his face, and placed the hat back on his head. He fiddled with it until it sat at just the right angle, fashionably jaunty, but not so far back as to seem he was trying to imitate the young dandies with their cocky swaggering. He tugged his jerkin down. Many more meals at the Matriarch’s table and he’d have to get a new one made to fit over his growing paunch. He shifted from foot to foot, digging the toe of one boot against the spot on the other heel where the stiff new leather was raising a blister. He hated breaking in new boots, but his old ones had been far too shabby to wear while presenting his window-glass to the Matriarch.
Of course, now that presentation had dwindled to little more than a minor footnote to yesterday’s world-changing events. He’d be lucky if the chronicles written of that momentous day even mentioned his name. What good would a little glass and metal toy be, in a world where wizards once again called up visions through space and time with a flick of a hand?
He tried to cling to his belief that the wizard’s powers were nothing more than manipulation of the ordinary laws of nature. The girl’s account of what she’d witnessed had cast deep doubts on his theory. Her story certainly made it sound as if the man had made no use of any device. But charlatans were capable of wonderful acts of deception. He’d seen tricksters on the streets perform feats that seemed to have no rational explanation, only to discover on closer examination that they were nothing but illusions, worked with deft hands and clever minds that knew how to fool the senses. Maybe the whole business with the donkey was a ruse to conceal the equipment necessary for the wizard to work his tricks, or to distract attention from the true source of his magic.
He stared at his sister’s door. It rose between its flanking columns, solid and forbidding, closing off the stately residence from any rabble that might dare venture into the street of this exclusive enclave of the wealthy and aristocratic. He wished fervently that he could turn around and retreat to his safe, cozy refuge at the University. Alitta might be happy here with her rich husband and pampered children, but Gevan had never grown accustomed to the ostentatious splendor of her home, so different from the pleasant but modest house where they’d grown up.
But he owed his sister a great debt. It was little enough for her to ask that he present himself for monthly visits with the daughter she’d raised for him. Gevan would have preferred to forget everything about his brief and tragic marriage, but Alitta had strong notions about the duty a father owed his child. Even a child he barely knew, who called another man “Papa,” and who had no memory of the mother she grew to resemble more every day.
He sighed and raised his hand to tap the door. The sound surely traveled no more than a foot or two within the thick portal, but in an instant the door swung open. The butler regarded him with a calm, cool stare, a hair short of disdain. “Professor Navorre. Come in. Have a seat in the parlor while I fetch Lady Kevessa. She may be a few minutes. She was most surprised when she received your message, but has hastened to make her preparations.”
Gevan nodded, his throat dry. He’d made his usual visit a week ago. He wondered if Kevessa resented this unexpected intrusion into her routine. What planned activities was he taking her from? Maybe the chance to meet one of the foreign visitors would seem an unwelcome imposition, not an exciting opportunity.
He perched on the stiff upholstery of the settee and fixed his eyes on the painting that hung on the opposite wall. It showed a fanciful interpretation of a scene from ancient history. Elaborate white marble architecture filled the canvas except for a small area in the foreground, where white robed figures held off teeming masses of attacking rabble. The artist had depicted wildly dramatic swirls of golden light pouring from the wizards’ hands and strangling the pitifully powerless foes who tried to oppose them. Gevan stared at the tracery of yellow paint he’d always considered an exercise in extravagant imagination. Would he have the chance, before long, to witness just such a display with his own eyes?
A quiet cough interrupted his thoughts. He rose, flushing with embarrassment at having been caught daydreaming, and swept off his hat in a bow.
Kevessa returned the formality with a deep curtsy. Rising, she came to give him her usual peck on the cheek. Her dry lips barely brushed his skin. She retreated to sink into the chair opposite him, smoothing her wide skirts around her legs.
He studied his daughter. She’d turned sixteen earlier that summer, and her transformation from awkward girl to graceful woman was nearly complete. The thick black locks she’d inherited from her mother were twisted into an elaborate crown and shrouded with a soft fall of lace. Her features were her mother’s also, for the most part, although Alitta swore she favored Gevan in the shape of her nose and the wide set of her eyes. The eyes were the only part he recognized as his, for they were dark, almost black, with none of Nanirra’s green fire. He remembered those eyes looking out at him from Nanirra’s arms, in the brief three days between her birth and the time Nanirra had sickened with the infection that would claim her life. They’d been alert and curious then, returning his wondering gaze as boldly as any Matriarch.
The young woman dropped her eyes demurely to her lap. Her long fingers twisted together atop the embroidered Girodan silk of her gown. “Father,” she said, her voice low and deferential. “Your visit is an unexpected pleasure. I had not looked for you to come until your usual time.”
He plastered a genial smile across his features. “I was most fortunate that an opportunity to see you sooner presented itself. I suppose you’ve heard about the visitors from across the sea?”
