the Pantheon, but of course it was very brief and there are conflicting reports on the religious developments of the period, and while the idea that holy Cienu was the divine sponsor of the revolution may explain why its effects were so transitory although naturally I do not mean to imply any disrespect toward...' And so on.
And so on.
Fabia had three brothers, three older brothers! Three! She had not had a chance to ask the Witness where they were, who they were, what they were. Would she like them or they like her? Would they have the same likes and dislikes she did? Had they been raised in palaces or kitchens? Had they been apprenticed to trades, trained to be doges, or perhaps even degraded to peasants? The moment she was
'... course the oligarchy brought Skjar its greatest prosperity, because it concentrated on trade and thus claimed holy Ucr as its patron with Anziel as His consort because what good is wealth if it does not enrich our lives artistically and all of these reconstructions you see here date from that period just before Bloodlord Stralg overthrew the council which was over twenty years ago now—I can remember it but I'm sure you...'
Did the woman
fourteen
FRENA WIGSON
arrived home only to be sucked into another whirlwind of meetings, arguments, and objections, which she suppressed with a dozen or so proclamations. She then demanded a cool tub, a fresh robe, and some refreshments served on her favorite balcony overlooking the harbor. The cut on her shoulder was still seeping blood. Inga tried again to fasten a bandage there, but even Frena was now wondering if she should send for a Sinurist.
She soon forgot it, though. Relaxing on a couch and nibbling candied sweetmeats while Plumna and Lilin played and Ni sang for her, gazing out at the blue Ocean framed in the canyon mouth, Frena shed almost all of her headache. The seer, had she been present, might have seen that as a sign that Frena had made her decision. She had not, of course; she was still weighing her options. She eventually felt strong enough to send for the archivist of the inferior inventories.
That meaningless title belonged to Master Pukar, one of Father's scribes. He came and went a lot, and even his official duties were mysterious. His unofficial duties—according to servants' gossip that Frena had collected over the years, and which the seer's remark this morning tended to confirm—included some very unsavory tasks around the house. That was one reason she disliked him. He was plump, and while some plumpness could suggest cuddliness —the quilted Bjaria's, for instance—his did not. He also seemed to be completely hairless; his mouth was loose and slobbery; he bore a perpetual odor of fish. He made her skin crawl in all directions.
She did not hear him approach over the strumming of Plumna's dulcimer and almost jumped off the coach when she realized he was standing there. A white linen wrap draped him from armpits to ankles. Wet lips smiled, fat hands clutched together on his potbelly, and his eyes did not meet hers.
'How may I serve my lady?'
Frena waved a hand to dismiss the girls, their departure giving her a moment to collect her wits. There was another couch available, but she did not invite him to sit down. He would not expect her to. She reached for a candied grape and a whiff of fish odor dissuaded her.
'I was informed today that you are a Chosen.'
Master Pukar was standing just a fraction too close, smiling down at her body. He continued to do so.
'You do not wish to comment?' Frena demanded, rattled.
'Chosen for what, mistress?'
'A Chosen of—' She caught herself before she said the forbidden name. 'A chthonian.'
'Ah.'
'That is a serious charge.'
He sighed, scanning her thighs. 'It is indeed. Naturally I deny it. I do have some dubious acquaintances, though. Does my mistress require some chthonic ritual performed? How many days since you bled?'
'
'I am so sorry,' Pukar said, lisping slightly. 'A natural misapprehension. Perhaps my lady will inform me how else—'
'I am well aware that you procure miscarriages for misguided servants. Most of them blame their troubles on love potions you sell to unscrupulous male servants. I do not normally discuss such matters with my father, but —'
'That fish will not bite, mistress.' Pukar's smile had now settled on her left breast. 'Your father refuses to know things he does not wish to know, and he values domestic harmony. I perform many little tasks that he desires but never specifically orders. If you are hoping to blackmail me with kitchen tattle, then you will be disappointed. You would endanger him also.'
Frena took a few deep breaths to rein in her temper. He was cleverer than she had expected. 'I am also aware of the fees you charge in such instances. Three nights from the pretty ones, briefer but more humiliating services from the older and plainer ones. You can likewise forget about blackmailing me into anything like that.'
His bow was little more than a nod at her navel. 'Then let us speak plainly, as ...'—he smirked—'... partners. Your mother was a Chosen. True, there is no evidence, but your father hired me soon after she was ... 'returned to the womb,' as they say. One may speculate that I replaced her as provider of some lore or service. Now you are being forced into a dedication to the Twelve, so you must choose between them and the Dark One to whom your mother bound you. You wish to discuss a complete initiation.'
'All of that is evil slander!'
