She shook off his hands, standing straight and tall. “It was worth the risk. If you could forgo your salary to stand up for justice, so could the rest of us.”
“I didn’t intend—” He struggled for the right words. “I wasn’t trying to close down the Tribute Office.”
“Which is probably why you got promoted.”
“Promoted?”
“The Speaker for the Luminary realized pretty quick an empty tribute office would not be an auspicious start to the new year. He offered to remove Fredrick if we kept working. We agreed, which raised the question of who should be the new Bursar. That’s why the Speaker sent me to come get you, so he can offer you the job.”
His shoulders straightened, opportunity unfurling like a flower in the sun. “I could be Bursar?”
Sarah nodded. “It’s what the other auditors want. You’ve always been the one to bring balance to the office, plus done half of Fredrick’s work besides. The Speaker wants you to pick up your staff of office at the Troika Hall. If you’re willing he’d like you to start tomorrow so everything is in readiness for the new year.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I’m touched by your support.” He smoothed a hand over his wrinkled kaftan. “Let me wash up. Then I’d be honored to accompany you to the Speaker.”
She threw her arms around him in a quick hug. “Congratulations, Han-Bursar. I can’t wait to tell the others.”
Chapter 42
“I have your new sari,” Isabel sang out as she entered Em’s room two days later.
Em stroked the vibrant red cloth folded over Isabel’s arm. The flawless fabric flowed like water under her fingers.
“What do you think?” Isabel draped the sari on the bed, displaying golden embroidery with tiny jewels and feathers sewn into the pattern. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“It is beautiful,” Em agreed. She had never owned anything finer, but due to the color she wouldn’t wear it again after the Allgoday celebration tonight. Would Isabel pitch a fit when Em sold it to buy seeds for Aerynet’s garden?
“It is going to be perfect with your hair.” Isabel smiled and handed Em a bundle of brown silk. “Here, put this on.”
“What is it?” Em asked. She held up a garment similar to a choli, though it was cut far too small.
“It is for under your sari, Em,” Isabel said in a tone usually reserved for idiots.
“Your seamstress must be blind. This won’t fit me.”
“Snug cholis are the latest fashion.” Isabel’s bangles chimed as she gestured at the choli. “They make the drape of the sari much smoother and more flattering.”
Em pulled at the unforgiving fabric. “Will I be able to lift my arms?”
“As much as is needful,” Isabel replied.
“In other words, no.”
Isabel waved an impatient hand. “Just put it on.”
Em’s fingers squeezed the brown silk. She had always been aware of her blessings as the daughter of a Trilord. Lately she had begun to count the costs. It was too much, and she refused to give any more. “I won’t.”
“You won’t what?”
“I will not wear clothing too tight to move in.” Em thrust the fabric back at Isabel. “I can wear an old choli or none at all. I’m not wearing this.”
Isabel crossed her arms, refusing to take it. “You’re being absurd. You can’t wear a sari without a choli and your old ones will clash with your new sari.”
Em shrugged. “I can wear an old sari.”
“Don’t be obstinate.” Isabel stabbed a finger toward the bed. “We had this sari made particularly for tonight. You’re wearing it.”
“Then I can forgo the choli. It might take a little extra wrapping, but the sari will cover me well enough.” Em tossed the choli at Isabel, forcing her to catch it. “I’ll go in right after the bonfire and avoid any embarrassment.”
The fabric crumpled in Isabel’s fists. “If you go in at sunset, you’ll miss most of the celebration.”
“I’ll have done my duty and made the rounds. You won’t have any reason to be embarrassed, and I doubt I’ll regret leaving early.”
“I’ve worked very hard on this festival.”
“And it will be wonderful. Stop worrying about me.” Em gestured at the new sari. “Why don’t you send a maid to help me dress and go get ready yourself?”
Isabel narrowed her eyes. “Promise me you’ll wear the red.”
“I will, without the choli.”
Isabel heaved a sigh and threw the wrinkled brown cloth on the bed. Muttering in Verisian, she left.
Em had time to finish brushing her hair before a harried maid bustled into the room.
The maid picked up the sari and folded it with quick, efficient hands. Em stripped off her clothes and set her deed chain on her jewel box.
Frowning, the maid held up the pleated sari. “Where is your choli?”
“No choli,” Em said, raising her arms out of the way.
Clucking in disapproval, the maid set to work wrapping the long cloth around Em’s body, ending with the heavily decorated pallu draped over her shoulder.
Fussing more than usual, the maid straightened and tucked the fabric, before fastening it with a nosegay of red flowers and feathers. Then she braided Em’s hair and tucked more feathers and flowers around her face. Stepping back, the maid gave a nod of satisfaction and a low bow before hurrying from the room.
Once she was alone, Em crossed to the table serving as her vanity and picked up her deed chain. She had not let it out of her sight since Quintin placed it around her neck, and tonight would be no exception. She ran her thumb over one of the pumice disks. Dull gray in color and rough to the touch, the holy stones would clash with her sparkling sari. While Isabel would surely prefer she wear the chain unobtrusively around her wrist, there was value in flaunting her chain and further squashing any rumors Violet might have started.
