'Don't patronize me,' Elspeth snarled. 'I'm past the age when you can tell me that everything will be all right. We have trouble, and no one wants to admit it or let me do my part in meeting it. So leave me alone, all right?
Let me cool down my own way.'
'oh-: Gwena replied, very much taken aback by the barely-suppressed rage in Elspeth's mind-voice. Then she remained silent though Elspeth sensed her watchful presence in the back of her mind.
She ignored it; leaving her rooms with another slamming of doors and heading defiantly out to the gardens and her pottery shed.
No one even tried to stop her. Several people looked curiously at her as she stormed past, but no one spoke.
Most of the evidence of the assassination attempt was gone, along with the remains of those pieces that were smashed in the struggle. The floor had been swept clean-much, much cleaner than Elspeth ever kept it.
No, it was more than that. There was a new stool beside the bench where the old one had stood, there was a new door in place of the shattered one. Her old stove had been replaced with a new kiln and a new stove, her shelves had been replaced with stronger ones, the walls had been scoured, the floor scrubbed, and the place had been tidied up with meticulous precision.
Elspeth stared around with a sense of affront.
Bad enough that she'd been attacked here-but someone had taken it upon himself to 'improve' the place.
Her sanctuary had been violated. With good intent, but violated, just the same. It wasn't hers anymore...But it was all she had.
Resolutely, she squared her shoulders, went to one of the waiting boxes of raw clay, and cut herself a generous chunk-quite enough to make another two-handled vase.
Better than the last one.
And she set about grimly wedging the helpless hunk of clay into submission.
Stubborn, unreasoning woman, she fumed, punching the defenseless clay as hard as she could, flattening it to a finger-wide sheet on the smooth slate top of the bench.
A lot like her daughter, whispered her conscience.
So what? she answered it. I can see sense when I have to, whatever it costs me. She won't even consider what this could mean if I succeed-or what it will mean if I'm not allowed to try. I don't even know if she'll send someone else-she might decide not to. She might even forget.
Her conscience persisted as she rolled the sheet of clay up into a cylinder and flattened the cylinder into a sphere. You've never been a mother, so how can you know what letting you go would cost her? You heard Talia-if it were her son that was in jeopardy, she'd be just as irrational, and she is the most sensible person you know. And besides, you aren't the only one who could take this mission on and make a success out of it.
Oh, no? she snarled at her conscience, picking the ball of clay up, and throwing it down on the slate, over and over again. Who else is there?
Kerowyn, for one, her conscience replied too promptly. After all, her uncle-if he's still alive-is a White Winds Adept. And Quenten used to be one of the Skybolts' mages. She has the same contacts she would be giving you. Surely one of them could be persuaded to help.
And if not? she challenged.
If not-there're King Faram's court mages. they aren't exactly apprentices, and they've already proved they'll work for hire by being in his employ.
And Kero is Daren and Faram's very good friend. She could probably even persuade Faram to part with one or more of his mages, if they are willing to come up here.
But I'm their relative, she countered. That should be twice as effective.
Her conscience had no counter to that, but she had no answer for it, either. So she wasn't the only person who could go-,so what? She was still the best choice, if not the only one, if only Selenay would admit it.
The clay was ready-but she wasn't. She continued to pound her temper out on it as she sought reasons why Kerowyn could not be spared to go in her place.
