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“I believe they are discussing someone’s betrothal,” said Temar.
“Yours?” gasped Casuel. That would be something to report to Planir. But what if the Archmage disapproved? He quailed at the thought of conveying unwelcome news.
“No,” said Temar scornfully. His expression turned rueful. “I hardly think these Demoiselles would entertain my suit, not for all the gold in Kel Ar’Ayen, not as long as I know nothing of their fashions and fancies.”
“I could have told you such things,” sniffed Casuel. “But it was rather more important to teach you at least the barest bones of all the history you slept through.”
“True enough,” agreed Temar. “I owe you an apology for my inattentions.” He waved aside Casuel’s hasty demur. “But it seems which Emperor reigned when and the badges of all these Houses is merely the start of what I need to know. Can you explain all this business with feathers and fans to me?”
“Oh, yes,” Casuel assured him. “My sisters—”
Temar smiled. “Good. Let us go back to the D’Olbriot residence and we can go over it together.”
Dismay had left Casuel’s mouth hanging open and he shut it hastily. “But I only just got here.”
Temar fixed Casuel with an unblinking stare. “Unless you have some means to force your way through that rampart, you are hardly going to find out what Velindre is discussing.” He gestured at the intimate circle in the far bay. “But I asked Allin to call on me this evening, to share a supper or something. If you are helping me with my studies, you can see what you can get out of her then?”
“You don’t want to encourage her,” said Casuel bitingly. “She’s of no consequence in Hadrumal, and hereabouts she’s quite below your notice. If Velindre had any sense, she’d never have brought the girl. That Lescari accent alone—”
He saw Temar wasn’t even doing him the courtesy of listening. “Let us make our farewells.”
Casuel wondered how Temar’s expression could seem so warm while those pale eyes stayed as cold as ice. “But I only just got here.”
“I have been here since just after the sixth chime of the day,” said Temar crisply. “Which is quite long enough for these girls to treat me as if I were missing half my buttons and for these elegant Esquires to hint tactfully I have no real business here as long as I have barely a copper to scratch my stones with.”
“There’s no need for mercenary vulgarity,” Casuel said plaintively. “Where’s Esquire Camarl?” He’d make Temar see sense, the wizard thought.
“Making the better acquaintance of the younger daughter of the House out in the grounds.” Temar smiled thinly. “Interrupting would hardly be tactful.”
“We can’t leave without him,” Casuel protested uncertainly.
“Everyone keeps telling me how informal this gathering is,” insisted Temar. “We will make our bow to Resialle and she can inform Camarl. Come, Master D’Evoir.”
“Don’t call me that,” Casuel hissed urgently. “It’s not appropriate.”
“What’s not appropriate?” asked an unwelcome voice. “Some beggar the ocean washed up pretending to rank and title, or D’Olbriot infesting the place with wizards?”
“And who might you be, sir?” Casuel turned indignantly. “Ah, Den Thasnet, I see.” He tried for a more conciliatory tone. “I think you mistake the nature of magic—”
“Esquire,” Temar interrupted. “Do as my shirt tail does.” He caught the wizard’s elbow in a grip like steel pincers and moved him forcibly away.
“What did you mean by that?” asked Casuel in confusion.
“You prefer I tell him plainly to kiss my arse?” Temar let go of Casuel’s arm and glanced back at Firon, who was frowning as he tried to work out Temar’s insult. “And I will not play lickspittle to some fool who puts an afternoon of wine on top of a morning of thassin. I wager his head will collapse when he next visits the privy.”
“We’d better make our farewells.” Casuel shuddered at the spectre of such coarseness being overheard, leaving him to excuse Temar to Planir or the Sieur D’Olbriot. “And I think you’re spending too much time with Chosen Tathel if that’s your notion of politeness.” Casuel stopped to let a stout youth past him and had to hurry to catch Temar up. How was the boy to learn decent ma
“Demoiselle,” Temar was bowing low before the eldest daughter of the Name. “I thank you for a most pleasant afternoon and regret that other duties call me away.”
Naturally Casuel recognised Resialle Tor Kanselin. He’d spent several days of Spring Equinox walking outside those Houses closest to the D’Olbriot residence. The wizard made his most respectful bow to the pretty girl. He hadn’t actually managed to fall into conversation with anyone of rank, but he should be able to do so, if he was Temar’s guide over the next few days. “Casuel Devoir, my lady, mage of Hadrumal.”
She nodded a polite acknowledgement. “You’re Temar’s tutor, I believe?”
Casuel smiled. “More of a friend, really.”
Resialle’s mouth quirked prettily and Casuel smoothed the front of his coat with some satisfaction. He’d certainly made an impression there, and if Temar could only recall D’Evoirs of his own day Casuel would have rank to socialise in these circles as of right, not merely through association with D’Olbriot. This business of feathers could wait until he’d jogged the lad’s memory about more important matters.
“Please make my farewells to your mother and to the Relict Tor Bezaemar,” Temar was saying. “And let Esquire D’Olbriot know I have gone home.”
Out in the cool of the marble corridor, Casuel hurried to catch Temar up. “You met the Relict Tor Bezaemar? I hope you were polite!”
“She was the nicest person there,” said Temar with some force. “And she and Avila look set to be firm friends.”
“That is good news,” Casuel said with satisfaction.
“How so?” Temar looked at him. “I mean, I take it the title Relict still means she is the widow of the late Sieur, but is there more to her rank than that?”
“You really must study the a
Temar smiled. “A useful ally to have won.”
When they got outside Casuel looked appreciatively at the methodical design of gardens and house. “My father has rebuilt in the modern style,” he remarked. “We have rather less space, obviously, but the effect is very much the same.”
The boy still wasn’t listening, the mage realised with irritation, seeing Temar’s curious face turned to rising noise beyond the gatehouse. “What’s to do?” he asked Casuel.
“It’s beggars and hawkers hoping to wheedle coin out of the nobility.” The wizard drew Temar aside beneath the broad arch as the gate-wards opened to a coach. “Riff-raff always comes flocking up from the lower town at Festival.”
“I have no coin with me.” Temar looked regretful. “Do you?
“Not for the likes of these,” retorted Casuel.
Temar peered through the barred and studded double gates and saw people thronging the broad road outside. Liveried men-at-arms cleared space for a portly Esquire and his lady to depart in their carriage and Temar saw two scrawny girls entertaining the crowd with a pair of battered wooden puppets, hands deft on sticks moving jointed wooden limbs. “Come on.”
“We’ll send word for D’Olbriot’s carriage, if you please,” said Casuel indignantly.
Temar raised his eyebrows. “We kick our heels while a boy runs to D’Olbriot’s stables and wait still longer for the coach to be readied and arrive? We can walk back in less time.”
“Persons of rank do not walk in the common road,” Casuel told him severely.
“As several people have told me this afternoon, my rank is by no means established,” said Temar sarcastically. “And I would like to get some exercise.” He nodded to the sworn man on the gate, who looked rather doubtfully at Casuel.