“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
She was desperate to explain. “I just meant to ask who owned the house now, and maybe to see inside if I could. But Mrs Aristet wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. She thought I was the new housemaid. And then – well, it was stupid, I know.”
“It’s dangerous, is what it is.”
“Albero, who owns my house?”
His eyes widened. “You didn’t know? It’s Trune.”
She knew she gaped like a grouper, exactly as Mrs Aristet said. The Guildmaster? Of all things, she hadn’t expected that. How on earth – he wasn’t a merchant. He had no House. He drew a salary. Outrage jumbled with confusion in her head. Did Mother and Father know?
“How is that possible?” An instant later she was ashamed of her own naiveté.
He shook his head with irritation at her stupidity. “Your family had enemies and they were out for revenge. You have to get out of here, miss.”
The back of her neck prickled. “I ran into Trune upstairs – I don’t think he recognized me. If he did, what then?”
“I don’t know. All I can tell you is, you’re a Mederos, and they’re keeping an eye on you – all of you. Be careful and keep your head low.”
She felt absurdly grateful. Even just knowing this, that it wasn’t a figment of her and Yvienne’s imaginations, that the Guild had it in for them, was enough.
“All right. Thank you. And Albero…” she added ruefully. “You don’t have to call me miss anymore.”
He gave her a quick smile. “Listen, do you know the old stone gate with the broken streetlamp at the corner of the Crescent and the Mercantile? Leave the servant’s dress there under the loose brick.”
“I will do,” she promised, and an instant later she slipped out the rickety gate.
Chapter Twenty
Tesara made her way down through the servants’ alley that ran behind the great houses, where all the tradesmen drew up in their carts with their orders. She hurried along as if the devil himself were on her tail – which, she supposed, he was. Trune, the Guildmaster, was now the master of Mederos. If he found out who had been snooping around his study, no doubt it would go badly for her family.
When the alley ended, she took a breath and ventured out into the main thoroughfare. Once again, she was plunged into the busy street, the pavement crowded with all sorts. She could lose herself here, though she still felt as if everyone was looking at her in her servant’s navy dress.
But they weren’t looking at her. There were plenty of servants and bondservants along this part of the lower Crescent, where the shops all clustered. She hardly stood out. Once she got home she would have to come in through the kitchen, so Alinesse and Brevart wouldn’t see her in the strange dress.
She breathed a little easier and her heart slowed down as her feet turned toward home. She had gotten safely away, and Trune probably never recognized her. She would tell Yvienne who owned the house; her sister would know what it meant. Maybe then they wouldn’t be at such a disadvantage.
She came to the intersection where the lower Crescent met Mercantile Row, also known as the place where “money met cunning” in city parlance, and waited for the carriage traffic to clear to cross for home.
“Good-day, Miss Tesara.”
Hellfire. Why did she have to keep on running into Jone Saint Frey? Did the man have nothing better to do?
She turned with a fixed smile. He was smiling back at her, as if he were admiring her at a ball, rather than in the street in a stolen servant’s dress. She curtseyed, hoping it portrayed every inch of her annoyance.
“Mr Saint Frey, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Please, call me Jone. We’re old friends. Taking the air again, I see,” he said. “I am delighted you’re re-discovering your old haunts.”
By all that was holy… small talk? Here? She managed a repressive smile, hoping that he would take the hint, and turned back to watching the traffic.
He did not. Instead, he fell in beside her, offered her his arm in its finely tailored sleeve with its cream kid glove, and began walking her along the Mercantile as if he assumed that was the way she was going all along, rather than toward Kerwater Street. Tesara breathed out an exasperated sigh. He must have heard that because he said, “I really am quite happy to have run into you. I know you will think me dreadfully impertinent but I don’t have your new address, and I wanted to invite you to the salon my mother is hosting tonight. Such late notice – can you forgive me?”
Jone Saint Frey was inviting her to a party at his mother’s house. She had to stop and stare at him. He just smiled faintly, waiting for a response.
“I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged,” she said.
“Oh, that is too bad. Are you sure? Perhaps you could split your engagement, and come to the party later?”
“No,” she said, curt. Forbidding. Willing him to stop asking.
He made a rueful face and then said, “Tesara, I know you think I’m a fool for keeping up an old friendship, but I truly mean it. I know unfortunate things have happened to your family, but there’s no reason for us to act as if we don’t know one another. And I think you’ll find that there are plenty of your old acquaintances who are still your friends and mean well by you.”
She stopped and disengaged her arm. When she spoke, her voice was shaking with rage.
“How dare you?” she said, and his smile faltered. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I assure you, I have no desire to be any more of a Port