Kevessa’s head snapped up. She stared at him, lips parted, for one brief instant before again dropping her gaze. Her voice was breathless and a half-step higher. “Yes, Father. The news was all over the city yesterday afternoon. Is it true they come from the lost land of wizards? That the women dress like men, in jerkins and trousers? That they speak a language no one has ever heard?”
Gevan laughed, a nearly genuine chuckle. “It seems you know almost as much about them as I do. Yes, and yes, although the Matriarch kindly provided them with more suitable garments. And I suppose few people have heard Ancient Marvannan spoken. Their accent is bizarre, but to anyone who’s studied the classics they’re intelligible enough.”
Try as she might to conceal it, Kevessa’s excitement shone through her attempt at decorum. “I’ve applied myself to my studies of ancient literature, Father, just as you wished. I can read Shimanos easily now. Do you think I could understand them?”
Dear Mother, she looked just like Nanirra when he
r face lit up that way. Gevan cleared his throat. “I’m sure you could. In fact, that’s the reason I’m here. Among them is a young lady close to your age. I believe she would greatly benefit from a companion of good breeding to help her accustom herself to our ways. She’s learned some Ramunnan already, but she picked it up from the sailors aboard the ship that found them, so she sounds quite coarse. More refined conversation would help her perfect her accent. If you find the prospect pleasing, I thought I might escort you to the Matriarch’s palace and introduce you to her.”
Kevessa dropped her eyes again to her hands, which gripped each other so tightly the knuckles were turning white. “I find it most pleasing, Father. I must seek Mama and Papa’s permission first, but I’m sure if you ask they’ll agree.”
“Of course they will.” Alitta would be overjoyed that he was taking more than a cursory interest in his daughter. Her husband Revarren, for all his wealth and the prestige of the Erlorre family, was thoroughly dominated by Gevan’s sister. He would docilely agree with whatever his wife desired. “Is Alitta in? I’ll speak with her right away. The Matriarch wants me to bring you to court this afternoon.”
“Mama suggested that I invite you to share the midday meal with us, if it’s convenient. Papa will be joining us. You can ask them then.”
“I’d be delighted.” Alitta employed an excellent cook. The occasions when he shared a meal with her family were always gastronomically pleasurable, if socially strained. “Afterwards, assuming they agree, of course, I’ll take you to the palace.”
She kept her smile within the constrained bounds propriety dictated, but it sparkled. “Thank you, Father.” She looked sideways under her lashes at him, and the formality of her manner fell away a bit. “Can you tell me about her? About all of them? I heard you were right there, talking to them.”
“Yes, the Matriarch asked me to translate. I was at the palace when their ship arrived because I’d just presented my new invention to her.”
Kevessa lifted her chin another few degrees. “Hethem attended your presentation to the scholars at the University. Does it truly let you open a window and see far away, as the ancient wizards could?”
“It does.” Alitta’s eldest child Hethem was a student at the University. Gevan had hoped his nephew might follow him into the study of history, but he took after his father, with a head for numbers and business. “I can show it to you, if you’d like. Although I suppose it’s not the sort of thing that would interest a young woman.”
“Oh, no, Father. I would very much like to see it.” Kevessa sounded sincere, but Gevan wondered if she was simply humoring him. She was always pleasant and agreeable, but he’d seldom caught a glimpse of the person behind the careful facade.
Her interest in the strangers had been real, though. He was sure of it. He steered the conversation back in that direction. “I’ll make it a point to do so, then. Although I expect today you’ll be too busy getting acquainted with Nirel.”
A lift of her head and a quickening of her breath rewarded him. “That’s her name? It sounds strange. Nee-rrrrell? Not much like the names of the ancients.”
“Close. They pronounce their ‘r’’s differently, though, more toward the back of the tongue.” Gevan fell into the familiar didactic tone he used with his students. “Swallowed, almost. And the first vowel has two distinct parts slurred together. ‘Nah-ee-rel.”
“Naee-rel. Naaae-rel.”
He could tell Kevessa was doing her best, but she managed only a vague approximation of the way the foreign girl said it. Ah, well. The strangers would have to adapt to their names being pronounced in more conventional Ramunnan ways. His countrymen couldn’t be expected to twist their mouths around the weirdly degraded accent. His students had enough difficulties with basic Ancient Marvannan. “Close enough.”
“Does she have a family name?” Kevessa put her head to the side. Gevan hoped he hadn’t been wrong about her ability to accept the stranger. Nirel wouldn’t fit into any of the neat slots Kevessa had been taught to sort people into.
“Not that I could tell. Once she referred to herself as ‘Knitterkin.’ Apparently they use some sort of system of trade affiliations to identify themselves. Her mother belonged to a guild of knitters, I believe. But she responded oddly when I asked her about it and refused to tell me any more.”
“Oh.” Kevessa considered that for a moment, then turned to more practical matters. “You said she’s near my age?”
