Point of Dreams

“Adjunct Point?”

The voice was at once strange and familiar, and Eslingen turned to see a tall woman in the stone‑grey of northern mourning. She looked vaguely familiar, too, and then he saw the badge at her collar, and recognized Aubine’s sister.

“Maseigne,” Rathe said warily. “I’m sorry…” His voice trailed off, and Eslingen could guess what he was thinking. How did one offer sympathy for killing someone’s traitor brother, particularly when that brother had been more than willing to kill them?

The woman smiled faintly, as though she, too, had read the thought. “I wanted to say… You, and Lieutenant vaan Esling, you gave him a kinder end than he deserved. My, our, grandmother was a proud and hateful woman, and for no other reason than that she could be, it was her right–her obligation and her blood duty to be harsh on her kin and heirs, to make sure they were fit for what she would leave them. Our mother was not, so it was up to us. I tried to shield him, and when she was dead I tried to give him the life he wanted–it wouldn’t have hurt anyone, certainly not our name. But it was too late then.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d never let him go to the university, but he wanted it so…”

Her voice trailed off, and Rathe shook his head. “He made his choices, maseigne. I’m sorry if I sound harsh, but he made his own way.”

Ledey nodded, but she hardly looked convinced. “All my grandmother did was in the service of our name. My brother’s ended that, very effectively.”

“Surely not ended,” Rathe said.

“No?” Ledey gave a bitter smile. “This is more than scandal, Adjunct Point, this is treason and murder and attempted murder. My family will continue. But I think the name of Aubine needs to be buried with my brother.”

It was her right, of course, as head of the family, but Eslingen shivered, hearing an echo of the grandmother’s iron will in the soueraine’s implacable voice. He bowed automatically as she turned away.

“She’s right.”

Eslingen and Rathe turned to b’Estorr. “It’s a pride that needs burying–in his way, your landseur was every bit as prideful as his wretched grandmother,” the necromancer said.

“You didn’t know him,” Eslingen protested softly, and b’Estorr shook his head.

“No. But forgive me if I feel less than charitable toward someone who did his best to kill two friends of mine.”

“You just didn’t want to be bothered by our ghosts,” Rathe said, and b’Estorr smiled.

“Not after this ghost‑tide, no, thank you.”

“Istre–” Rathe sounded unusually hesitant, and both Eslingen and b’Estorr looked at him. “Come up to my workroom, please, both of you.”

“Won’t we be missed?”

“In this throng?” Rathe asked, nodding toward the crowd of pointswomen and men, advocats, intendents, and regents. Obediently, they followed him up the stairs to his workroom, chill from having been uninhabited for almost three days. When he closed the door, he looked at b’Estorr.

“I think you mentioned once before that if the university had a working copy of the Alphabet, no one would be able to find it?”

“I was mostly joking, but you have no idea what the cataloging is like in the older parts of the library,” b’Estorr replied, almost warily.

Rathe nodded as though satisfied. He picked up from the small table three books. “I want you to lose these as best you can. Aubine’s copy, the one Aconin stole, and Leussi’s.”

b’Estorr looked at the three simple, cloth‑bound volumes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You could simply burn them.”

Rathe shook his head. “If, Metenere forbid, we should ever need their knowledge again, you’ll know where they are, you’re the only person I can trust with them, Istre, who has the wit and training to deal with them. Take them, and lose them in the library, so no one can use them like this again.”

“Done,” b’Estorr said simply. He took the three books, tucked the small volumes away under his coat. “And, Nico?”

“Yeah?”

“I also told you that this–” He nodded toward him and Eslingen. “Did not feel like folly. Thanks for proving me right. My reputation would have suffered terribly,” he said with a quick grin, and was gone.

Eslingen let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “I never know if I want to kill him or not.” But he was smiling.

“Think of the ghost.”

“Good point.” He looked at Rathe. “What now?” he asked again.

“Home,” Rathe said. He looked tired– the cell couldn’t be that comfortable, Eslingen thought, in spite of all the care we took.

“The baths?” he suggested, and Rathe gri

“Yeah, that, too. But later.”

“Can we go?” Eslingen asked as they made their way back down the stairs, looking around the still packed room, at the press still crowding to speak to Astreiant.

“I doubt we’ll be missed,” Rathe said, but looked at Trijn.

She spread her hands. “Be off with you. I don’t have any need of you–take a few days for yourself, Rathe, but I’ll expect you back at the new week.”

“Thank you,” Rathe said, and turned for the door.

Eslingen followed him, pausing only to collect the basket, and together they made their way across the rutted courtyard. Outside, the streets were mostly clear of snow, and the sky had the seashell haze of clouds that promised warmer days. Rathe looked up with satisfaction, breathing deep, his breath frosting the chill air. They made their way back to Rathe’s lodgings in companionable silence, crossed the frozen remains of the garden–no sign of hedgebroom anywhere, Eslingen thought–and climbed the stairs to Rathe’s single room. He had kept the fire going, not wanting anything of value to freeze, and Rathe gave a contented sigh as he crossed the threshold.

“It’s good to be home,” he began, and stopped abruptly, looking around the single large room. “Philip. Where are your things?”

Eslingen paused, blinking, set the basket on the table, and stooped to stir the embers back to life. “Oh. I rented a room of my own, didn’t want to keep sponging off you.”

“Philip–” Rathe’s eyes were worried, and Eslingen abandoned the pretense, contrite.

“I rented the two rooms next door–you know, the little ones that no one wanted. The landlady said that we could knock out the old co

Rathe stood for a moment, then, very slowly, smiled. “Considering everyone already thinks we’re lemen, I suppose we might as well.”

Not quite an invitation, Eslingen thought, but the simple acceptance was more than good enough for now. “Don’t let the gossips push you into anything you don’t want,” he began, and Rathe rolled his eyes.

“Idiot.”

Eslingen smiled, satisfied. He reached for the basket, brought out the bottle of wine he’d bought in the hope that Rathe would be released today. “Good. I don’t have a bed of my own. Let’s drink. It’s not every day you’re let out of jail.”

“Did you see the masque?” Rathe asked, and Eslingen laughed, almost spilling the cup he was filling.

“No. I never did.”

“All that work, and you didn’t go back?”

Eslingen shook his head. “I was too tired, and my head hurt and–frankly, Nico, I couldn’t stand the sight of another bunch of flowers, no matter how harmless they were. But Siredy says it went off very well.”

“Siredy?” Rathe asked.

“I ran into him yesterday morning,” Eslingen answered. “He and Gavi have been seeing something of each other, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Rathe accepted a cup, relaxing, and Eslingen lifted his own in a toast.

“The health of the realm at the turn of the year.”

“And a quieter year to come,” Rathe answered. The room was warming nicely now, the fire roaring, and he settled himself easily in his usual chair. Eslingen stretched a hand to the stove, hoping the wish would come true. “Will you stay with the Masters?”