“Hoping the year of Fermena will be auspicious?” Her cousin slid a needle into the cloth and pulled the thread tight. “Well, you should scurry to your room before an important guest sees you dressed like a beggar.”
“This year of Fermena is going to be a good one.” Em looped the okapi’s reins around and around her palm. “Everything is going to change, starting with the management of my lands.”
Violet’s hands stilled, and she cocked her head at Em. “Your lands? Does your tiny little temple have lands?”
“It does, though I’ve been remiss in my management of them.”
Violet bared her teeth in a mocking smile. “I’m sure you’ve been doing a fine job.”
Em’s fingers tightened, the leather straps biting into her flesh. “Jon told me what you did, Violet.”
Violet stood, her embroidery crumpling in her fist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve had your fun. Now the time for games is over. You need to return my deed chain and put things right.”
“Put things right?” Her cousin laughed. “My mother should have inherited the title years ago and you know it. I’d rather give the chain to the Reeve than back to your cheating family. I’ll take it to him as soon as I get my hands on it again. You see if I won’t.”
“You don’t know where it is?”
The okapi shied at Em’s shout.
“I haven’t lost it,” Violet snapped. “The deed chain is safe, hidden where you’ll never find it. Once this stupid Allgoday celebration is over, I’ll take it to the Reeve and laugh when the Novenary strips you of your title. Your whole family will be disgraced, and you can forget about marrying Lord Evan.”
“You’re a thief and a fraud, Violet.” Em’s voice shook. “Are you eager for the Reeve to throw you in the stocks?”
Violet’s dark eyes narrowed. “Your brother will be the one in the stocks, I’ll make sure of it.”
“If you show up with my deed chain in hand, the Reeve is not going to believe you are some innocent bystander.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No, I do not want to bet. I won’t be drawn into such foolishness.” Em climbed back on her okapi. “Mark my words, Violet. This will not end well for you.”
She nudged the okapi into a trot back the way they had come.
“It will end worse for you, Emmie,” Violet called after her.
Em rode away from the estate as if to outrun her cousin’s words. She let the animal have his head as he barreled down the lane with no clear destination. Anger and fear churned in her belly like eels, surging up her throat and battering at her clenched teeth. Not knowing if they would come out as screams or vomit, she locked her jaw and rode out the wriggly, writhing mess.
She couldn’t go back to Aerynet while in such a state. Returning to Merdale was equally impossible. She needed time and space to regain control. To be herself without all the masks of duty and obligation.
Only one person dealt with her so honestly.
Reining her okapi to a calmer pace, Em turned off the road toward Jardin. Even if Quintin wasn’t home yet for his aestivation, his peaceful garden and the memory of his kindness would soothe her soul. A few moments alone there would be almost as good as his understanding ear.
Her okapi’s hooves clopped against the smooth packed ground. Distant birdsong echoed through the branches of the trees. A bright green lizard scampered around a tree trunk. How could the world carry on in such a prosaic fashion when she felt so undone?
The path opened up into a pool of cheerful sunlight. While the cottage had been welcoming in the moonlight, it fairly glowed with cozy comfort in the sunshine. A riot of vibrant flowers and darting warblers brought life to the garden.
Breathing deeply, Em climbed off her okapi. Her thoughts spun in angry circles around her dilemma, but she no longer felt on the verge of vomiting.
A stout woman emerged from a shadowed lean-to next to the house. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Em walking into her yard.
Em’s stomach tightened. She had forgotten about Quintin’s mother.
The woman’s face crinkled in a smile. She casually plucked a leafy stem from a nearby plant and strolled over to Em. Her long yellow chiton flapped around her calves, a line of dark embroidery dancing at the hem.
Em fought the temptation to jump back on her okapi. Riding away would be unpardonably rude.
Quintin’s mother dropped into an approximation of the welcome pose and held out the plant. “Welcome to my humble home, Lady Emmanuella. I am Hannah, Mistress of Jardin. A thousand apologies for I have no vittles prepared for your visit. Please take this simple mint as a token of our hospitality.”
“How do you know my name?” The question burst from her lips, bypassing her better sense. Her stomach threatening to rebel again, she wrestled with her manners and took the herb. She was in no mood to impress a stranger. “I mean, many thanks for your welcome. You are too kind.”
“It wasn’t hard to guess who you are since not many of our visitors arrive on okapis.” Hannah’s eyes twinkled as she rose to her feet. “Quintin has spoken highly of you and your beauty.”
Em could only imagine what Quintin might have told his mother about her, and none of it featured her looks. The smell of mint rose from her fingers as she crushed the stalk in her hand. “Is Quintin home?”
“Not yet, though with his injury I hope he won’t work long today. Please come in and sit for a spell while I prepare our repast.”
“Your hospitality has already been more than I have any right to expect.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Especially from a no-account vegetable seller?”
Em straightened her shoulders. “Your manners are every bit as pretty as a Lady’s.”
Hannah cackled. “As well they should be since I was married to a Lord for nearly a cycle.”