Someone stomped outside her door, interrupting her internal debate.
“Come in,” she said.
Her father pushed through the curtain, already dressed for the party in an elaborately embroidered himation. He smiled fondly. “You look more like your mother every day.”
Em ran a hand over the smooth red silk of her sari. Had her mother worn the colors of Taric to honor Lord Harold, her husband? Or had she held her pride and her place as a Lady of Fermena in her own right? Em’s heart twinged as she couldn’t dredge up a single memory of her mother healthy enough to celebrate Allgoday.
Lord Harold cleared his throat. “I brought you a little something I’ve been saving until you were old enough.” He held out a delicate gold necklace.
“I already have a necklace.” Em dropped her deed chain over her head. She had no use for gifts from her father, not anymore.
Lord Harold stared at the deed chain, the necklace dangling forgotten from his fingers. “That thing always was uglier than a pile of ash.”
“Was there anything else you needed?”
He sighed. “I know you are angry with me, Emmie.”
Her shoulders tensed at his words. She wasn’t ready for an apology. She wasn’t sure she could forgive him. Not yet.
“I know you aren’t impressed with your marriage prospects here. We should have gone to the capitol long ago, and I’m sorry I delayed the trip after your mother died.”
Disbelief stole her breath, while anger churned her stomach with renewed vigor. Her life would have been very different, probably for the better, if she had made an acquaintance with the Novenary. Her father was right about that, even as he was utterly wrong about everything else.
“I’ll make it up to you this year,” he continued, oblivious as always. “It’s time for us to finally find you a proper husband, and there is no better place to do it than the capitol
. The Han-Auditor suggested the journey, and he’s right.”
She gasped at this new betrayal. How could Quintin be party to her father’s matrimonial schemes? Did he have no feelings for her at all? “You talked to the taxman about finding me a husband?”
Lord Harold toyed with the gold necklace. “Yes, well, I was concerned after the business with the bogbear. I wanted to make sure he knew his place.”
Her spine straightened. “You put a Hand in his place, moments after he’d risked his life for me?”
“Don’t you take such a tone with me, Emmie. It was patently obvious you’d met in the forest for a tryst, and I wanted to put an end to it. We all know you’ve got better prospects than a simple tax collector. Hell, the taxman himself grasps that.”
“Let’s see if you can grasp this.” Her fingernails gouged into her palms and she welcomed the pain as a focus for her thoughts. “My life and my marriage prospects are none of your concern.”
“You are my daughter. As long as you are unwed and living under my roof, your marriage certainly is my concern.”
“I have lands of my own. I am a Lady in my own right. It is time I started living like one.”
His brow furrowed. “I know you are a Lady.”
“I will go to this festival tonight. I will smile and dance and bring honor to your household, because I promised Isabel I would. But this is the last thing I will ever do for you. Any of you.” Her blood sang with a heady mix of fear and triumph. She had not intended to move out so soon, yet she could not stay at Merdale any longer. “Tomorrow I will move to my temple and trouble you no more.”
“There is no need to be so rash,” Lord Harold protested. “Better to let the lands support the temple, while your family cares for you.”
“My family stopped caring for me six years ago. It’s only taken me this long to realize how completely you cast me aside.”
He puffed up his chest. “I never cast you aside.”
“Oh, really? I can think of a dozen times you and Gregory discussed some minor point of agriculture in front of me. Not once did you turn to me and mention if the technique was something I might want to try on my lands, or to simply ask how my land was faring. Jonathan’s perfidy couldn’t have happened, or would have been caught much sooner, if you had lifted one finger to help me. I was twelve years old, and I guess I was old enough to be on my own.”
“Your mother had a perfectly capable grounds-keeper.”
“Whom you never bothered to introduce me to.”
“That’s not true! I’m quite certain I pointed him out at your mother’s burning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I must not have understood,” Em snarled. The day of her mother’s funeral pyre had passed in a fog of pain and grief. “Later, when I begged you for guidance, you were too full of bitter jealousy to help. You wanted Aerynet to fail. Guess who you actually hurt? My temple is fine, but I’m not sure I will ever recover from what you did.”
Her cousin’s schemes, her brother’s complacency, and her father’s neglect had all combined to narrow her options and steal her honor. Under the circumstances, she did not regret the sacrifices she made for her temple. If only her past hadn’t cost her a future with the man she loved.
She could never forgive her family for that.
Chapter 43
“What are you doing tonight?” Hannah asked as she joined Quintin for their evening meal.
He fingered the pouch containing the Merdale cord. “I don’t know.”
His mother’s brow wrinkled. “It’s Allgoday and with your promotion, this coming year means big changes for you. Aren’t you going to celebrate with your friends?”
“I’ve been invited to celebrate at Merdale,” he confessed. He stirred his curry, unable to take a bite.
“Well, now,” his mother said in a pleased voice. “I can understand why your usual plans hold no appeal.”
