How long would it be before his patience thinned and he split his border rat in two? It wasn't the first time his fascination with one ended abruptly. He was a terrible teacher, but the squires of Isilmyr feared him, and that served her cause. She needed every available lever against uncooperative houses. Many of these houses would happily give over a second or third son if Hosmyr guaranteed their first an Isilmyr ribbon.
“Two this year, Vaunet and Bethic vassals.”
Gishna rose, suddenly cheerful. “Excellent! Amazing how well she does her work even from the high matron's right side.”
It amused her endlessly how she'd known about the secret needle at Joumina's side and no one else did. Another boon from her green-eyed seer. No disguise or charm could hide the stored heritage in a strand of Yilness's hair. Of course, that secret was now gossip. The name Vanarik wasn't as forgotten as they might think.
“It's coming together,” he said. “Just a few more pieces to mend the trunk.”
“Including Yilness's son,” she said. “That champion's sample will be difficult to get. And we must be certain. Use that rat of yours. Surely no one in the crater will notice him. Find a way, consort.”
“What if the valmasin don't come?” he asked. “They must have been chased out of Uthkaea. It burns from snout to tail, according to our spy’s latest report.”
“Then we must use the valmasin we have,” she said, brightening. “Or… or… he starts a line of his own here. We can't afford for him to die and leave no progeny capable of carrying on the work. Yes, I'll propose it to him. Think about where we could settle them, safely away from Vaidolin and prying eyes.”
Maunyn gave a small nod and turned to leave.
“Don't forget to kill that boy,” she reminded.
His stiff vest crinkled in response as he took a deep breath. She waited for him to let out a caustic response, but he remained silent and left.
She hated to sour him, but… House above all.
26
Taul fiddled with a voucher for five bottles of hundred-year-old brandy made from Toshtolin pears. He had them on hold at the main Ilor'Hosmyr vault. The contents were secure, and the warehouse master had written and sealed the voucher himself.
He stood in a long line behind other vassals entering the high matron's main audience hall. Balniss was friends with the chamberlain, a man of the Haissin branch of Ilor'Hosmyr, distantly bound to his birth house through an uncle.
The press of expectant vassals increased and Taul struggled to keep his place in line. Balniss had instructed him to signal the chamberlain, but the crowd in front of him shifted and blocked his view. He reminded himself of his house's legacy, his consort's as well as his own. He had every right to be here. Yet his courage flagged, cooling while he stood there.
The high matron only held an audience once a season, and her heiress, Julissa, would soon begin sitting in for her. Some were happy with this change, thinking the younger matron would favor their cause more, while others rushed to get their case heard before the old matron passed on. Taul had no notion which woman might help more: the one with five sons and two daughters, or the one who was unconsorted.
He shuffled along in the crowd toward the tall arches ahead. Beyond them, elaborate mosaics of constellations dotted the walls.
Every stomp and smack of the guards' armor startled him as they closed ranks to allow in only a few petitioners at a time. Ten feet from the arch, he pushed his way toward where the chamberlain stood. He squeezed past two priestesses, but the chamberlain was gone from his post.
The crowd pushed him forward through the arch and Taul broke out in a cold sweat. As he passed under, a heavy, steel hand crashed down at his back. A barricade of spears crossed behind him.
He spoke to the guard, but the guard wore a visored helm and only looked ahead. Taul edged around the mob of petitioners. The group ahead was dispersing, apparently members of one house. A matron held herself proud as Gishna Ilor'Hosmyr waved her away. He needed the crone to be in a good mood. His cause was just and right, a boon for her house and his. He stuffed the voucher in his breast pocket. He couldn’t make his request in front of all these people.
Another request would have to replace it, something small and favorable to her. Then he could arrange for a private audience. He relaxed. This could still work. He eased on his heels as if the moment was already his, smiling at the other petitioners who all had a look of terror in their eyes.
High Matron Gishna was volatile in her moods, even unhappy to listen to adulation and praise. His mind raced to which request to make and what to offer. He dared look up to the dome above the matron's throne. It was magnificent, with clusters of carnelians and black sapphires. This was the new audience hall. The old one was out of fashion, with its kith walls and floors. This one sparkled in white light from alabaster sconces. Two statues of the Voice dressed in the finest weave stood on either side of the throne. They were crafted of flawless stone; only the purest white marble would do. Streaks of white gold ran through the carved hair. The statues had lowered eyes and hands open before them in supplication.