“Quintin’s father was a Lord? He never mentioned it.”
“He wouldn’t.” Quintin’s mother shrugged, though there was warmth in her voice. “He’s not one to puff himself up.”
“Being a Hand is a greater honor than having noble relatives anyway,” Em muttered, thinking dark thoughts about her own relations.
“Exactly so.” Hannah gestured at the house. “Please, won’t you come in until Quintin returns?”
“You don’t need to feed me, a stranger dropping in unannounced.” Em twisted the stalk of mint, releasing more of its pungent aroma. Her nerves skittered through her veins like minnows. She’d been seeking Quintin and his soothing acceptance of her complicated life, not the banal torture of trying to make polite conversation. “I should go.”
“If you’d rather wait out here, I could set you to work weeding the garden. I find burying my fingers in the soil quite clears my head.” The lines around Hannah’s eyes deepened with her smile. “Ripping up a few offensive plants can be a satisfying change from the restrictive duties of a Lady.”
“It’s not my duties causing me grief.”
“Then what do you want Quintin’s help with?”
Em’s fingers stilled. “Am I so obvious?”
“A Lady is not likely to visit a humble homestead purely for pleasure.”
She knew she should protest but couldn’t push a polite fib past her throat. Sick to death of lying and pretending, how could she explain the impulse that had led her to Jardin?
“I question only whether helping you would get my Quintin in trouble.”
“No, no,” Em assured her. “I’m hoping he’ll talk me out of making trouble.”
“Oh, my son’s good at calming the roughest waters. He’s got a level head on his shoulders.” Hannah waved a hand at the garden. “In the meantime, let me show you the worst of the weeds. You can rain death and destruction down on their h
eads with no fear of the consequences.”
Em’s face cracked into a smile for the first time in hours. “A little harmless destruction would be lovely.”
Chapter 32
Quintin hissed in pain as he tied off a knot on a quipu. His stitches pulled with each movement of his fingers, and he could only manage a loose, clumsy knot.
He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist. The sticky midday heat added to his discomfort.
Elkart nudged his knee. Go home now?
Not yet. Quintin gritted his teeth as he tied another knot. I want to finish this so we don’t have to come back. I’m going to drink myself silly and maybe get some sleep this afternoon.
The outside door swung open, letting in marginally cooler air. A private guard wearing the Merdale colors strode into the warehouse.
Quintin stifled a groan and slumped in his seat. What now?
The guard banged the butt of a ceremonial spear against the floor. All conversation among the auditors ceased.
“I seek Han-Auditor Quintin of Jardin,” the guard intoned, his voice echoing through the hot, heavy air.
Wooden knobs rattled as Fredrick burst from his office. “What is the meaning of this? We’re busy preparing for the end of the year, and don’t have time for any nonsense.”
The guard stood as straight and stiff as his spear. “I have a message for the Han-Auditor.”
Bursar Fredrick tapped his staff of office against his thigh. “I’m the Bursar here. I’ll see your message delivered, if I deem it important enough.”
The guard’s gaze lit on Elkart before jumping to Quintin’s face. Looking him in the eye, the man pitched his voice to carry. “Lord Evan a’Maral a’Tarina, Voice of the Luminary, requests the honor of Han-Auditor Quintin of Jardin’s presence at a feast hosted by Lord Harold a’Taric a’Fermice a’Marana, Trilord of Merdale.”
The bursar’s staff tapped faster. “I have heard Lord Harold is hosting a great many notable persons for Allgoday.”
“The invitation is not for Allgoday.” The messenger sniffed. “My lord plans a feast tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow?” Fredrick squawked. “Impossible.”
“The Troika will honor Lady Emmanuella a’Fermena for her bravery in vanquishing a bogbear and saving the life of a Hand. It is only fitting the Hand in question attend.”
Fredrick’s fat tongue traced his lips. “If it is important, perhaps I can attend in his stead. Mind you, it won’t be easy for me—”
“Do not trouble yourself. Lord Evan has no interest in a proxy.”
“Then your lord will be disappointed. The Han-Auditor is unavailable.”
The messenger made no move to leave and merely raised his eyebrows at Quintin.
Fredrick noticed where the man was staring and gasped in outrage.
“It is as my Bursar says,” Quintin said quickly, hoping to head off an outburst. “My deepest regrets. I’m afraid I cannot attend.”
“I will convey your message to my lord.” The messenger bowed and left the building.
The Bursar’s raspy breathing echoed in the silence the guard left behind. Fredrick stalked over to Quintin’s worktable and planted his hands on the surface.
“Don’t try to make me look like a fool.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
Elkart raised his head off his paws. He not look like fool. He is fool.
“Let me tell you something, Quintin.” The Bursar leaned over, giving Quintin a face full of his wine soured breath. “Nobody likes a martyr. You think you can impress a Trilord by saving his daughter from some wild animal? It won’t work. Lord Harold knows his daughter is too good for you, and nothing you do will ever change that.”
