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“Believe me, friend,” he laid ironic emphasis on the word, “with the wealth of Kel Ar’Ayen behind me, I need no one’s charity.” He smiled wi
“Surely you’ve heard of Nemith the Last’s colony?” said Resialle sweetly.
“I doubt it,” chimed in Den Murivance. “Firon’s as ignorant of history as he is of ma
“Is it truly as rich as they say?” breathed the girl who’d been giggling behind her fan.
Saedrin save me from clever ideas, thought Temar with a sinking feeling, realising all eyes were fixed on him.
“This is hardly a very edifying display of your breeding.” The entire group started like children caught in mischief and parted in front of Temar to reveal a stout woman well beyond her middle years. Her rose gown, covered with a grey lace overdress, belied its cost with simplicity of cut. But there was nothing simple about her heavy necklace, bracelets and rings, and her hazel eyes were as bright as her diamonds, her plump and kindly face taut with displeasure. “When will you grow out of making cheap taunts to show how clever you are, Maren? As for you, Firon, if you must indulge in stableyard habits you should stay there till the effects wear off.” Den Thasnet’s hand moved involuntarily to his mouth.
“Temar, Esquire D’Alse
“Esquire, I’ve heard a great deal about you.” She linked her arm through Temar’s unresisting one and led him inexorably away from the group. “Were they being very childish?” Her voice was sympathetic but loud enough to be heard by the abashed group.
“They all know each other and I do not. Awkwardness is inevitable.” Temar realised he was still the centre of attention.
The Relict smiled at him. “You got Firon’s measure soon enough. He chews thassin of course, which addles the little wits he was born with and gives him a quite unwarranted confidence in his attractions. You can load an ass with gold but he’ll still eat thistles, won’t he?”
Temar laughed. “My grandsire used to say things like that!”
The Relict patted his arm with a comforting hand. “Doubtless a great deal has changed in all the time you slept, but some truths remain constant.” She looked beyond Temar’s shoulder and nodded to someone he couldn’t see. A moment later a trio of double pipes struck up at the far end of the long room and curious heads turned away. “Let’s take some air.”
She led Temar out on to a smoothly paved terrace where precisely trimmed trees in elegant pots shaded two couples sitting not quite close enough together to be in an actual embrace. “As the sun moves, we move from terrace to terrace,” the Relict explained to Temar in a deliberately carrying voice. “This northerly one for the afternoon, to the west for the morning, to the east for the evening. That way we always have shade, a most rational scheme. Zediael, Tayha, Fair Festival to you.” She smiled benevolently on the closest couple who nevertheless took themselves inside, quickly followed by the other pair.
“Do sit down, my dear.” The Relict tucked a cushion at her back with a sigh of pleasure. “My ankles swell if I have to stand for long in this heat.” She waved at a lackey peering anxiously out of the door. “We can have a quiet glass of wine and get to know each other a little better.”
Temar perched on the edge of a bench. “You have the advantage of me, my lady Tor Bezaemar.”
“Call me Dirindal, my boy, she urged him. “Ah, there’s Demoiselle Tor Arrial. Avila, my dear, do join us!”
Temar wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not to see Avila emerge on to the terrace but he found himself gri
Temar bowed. “You look most elegant, Demoiselle.”
“I must be wearing a year’s worth of work for a lacemaker.” Avila sat next to the Relict. “But at least it covers me up. I would look like a plucked chicken in a neckline like those girls are wearing.”
“Which is why we matrons have set the fashion thus,” chuckled Dirindal. She smoothed a hand over her discreetly draped bosom, where a little black bird held her lace secure in golden claws. “Now, my dear, has Lady Cha
“Indeed.” Avila smiled with unfeigned pleasure. “I had a most interesting conversation with the current Maitresse Tor Arrial.”
“Did she introduce her brother?” Dirindal twinkled. “Esquire Den Harkeil is quite a charmer, so be on your guard against his flattery.”
“Camarl did say Tor Arrial was a House that survived the Chaos.” Temar wasn’t sure that he wanted Avila to find herself a whole new array of family, leaving him as alone as he had ever been.
“We have come down in the world, Temar,” Avila told him without visible regret. “Tor Arrial’s little more than a minor Name around Zyoutessela, but the Sieur has hired a house here for Festival. He has invited me to dine tomorrow and says he will invite Den Domesin’s designate.”
“Another minor Name but well enough esteemed,” Dirindal said judiciously. “You’ve a son of Den Domesin over in Kellarin, I believe?”
“Albarn.” Avila nodded. “But he decided to stay behind and help with the harvest.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he wanted to come and see all the changes reminding him of everything he’s lost,” said Dirindal shrewdly. “And I don’t suppose that’s any too easy for either of you. If you need to ask who’s who, what they warrant by way of notice or caution, don’t be afraid to call on me. That’s doubtless one of the reasons I was invited here today. I’m usually quite idle these days.” She looked from Temar to Avila and back again. “And I don’t suppose you came all this way just to make merry at Festival.”
Temar and Avila exchanged a glance. “That is very good of you, my lady Tor Bezaemar—” began Temar.
“Dirindal, my dear,” she chided him gently. “We’re related, so I think I can allow it.”
Temar was startled. “Related?”
Dirindal smiled, delighted. “Of course, my boy. My grandmother on my father’s side was born Tor Alder.”
Temar stared, his mind scrambling frantically to make sense of her words. “My mother? She married Rian Tor Alder not long before we sailed—” His voice cracked.
“Oh, now I’ve upset you.” Dirindal took his hand between her own soft beringed ones and held it tight. “How thoughtless of me. I’m so sorry, my dear.” She snapped her fingers and a lackey with a glass appeared at Temar’s elbow.
A long swallow of wine did much to restore his composure. “So it’s a marriage co
“A blood co
Temar choked on his wine. “I had no idea!”
“Well, I don’t suppose young Camarl’s had a chance to discuss such matters with you. But it’s true, you have plenty of co
“Been getting yourself into quarrels, Temar?” asked Avila with a touch of asperity.
“Not of my making,” he retorted.
“One of Den Thasnet’s sons was making himself offensive.” Dirindal defended Temar.
“Saying I am here to beg charity or steal property from D’Olbriot,” said Temar grimly. “And no one contradicted him.”
Dirindal looked at him, eyes alert in her plump face. “It’s a fact you’d have a legal claim on your mother’s dower, even after all this time. Tor Alder would be honour-bound to grant you something, and that would undeniably give you some standing, some independence from D’Olbriot. But no matter, everyone knows Firon’s a fool.”
“But we do have some begging to do,” said Avila with the first hint of embarrassment Temar could recall seeing in her. “There are valuables we need to trace if we are ever to bring the remaining sleepers of Kel Ar’Ayen back to themselves.”