As a boy, his grandmother had complained about all the statues and how they had slowly invaded even private sanctuaries. His own father had one made and installed in the courtyard where the household laborers and guests could witness their piety. In his day, there had been clandestine trading between the third and first high houses. Only the statues remained of that time and most Mornae acted like nothing was amiss. The lower houses needed the reassurance of peace and harmony. Lor'Toshtolin maintained a small sanctuary in its quadrangle and several modest statues adorned the pillars of the walkway. But that was all its matrons had allowed. Its private sanctuary within the old villa was made of kith, with mosaics in the traditional style. One of Ryldia's ancestors had made it, but Ryldia hadn't performed the ritual there in some time.
Despair threatened to seize him. A burning heat braced his neck and skull. What was he doing all this for when she made no effort? The thought disturbed him with its clarity and truth. He rubbed at the heat and his nose pricked from the dryness.
The two men ahead of him stepped into the dome’s light and bowed to the throne.
The high matron looked like a pile of unfolded cloth, layers of gray piled into a clump on a black iron chair with a narrow seat and high back, towering behind her like a parapet between two spearheads. Her head was bent down, held to the side while she gazed out from the edge of her milky white eyes. Long-fingered, bony hands gripped the throne's armrests and two silk slippers peeked out from beneath layers of silvered cloth. Beside her, in a more modest chair of ebon wood, sat the next high matron, a straightened, youthful version of Gishna. Julissa gazed over the crowd. She had a fine look, high cheekbones and angled face, with pale gray eyes flecked with silvery light. Layers of the finest weaves, thirtieth and higher, draped her lithe form elegantly in the way of noble houses. Her hair was gathered up to showcase a long, pale gray neck and graceful shoulders. In the warm yellow firelight—a concession to those whose Mornae blood only went so deep—the apples of her cheeks flushed pink occasionally.
To the high matron's left stood Maunyn, her consort and headmaster of Isilmyr. He was a tall, imposing knight dressed in black, silver-blue hair cascading down his front and back. Twin kithaun blades rested against his thighs. His visage oppressed the petitioners, who kept their heads low when approaching the high matron.
The two men at the head of the line were brothers, each making claim to a store of goods abandoned by their defunct birth house. They each sought to claim the goods for their consort's house.
High Matron Gishna did not look amused; her gnarled fingers tapped on the edge of the armrest shaped like a cascade of grapes and vines. Her head twisted this way and that as each brother made his case. She motioned to the row of scribes on the left of the audience hall. A diviner made his way to the throne and whispered to her. She nodded and motioned for her daughter. Julissa leaned close and then pulled back. Gishna invited her to pronounce the judgment.
Taul stood on edge, convinced of the elder brother's claim. It pleased him to see how the matron ceded the judgment to her daughter. His own father had done similarly with him, teaching him how to lord power over the various vassals and workers of his birth house.
Julissa bit her lip and her cheeks flushed pink. The hall hushed. Unlike the matron's graveled voice, Julissa's voice was soft and pleasant. The sound of youth and energy. Gishna seemed to collapse into her draping clothes even more. Julissa ruled in favor of the elder brother's claim, but did not deny the younger, offering him a consortship with an Ilor'Hosmyr branch. It was a wildly generous offer. Taul knew the branch well.
He breathed deeply. His chances were good with the heiress.
A page led the brothers away to a small side room from which scribes darted in and out, carrying messages.
The next plaintiff stepped forward, demanding the matron force his neighbor, Lor'Jantyrr, to repair the wall of his estate. An ox-drawn cart had damaged the wall. A murmur rose through the crowd. Beasts of burden were not allowed within Vaidolin except with the high matron’s permission. Usually for bearing large stones inside. Mornae appreciated the beasts for their strength, but despised the stench and valued the cleanliness of their streets.
Taul swallowed. He knew Lor'Jantyrr. They had a presence in every market and their strength grew daily, both in chits, product, and members. The estate in question was next to a large estate bought by one of Jantyrr's daughters. The high matron didn't look interested in the complaint, but as the plaintiff, Bayyl Lor'Palstin, ranted on about his neighbor, she leaned forward. Maunyn leaned down to her and whispered.
She nodded and sat back. Her head jerked left, her eyes glinting dull yellow in the firelight.
“I am informed that Lor'Palstin owes Ilor'Hosmyr three years tax,” she said hoarsely.
Bayyl protested, rattling off a list of misfortunes, and his weakness became clear: a poor harvest, falling sales at the market, losing a son to consortship, and debts. Taul peered around the shoulder of the man in front of him and noted Bayyl's expensive garb. His own garb was of modest tenth wools mixed with plains. Respectful, but humble.
“You seem unable to manage your house, sir,” Maunyn said. “And now you wish our high matron to resolve your petty squabble? This is a matter for the court of the goddess's own justice. Should you not take up your spear and make a complaint there?”
