“Goodness!”
“I know!”
They both laughed, but the laughter rang hollow. It was hard to keep one’s chin up in the face of relentless disapproval. The Merchants Guild was merciless but Port Saint Frey society was even harsher; Tesara had never questioned that until now. The past two weeks had been an education in how her world had been upended. And her parents had been enduring it for six years.
“How do Mama and Papa stand it?” she burst out.
Yvienne understood. “They must stand it. The Guild has given them no choice. It wasn’t enough just to ruin us, Tes. They wanted us to see how thoroughly they have destroyed House Mederos. After all, what good is it to set a lesson if there’s no one around to learn it? We serve a useful purpose – an example to any other House that dares to step outside the Guild’s law.”
They would pay and pay and pay, until there was nothing left. The Guild would never let them restore their wealth.
When she was little she had hoped for their parents to swoop them away from Madam Callier’s and they would go away, start over. Now that they were all together again, it was clear her parents still wouldn’t go. Their spirits were broken. The Guild was bad, but the outside world was worse.
“Is the pain bad today?” Yvienne asked.
Tesara started. She had forgotten her sister’s presence and had absentmindedly begun chafing her fingers again. “A bit,” she said with a shrug. She didn’t want Yvienne thinking about her fingers. “It doesn’t matter,” she added, and straightened the dish towel. Yvienne didn’t say anything. The sound of the front door opening gave Tesara a welcome escape.
“Good. They’re home.”
Chapter Three
I tried to protect her and I failed.
Sometimes the guilt of her failure got the better of Yvienne. It especially occurred at the times when she could tell her younger sister’s fingers were paining her. The experience of seeing Madam Callier maim her sister, and she unable to stop her, was a heavy memory, a sickening remembrance. Yvienne could still hear the snap of bones reverberating in her mind, and she shuddered.
Tesara looked at her curiously. “What?” she said.
“Nothing,” Yvienne said, trying to shake off the strange, visceral memory. She gave a small laugh. “A goose walking over my grave, I suppose.”
Tesara gave her another sidelong glance, but made no further remark. Yvienne chided herself for her reaction. She was the practical one, the logical one. It was Tesara who had always been the strange one, by turns dreamy and inattentive, or quick to lash out and combative. It had been remarked upon by their parents until Yvienne had taken it for granted, the way one does as children. It was only in the last few years that it had come to her attention that their parents were not the best judge of their youngest daughter, or for that matter, of Yvienne herself.
Their parents and their uncle came back from Courts, drained and somber, aged beyond their years. Alinesse had always been vital, a dark energy radiating from her. Now she was thin, narrow, brittle. Brevart had become dreamlike, almost nebulous. And Uncle Samwell, the cause of their strife, was truculent and sullen. Six years ago, he had been fat, indolent, self-indulgent, and self-congratulatory. Six years in a Guild prison had burned away everything but his bluster.
He was blustering now, as they crowded in the front hallway, bickering.
“What can you expect from Reynbolten?” he was saying, as they hung up their coats and removed their wet galoshes, leaving puddles and mud in the hallway. Yvienne stifled a sigh. She would be mopping that afternoon, along with the washing up.
“Reynbolten isn’t the trouble, Sam,” Alinesse snapped at her little brother. “For goodness sakes, where are we supposed to get another lawyer?”
“I told you, the Colonel has offered his man.”
“Sam, be serious. Your old gossip Colonel Talios isn’t anything but grand schemes and empty promises, not to mention he continues to keep company with That Woman.”
“He’s a modern man and these are modern times, Alinesse.”
“Modern has nothing to do with it, Sam.”
“Why won’t the Guild just rule?” Brevart put in. “It’s simple enough. We’ve paid, and we’re done paying. I don’t understand what’s left.”
“Oh Brevart,” Alinesse sighed. “Dr Reynbolten explained that it’s a matter of all parties must be made whole. We’ve had our defense, and now it’s up to the Guild high court to determine if claims against us have been restored.”
“It seems to me,” Brevart was saying, by which time the crowd had all made their way into the kitchen. He broke off and blinked at his daughters. “Oh,” he said, as if surprised to see them.
“Hello, Father,” Yvienne said, coming forward to give him a kiss. She looked at them all. “Well? How did it go?”
“The ruling will come down later, but Dr Reynbolten said we have a good chance, a very good chance, that we will receive a made whole judgment,” Alinesse said.
“If she doesn’t bungle this one,” Uncle Samwell muttered. He sat down heavily at the kitchen table. He was once a natty dresser; now his best waistcoat was stained and his shirt cuffs were tattered. “Here, now, a cup of tea would hit the spot.”
“We have no wood for the stove,” Yvienne said. “I’m afraid we can’t make tea.”
“No wood!” Brevart exclaimed with mild surprise. Alinesse tsked with deep irritation.
“I must say, that is bad,” she said. She sat down at the rickety kitchen table next to her brother, and began unselfconsciously rubbing her stockinged feet. One toe poked through an inexpertly darned hole. “It is very bad, Yvienne. I don’t blame you, but surely, you could have seen that we would need wood?” She shook her head. “Well, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“How are we to have our dinner?” Uncle