He toyed with his spoon. “I don’t know if I should go.”
“Why ever not?”
“I’m only invited as a novelty. It might be wiser to stay here alone with you.”
She sighed heavily. “I’ve had my chance at happiness, Quintin. I loved your father mind, heart, and body. So yes, now I’m alone and have been for a long time. What I shared with your father was rare and precious and I’ll not settle for less.”
“Can you blame me for wanting something true and lasting, too?”
“I can blame you for letting it slip through your fingers.” She threw her hands in the air. “You told me once you loved her. Was it only a passing fancy?”
He stared down into his bowl, his mouth dry as ashes. “No.”
“People like your friend Terin get involved with only their bodies to spur them on. I figured there was no harm in you being more discerning, in waiting until your whole soul was engaged. Now you say you love this woman, and yet ignore an invitation from her family to spend Allgoday with her.”
“I’m not invited to be with her.”
She spread her hands wide. “They won’t stop you either. Allgoday is a time for romance. You can’t miss this chance.”
“My heart is engaged, true enough, and my body.” He cleared his throat, pushing aside memories of what Em’s touch did to him. “My mind though . . . my mind tells me to stay away.”
She frowned. “Does your reason tell you this or is it fear?”
His fingers tightened on his spoon. “I am afraid of what will happen if I go to the festival, but it’s more than that. Logically speaking, she would be foolish to accept my suit when she has so many better prospects. What is the sense in following my body and my heart when my mind says nothing will ever come of it?”
“Lady Emmanuella is not indifferent to you.”
“I am still an unacceptable suitor.”
“You are not merely a vegetable seller’s son,” Hannah argued, her voice shaking.
“I am not ashamed of you, Mother.” Quintin gripped her fingers. “That’s not what this is about.”
“You are a Hand and the son of a Lord.” His mother pulled away from him and left the table.
Frowning, Quintin followed her into the house. He stood behind her as she rummaged through a trunk in her room.
Extracting a blue bundle, she stroked the folded linen. “This is your father’s himation from our wedding. I’ve been saving it for you to wear when you make your own vows.”
He swallowed. “I never knew.”
“Perhaps you need it sooner. Perhaps you need it not for your wedding but for your courtship.” Her eyes gleamed with determination. “Because you are a worthy suitor. Even to a Lady.”
Her hope buoyed his own heart, daring him to dream.
“I’ll go to the festival.”
~ ~ ~
An hour later Quintin’s sandals crunched on the gravel lane leading to Merdale. This close to sunset, the arboreal arch cast thick shadows over the drive. A pair of okapis trotted past, forcing Quintin and Elkart to jump to the side.
The draping end of his father’s himation slipped, revealing his shoulder. Quintin pulled it back up and fussed with the herbal brooch holding it in place. No matter how he adjusted his borrowed finery, the unfamiliar wrap felt ready to slither to the ground and leave him naked. When properly draped it left his arms and an embarrassing expanse of his chest exposed.
Elkart nudged his bare knee. Lady this way.
Resting his palm on the waccat’s head, Quintin drew courage from his furry companion. With Elkart at his side, he stepped forward, out of the shadows into the sunset-kissed clearing.
Glittering nobles crowded the garden paths. Drums and bells added a cheerful rhythm to the celebration while servants in towering headdresses circulated platters laden with dainties. At the heart of the garden a massive cone of branch
es stood ready to burn at sunset.
Quintin tugged at his himation. Dressed more lavishly than ever, he was merely a drab chicken joining a flock of peacocks.
Elkart nudged him again. Lady there.
Lady Emmanuella chatted with her brother and a few other young guests, all of them gleaming with jewels and rich fabrics. Her sari glinted gold in the fading sunlight, while the feathers in her hair shivered as she laughed. She was radiant.
“Han-Auditor! I’m so glad you were able to accept my tardy invitation.”
Quintin spun to face Mistress Isabel. The edge of his unadorned himation slid off his shoulder. His face hot, he pulled the fabric back in place.
Mistress Isabel dropped into the supplicating pose of a hostess. “Be welcome and at ease on this most joyous Allgoday. The delights of Merdale are yours to enjoy.”
Quintin bowed awkwardly, trying to keep his clothes in place. “You honor me greatly.”
As he selected a dumpling, Isabel rose to smile at him. “My mother is interested in making your acquaintance. Come along.”
Careful not to look in Em’s direction, Quintin followed Isabel to meet a statuesque older woman.
Isabel’s mother looked him up and down with embarrassing thoroughness. “There is not much to you, is there? No wonder Lord Harold’s daughter had to come to your rescue.”
He twitched with the desire to cover his chest from her predatory gaze. “Lady Emmanuella was most brave,” he stammered.
“You’ve got nice form. I’ve always been partial to strong arms.” The woman ran a finger down his biceps. “I would be happy to provide any protection you might need tonight, you know, after it gets dark.”
“Mother!” Isabel slapped at her mother’s hand. “He’s here for Em.”
Quintin’s heart surged. “Did the invitation come at her request?”
Taxing Courtship Page 31