“A bit younger. Fourteen. Quite mature for her years, however.”
Kevessa nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me more. What was the first thing the strangers said to you?”
Gevan hesitated a moment, then launched into a detailed account of the meeting on the dock. As Kevessa’s interest continued unflagging, he recounted everything he could remember of the discussion over the dining table. He found himself much more relaxed than during their usual awkward, stilted conversations. On a typical visit the minutes dragged and he seized the earliest opportunity to flee. But this time, when the butler reappeared and announced the midday meal was ready to be served, he realized with surprise that more than an hour had passed without his notice.
Alitta swept up to greet him when he entered the dining room. “Gevan! What a pleasure!” She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on each cheek. He returned the greeting with only a little awkwardness. “I don’t remember the last time you ate with us. You should join us more often; you know you’re always welcome.”
“I’ll try. But you know my work at the University keeps me busy.” Even if it didn’t, he would only be able to tolerate this sort of strained and elaborate interaction on widely separated occasions.
His sister showed him to a seat. Hethem and the rest of Alitta’s brood sat stiff in their formal clothes. The youngest, Yarra, was only eleven; she squirmed a little, but subsided at a warning glance from her mother. Kevessa took her place among them, to all appearances just another sister among many. Gevan wondered how often she remembered these were actually her cousins and not her siblings. Did it bother her when his presence brought that fact uncomfortably to the fore?
If it did, she gave no sign. She chatted amiably with the others while they waited for the food to be served. Finally Revarren swept in, apologized for his tardiness, gave Alitta a quick peck on the cheek, and took his place at the head of the table. The servants bore in the first course, and Gevan took refuge in the pleasures of the repast from the strain of maintaining polite conversation.
After the final sweet course had been served and eaten he sat back and wiped his hands on the warm damp towel a servant presented him. Time to settle the matter and make as quick a departure as he could manage. “My dear sister, this has been a wonderful treat, but I’m afraid I must be going. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take Kevessa with me to the palace this afternoon. The Matriarch has invited me to present her at court. She wants to make her guests from across the sea feel welcome in Ramunna. I suggested that Kevessa’s fluency in Ancient Marvannan, which the foreigners speak, makes her an excellent candidate to befriend the young ladies of their party. Of course I’ll defer to your wishes, but I’m sure you see what an excellent opportunity this is for Kevessa. The Matriarch’s attention is invaluable for a young woman.”
Alitta frowned. “Are you sure, Gevan? From all I hear, those strangers are a wild and uncouth bunch. Folk say they arrived wearing nothing but rags, the women in trousers like the men.”
“That’s true, but due only to their difficult circumstances. They fled their homeland to escape persecution, bringing little with them. But the Matriarch has generously given them everything they need, and now they’re entirely respectable, I assure you. I wouldn’t allow Kevessa into their presence if they weren’t.”
The skeptical narrowing of Alitta’s eyes told him she was not at all confident of her brother’s ability to judge what was respectable, or suitable to expose his daughter to. “That’s all very well, Gevan, but Kevessa has other commitments
. Her dance tutor is scheduled to come this afternoon, and she was going to pay a visit to the Tomarre sisters after that.”
“Please, Mama.” Alitta turned to Kevessa, her eyes widening in surprise. Gevan got the impression that it was quite unusual for her to speak up to her aunt this way. “We were just going to work on our embroidery. I can take that with me. And last week my dance instructor said I was nearly ready for the ball. It’s not for two more months; I’ll have plenty of chances to practice before then.”
Revarren cut in. “Think of what this could mean, dear. If Kevessa gains the Matriarch’s favor, it will be a great advantage when we negotiate her betrothal.”
“True.” Alitta put her head to the side, considering. Kevessa bowed her head, to all appearances demurely awaiting her decision. Gevan watched her with a little pang. Surely it would be years before such things should be a consideration? But no, it was usual for women of status in Ramunna to marry at eighteen or nineteen. Of course the negotiations must start much earlier.
Alitta shook her head. “I suppose. Though you must promise to bring her home at the slightest sign of trouble. I don’t trust those strangers.”
“Of course I will. And I’ll make sure they’re properly chaperoned by women of the court.”
“Good.” Alitta frowned at Kevessa, but when she saw how her niece held herself tautly poised, one corner of her mouth reluctantly turned up. “You may be excused, Kevessa. Get your things and meet your father at the door. I’ll send the carriage around.”
Kevessa rose, graceful as ever, but swift. “Thank you, Mama.” She bobbed a brief curtsy and fled the room with steps that bounced a bit too much to be strictly proper.
Gevan rose also. “Thank you for the wonderful meal, Alitta, and for the use of your carriage.” He’d be glad not to have to walk all the way to the palace. There were some rough areas of the city along the way. For a man it wasn’t a large concern, but for a young lady a carriage would be safer.
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