“I was worried when you went outside at Terraza. What happened?”
“There were two of them. One fired. I tried to image oil so that they’d slip, but I couldn’t see them, and it didn’t quite work. They had a coach or trap or something around the corner and were gone before I could get close.”
“Someone with golds, then.”
“Someone who knows imagers, too. They never let me get a moment’s look at them.” That was as much as I wanted to say about that, at least until I talked to Master Dichartyn.
“They’re watching you, aren’t they? What can you do?”
“Be careful, and try to learn more. I don’t know what else I can do. Do you?”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “No. I wish I did.”
“Has your solicitor found out anything about Madame D’Shendael? I still think there’s a connection.”
“I had to go through Grandmama on that. Yesterday, she said it was taking longer than Ailphens thought, but there might be something.”
“Did she say what?”
Seliora shook her head.
“Since we can’t solve any of those problems, not now anyway,” I said, “tell me what your best memory is of when you were little.”
“Little or really little?”
“Let’s start with really little.”
“That was the time that Grandmama and Mother took me to Extela one winter. I don’t remember why they went, but they took me, and I got to play in the snow, real snow, and there was this fuzzy black puppy . . .”
We talked for more than a glass, before I thought I heard steps, quiet ones. I turned in the dimness to look directly at Seliora.
She smiled, and nodded, and we got up.
After a time, we stepped apart.
“I’d like to see you tomorrow . . .”
“I’d like to see you, but it is the twins’ birthday, and it should be their special day. Also, perhaps you should see your parents. It might not hurt.”
She was right about that, much as I hated to admit it.
In the hack on the way back to the Bridge of Hopes, something Kolasyn said came back to me. “With people, there’s a reason for everything . . . the trick is to figure out the reason.”
What were the simplest reasons to kill junior imagers? Because it was harder to kill senior imagers? Because if someone killed junior imagers . . .
I swallowed. Could it be that simple? That cold? And if so, why hadn’t Master Dichartyn mentioned it? Or was I supposed to tell him-again?
64
To those who fail to understand, the most fantastic
in life remains disappointing.
For all the excitement of Samedi, I did sleep soundly that night, well enough that I did not wake until well after breakfast, possibly because the day was so dark and gray, although the rain had stopped. Since Master Dichartyn didn’t have the duty, he wasn’t around, and I had no way to reach him easily. Besides, what could he have done to track down an unknown imager on a Solayi? I’d certainly let him know on Lundi. So I just took my time, still pondering over the strange shield used by the Ferran’s accomplice, and thinking about how I might overcome it should I again come into contact with its wielder.
Menyard was the only third I knew well at lunch, and I joined him and several others, but mostly, I just listened and ate. After lunch, I crossed the Bridge of Hopes, holding full shields, something that was no longer much of an effort, and took a hack out to my parents’ dwelling.
Mother actually was the one to open the door. “Rhenn! What a pleasant surprise.” Her smile was certainly welcoming. “Your father will be so pleased.”
I followed her into the family parlor, closing the door behind me. Kethila was lounging in Father’s chair, reading something, but it wasn’t one of the D’Shendael books.
“Do have a seat, dear. I’ll tell your father that you’re here.”
Khethila closed the book and moved to the settee. “I want to hear all about her.”
“In a moment,” I replied, not that I was about to tell anyone anything more than the absolute minimum. “Have you yet read On Art and Society?”
“The bookshop hasn’t found a copy yet.”
“I’ve read several chapters . . .” I grinned.
“You have it?”
“The Collegium library does. I was able to borrow it.” I glanced toward the back hall leading to Father’s private study. “Don’t let Father see it. I’d suggest not quoting from it.”
“I’ll like it, then?”
“It might make even you think differently.”
“How?”
“She says that financial pressures and childbirth are why there have been almost no women artists. Also that art can easily become a male pretension.”
“She really wrote that?” Khethila frowned.
“You’ll have to read it yourself.” I looked down the hall. “Father’s on his way.”
She gave me a mock glare, which vanished as Culthyn hurried in and plopped himself on the settee next to her.
Once Father arrived in the family parlor and seated himself, Mother settled down in her chair and looked at me. I ignored the look and sat in the straight-backed chair that was at an angle to both the settee and Father.
“Tell us something about her, Rhenn,” Mother pressed.
“Where should I start?” I smiled. “Let me see. Her eyes are stars on a moonless night, her hair darker than jet ebony, her lips redder than flame, her skin fairer than Artiema full at harvest . . .”
“That’s poetry stuff,” complained Culthyn. “You mean she’s got real black hair and red lips? She can’t have white eyes like the stars.”
When Culthyn talked that way, he reminded me of Rousel at that age, and it wasn’t a pleasant memory.
“You could be a little less poetic, dear,” suggested Mother.
“She has black hair, not quite shoulder length when it’s down. Her eyes are black, the irises, that is, and she’s about a head shorter than I am.”
“That still makes her tall for a woman,” Father said.
“Not compared to her cousin. Odelia is almost as tall as I am.”
“What else?” prompted Mother. “What about her family?”
“They’re well off. That, I can assure you. She has a brother a bit younger than Culthyn, and another brother who’s a bit older than I am, I think.”
“You don’t know?” asked Khethila.
“I didn’t ask. I’m interested in her, not them.”
Culthyn grinned.
“She’s involved in the family business, and they make custom and quite costly furniture, usually for High Holders.”
“Exactly what does she do?” pressed Father.