With a touch of his gift, Quintin circulated the foul air away from his face. “I’m well aware of our respective stations, sir.”
Fredrick lowered his voice. “You should have resigned the case when you had the chance.”
Quintin met Fredrick’s gaze without flinching, though his stomach tried to crawl out his throat. “My audit was honest and true.”
Fredrick slapped his hand against the table. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Elkart’s tail lashed. Drunken ass.
“Get back to work,” the Bursar growled to the room at large before swaggering out the door to the street.
Quintin tried to return to his knots, but nerves shook his hands, rendering the painful task impossible.
Auditor Sarah sank onto the mat next to him. “Go and get some rest.”
“I’ve got too much to do.”
“I can finish up for you. Though my knots are a little loose and wobbly, they’re as good as the ones you’re doing.”
Quintin wiggled his swollen fingers, frustrated anew at his injury.
“I don’t know why you came in today.” She made a shooing motion. “You don’t need to return after your aestivation.”
“The Bursar won’t like it.”
“The Bursar is likely to be too soused after his own repast to notice.”
“Or he’ll be even more belligerent.” The Bursar was not a happy drunk. “He might take it out on all of you if I’m not here.”
“We can manage for a day.” Sarah sighed. “If you don’t give yourself time to heal, you’ll make the damage worse, and that’ll be no good for any of us. Go home, Quintin, and take care of yourself for once.”
Elkart nudged Quintin’s knee. Tax-woman speaks truth.
“Fine, fine.” He clambered to his feet and eased his arm back into its sling. “My thanks, Sarah.”
His arm throbbed with every step as he made his way out of the warehouse and down the street. The walk home passed in a hazy blur. Only the promise of a chilled cup of wine kept him moving. Maybe if he drank enough, he could actually sleep.
About halfway down the narrow path from the trade road to the house, Elkart lifted his nose in the air. Okapi.
Quintin straightened his shoulders and stitched a polite smile on his face, though his mood darkened at the thought of minding his manners in front of important visitors when all he wanted was a drink and a nap.
He reached the end of the path and his swollen fingers twitched.
Lady Em knelt in the garden not far from his mother. She tugged at a recalcitrant weed, digging her knees into the dirt, and doubtlessly ruining her trousers. She said something to his mother, who laughed easily in response.
His chest ached. He would treasure the memory of Em smiling in the sun with his mother for the rest of his days. Even as he drank in the sight, he knew he would pay for the treasure ten times over in heartache.
Elkart bounded forward and circled around the women.
“Quintin, you’re home.” Hannah clambered to her feet, her face bright with a welcoming smile. “And here I haven’t prepared our repast. You will be staying, won’t you, Lady Emmanuella?”
“I would be honored.”
“I’ll holler when it’s ready. Maybe you can take a little walk around the garden while you wait.”
Quintin watched his mother bustle into the house. “I’ll be fielding questions about you for a season at least.”
“I’m sorry.” Em stood, batting a hand against the dirt on her knees. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“I’m glad you did.” Seeing her while knowing he shouldn’t touch her was a bittersweet torture. Still, any time they spent together was limited, and he would treat each moment like a gift from Fermena, the Goddess of Now.
She licked her lips. “I wanted to thank you. For sending your year-mates to Aerynet.”
Elkart sniffed at her hand. Lady scared.
She patted the waccat’s wide brown head. “Your earthworking friend’s scolding was both embarrassing
and well deserved.”
He flinched. “I hope Ulric wasn’t too much of an ass.”
“He was very sweet actually, insisting on coming back for a full cycle in exchange for your life.” She scratched Elkart, who stretched his chin up with an expression of bliss. “You’re very fortunate in your friends.”
“They’re more dear to me than family.”
Her mouth twisted. “They’re better than my family for certain.”
“Did you talk to your father about your temple lands?”
Pain, perhaps sorrow, flickered across her face as she nodded, her attention fixed on Elkart.
Quintin stepped close, his pulse drumming in his ears. “Is he robbing you? You don’t have to suffer his greed. We’ll take your case straight to the Novenary herself.”
“It’s not so simple.” Her breath stuttered, and her voice cracked. “Can we go on a walk? I don’t want to shock your mother with my tears.”
“While you needn’t worry about my mother’s sensibilities, a private conversation is probably for the best.” He offered her his elbow. “There is a nice little trail into the jungle over here.”
She rested stiff fingers on his sleeve. Tension radiated off her body, as if she were holding herself together by the sheer force of her will.
He tugged her through a break in the berry hedge. The shadows of the jungle closed in around them, smelling of rich earth and decaying leaves. Loose, loamy soil muffled their footsteps, while a lone parrot cawed in the distance.
Slowly her hand relaxed against his arm. Her body lost its tension and swayed closer.
The side of her breast brushed his sleeve. Desire pulsed through him. His mouth hungered for her taste. It would be so easy, so right to turn and kiss her. As he started to reach for her, agony shot through his arm.
“Quintin.” Her grip shifted from sweet to supportive. “What’s wrong?”
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