using neither pecans nor corn syrup. She tried a bite. Not bad. It would have been better with cinnamon.
“I heard,” Lady Pusieuv said, “that you actually used to live among the Faitoren.” She glanced at her uncle, but Aruendiel, who was taking a cautious bite of pie, said nothing. “And what was
What exactly was she getting at? Nora wondered, but she answered: “I enjoyed it at the time. I would not care to repeat it.”
“I saw a Faitoren once, ages ago. They’re very attractive, aren’t they? The men and women both.”
Nora gave a noncommittal shrug. “They put on a good show.”
“Of course, they are not to be trusted, I know. They’ve caused a great deal of trouble, over the years. Shocking.” Lady Pusieuv took a sip from her goblet, and Nora noticed how flushed her cheeks appeared in the candlelight. The bottle of wine that stood on the table was empty. “A great deal of trouble,” she repeated.
Nora nodded in agreement, wondering how Aruendiel was reacting to this line of conversation, but it was impossible to read his expression. Even the black eyebrows were decorously still.
“What I hear is that you had the unfortunate experience of being married to one of them,” Lady Pusieuv burst out.
Ah, so that’s it, Nora thought with a half-smile. The other woman’s tipsy curiosity filled her with unexpected cheer, as though she had just downed a glass of strong drink herself.
“It’s absolutely true,” she said. “I married the son of the Faitoren queen.”
“Indeed! That must have been, oh, dreadful.”
“It was not a good idea,” Nora allowed. She turned to the magician. “Aruendiel tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh?” Lady Pusieuv was alert, her eyes flitting back and forth between Nora and Aruendiel.
After a moment’s hesitation, Aruendiel took his cue. “Luklren’s men picked her up on the border, so we interrogated her, then sent her back. It was clear she was enchanted, but there was nothing we could do then.”
“Aruendiel helped me escape later on, though,” Nora said, letting a trace of huskiness creep into her voice.
“Mistress Nora called for help, and I responded. Any unfortunate in the power of the Faitoren deserves no less.”
“I owe him my life,” Nora said, with a confiding smile to Lady Pusieuv. She sighed, as though overcome with emotion. “I can never fully repay him.”
Aruendiel gave Nora a sharp look. She herself was interested to discover, after two days of resenting Lady Pusieuv for assuming that she was Aruendiel’s mistress, how wickedly pleasurable it was to encourage the misperception—or at least to allow the falsehood to flourish unchecked. It felt strangely liberating.
Aruendiel, though, had evidently had enough of Nora’s rescue. He changed the subject, remarking that he expected to make fewer journeys to the Faitoren borderlands from now on, since he had finally persuaded Luklren to retain a magician of his own. Had Lady Pusieuv seen Luklren at court? She had not, but she had seen his cousin Lord Oslewen, who had just married the second daughter of Baron Marn.
They moved into a discussion of recent dynastic alliances in the kingdom, including the pedigrees of each party—Aruendiel seemed to have known most of their immediate ancestors going back two or three generations —and then moved inevitably into politics. Lady Pusieuv had a range of sharp observations to make on the players at the Semrian court; Nora had no way of judging how accurate her analysis might be, but it sounded trenchant enough, and Aruendiel seemed to be listening carefully.
The interest he showed was surprising, Nora thought. She would have bet money that this sort of talk would have bored him senseless, and from time to time, as Lady Pusieuv held forth, she thought she saw a shade of weariness in his eyes. But when he responded to his niece, he spoke with a practiced, easy courtesy, a smooth attentiveness, which was far removed from his usual manner. For the first time, Nora thought, she could credit the stories about the women that he had seduced long ago.
Or perhaps, as a landholder and peer of the realm, even as a magician who played some role in the affairs of government from time to time, he was more concerned with the political landscape in the kingdom than she had imagined.
Nora, unfortunately, did not share the same interest. She was thinking longingly of her bed upstairs, and wondering whether her candle stub was long enough to let her read for a few minutes about Devris and Udesdiel before going to sleep, when a sudden change in Aruendiel’s tone caught her attention.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it is out of the question.”
“But poor old Lord Tirigan died without near heirs; now it could go to some distant cousin who’s half Orvetian and doesn’t have nearly as good a claim as you do. Really, it’s a scandal to let a rich estate like that, in the heart of the kingdom, fall into the hands of foreigners.”
“I have no claim at all,” he said coldly.
“That’s not true, Uncle. You’ve always had a good claim, and to be frank, I think it’s mad not to assert it, especially now. Unfaithfulness cancels all dower rights, you know. Lusul should be yours.”
“The estate passed to my wife’s cousin, her nearest legitimate relation, as was just.”
“Well, he’s dead now. And the rumor in Semr is that the Pirekennys will raise a claim, too. I saw the grandson at court.”
“That is no concern of mine.”
“Well, I think it’s very shocking. The nerve of those people! They should be ashamed.” Aruendiel was silent, so she went on. “I apologize for bringing up this old unpleasantness, but—well, think of the good of the family, Uncle. We still have four girls to marry off. It would be such a blessing to be able to offer them with part of the Lusul patrimony in their dowry.”
“Surely the Forel is enough to provide for your family?”
“It’s no Lusul!” she said vehemently. “For your own sake, too, Uncle, please consider it. It’s a shame that you have to live here, in this poor little castle, in this miserable northland, when you could be so much more comfortable.” Her glance moved across the table and fell upon Nora. “I’m sure that Nora would prefer living in a modern palace, on a great estate like Lusul. Wouldn’t you, Nora?”
Nora was taken aback, and now a little regretful about the impression that she had fostered about her relationship with Aruendiel. “I’m actually not very particular,” she said awkwardly.
“My dear Pusieuv, we have spent enough time on this subject. There is nothing more to discuss. Would you care for more wine?” Aruendiel reached for the wine bottle and discovered that it was empty. He rose from his chair. “Excuse me, ladies, I will bring out a new bottle.”
“Would you like me to get it?” Nora asked, but he waved away her offer and limped toward the kitchen.
“Uncle is stubborn,” said Lady Pusieuv into the silence that fell after the kitchen door swung shut.
“I’ve noticed,” Nora said.
Another pause. Lady Pusieuv took a last bite of pie and chewed it delicately. “You know, my dear,” she went on, “I think it falls upon me to remind you of something. My uncle is known as Lord Aruendiel. No matter what you call him in private, it is very important that, at least in company, you refer to him by that title. Or as his lordship. It is the proper address for one of his station.”
“He has never asked me to refer to him that way,” Nora said. “And certainly he does not hesitate to correct me or anyone else, when he believes it necessary.”
“My uncle tolerates—to some degree encourages—many lapses of decorum. He would be pleased, though, if you were to stop addressing him in such a familiar manner. It would show that you know your place.”
“My place!” Nora looked incredulously at Lady Pusieuv. The other woman seemed to be completely serious.
“Yes, your place. You are not of the same rank, you know, so you must see that it is quite impossible for you to address him as an equal.”
For a moment, Nora was speechless, or rather the only words that would fluently express her feelings were English words. She made a random gesture of frustration, and the ring on her finger flashed in the candlelight. It gave her an idea.
“Of course Aruendiel’s not my equal,” Nora said, with stony hauteur. “I prefer more informality myself—it’s
