“I've given you so much,” Maunyn said. “I wonder if I have been too generous.”
Ren shook his head.
“I urge you to forget this matter,” Maunyn said. “I see you don't mind the crater now. There is much to do here. Important tasks for the high matron herself. Understand?”
Ren nodded.
“Focus on your work,” Maunyn said. “Be diligent. The tasks I give you from now on require great skill and loyalty.”
“As you say, milord,” Ren said, barely able to breathe.
“Loyalty is everything to men like us, Ren. Don't forget this lesson. Nothing, not even the promise of a boy to call son… nothing is more important.”
Ren swallowed the emotion welling in his throat. His master was right. He'd let fantasies carry him away. He wanted to ask about this new work but kept it to himself. This place was too nice for blood splatter. His lord's words seemed inviting, but it was just as likely Maunyn would have him killed later, in an alley, and leave his corpse in the muck of the Bottoms.
And yet…
“I will be loyal, milord.”
Maunyn straightened and released his shoulder. “If you prevail,” he said, “Vaidolin will open to you. And then you will truly know what is possible.”
“That is all I have ever wanted, milord.”
“But fail my matron, Ren...” Maunyn sighed and shook his head. He turned and left, squire marching behind him, bearing the black spear of Ilor'Hosmyr.
A long-held breath gurgled out of Ren like a death rattle, and a nearby servant snickered.
This is it, Ren, he thought. That boy, that good boy, was a sacrifice to your greatness. Tears formed in his eyes. You didn't die in vain. I promise you I'll make it count.
28
Gishna's beloved family chattered around her, but her mind was elsewhere, stuck on the recent audience and that sad man who'd come asking for a child.
Children overflowed for her to pick like flowers, plucked at her pleasure. Yet she would not part with a single one. Not while slots remained unfilled on the dozens of trees lining the scriptorium. Hadn't he ruined her plan, anyway? He was a smudge on a canvas now, this Taul Lor'Nevtar—now Toshtolin, a revered house, practically a founder, harkening back to the third accord. But so much time had passed between that time and the present, an eternity. Those people had no resemblance to the current Toshtolin.
She winced. Or Hosmyr, for that matter. She shivered, recalling the deeds of the first Hosmyr matrons.
And yet, the couple should not have failed if they had only waited. No one waited these days. She hadn’t and had brought herself and her house to the edge of doom. Their bloodline had been born amidst the ancient orchards, the rich soil made so by their sorcery, and now they failed to throw a single shoot into the sunlight.
The green-eyed seer would blame the goddess's fickleness, but she was not so sure. If only she could see what he saw, to understand it all for herself. Something itched the back of her mind. There was a yet unperceived truth about Kandah An'Harahn and his declarations, all hidden behind the green veil of his eyes. He kept his secrets as well as a high matron.
She trusted him far too much, but what choice did she have? He only asked for more samples, always more samples. More work, time, and coin, with little to show for it all. If her people only knew the mess she'd made, the dishonorable things she'd done, they would revolt, and who would protect her from them? Her consort? He'd be the first to stick knives in her.
She sighed. How could they turn on her when it was all for their benefit?
She lowered her chin to her chest and rested. No, the work was ultimately for her own benefit, to assuage her own guilt that she was doing everything possible. What a swath of destruction she'd wrought in so many families! In her own family, she'd been a font of lies. So many lies, so many secrets. The Mornae had come to the crater to establish family bloodlines, the bonds of blood again, but she was tearing it all apart, quietly but truly.
Like an ancient priestess summoning a wind of blue fire and devouring an entire tribe.
Just like that.
Casting the Toshtolin consort out from her presence was the right thing to do. What did their ancient heritage matter if they were too stupid to see the truth? How dare that consort demand something of her only a matron should request! Not to mention he'd asked in public. His simple request had ignited a conflagration of gossip. Many in her hall had taken part in that cause. What anger seethed in those houses?
She shifted her head to the right. Saugraen was staring at her with his thoughtful eyes, his perfect jaw clenched.
“What is it, my son?” she asked him. “What troubles you on this perfect day? Perhaps you should visit the Rilanik pleasure houses to smooth out that brow and bring a smile to your handsome face.”
Saugraen looked up to the ceiling and grinned. Ah, he had something better. Did he meet her in a storefront in Velkamas? Or was it in the Rilanik, behind enchanted walls and secret portals? Her spies would find out soon enough. Her heart fluttered a moment, hopeful that he'd made a significant liaison, but that liaison had to be made with great care. Hosmyr's future teetered on the edge of its outcome.
“I thought you rather harsh with that tender, matron mother,” he said. “Is that how my dear sister should treat with those that made Hosmyr what it is?”
He held up a small glass of sweet liquor, made by one of Ilor'Hosmyr's vassals with pears from the most ancient orchards. Damn Toshtolin! Had they simply done what she wanted, what she'd conspired, it would all be different now.
Gishna wanted to sit up, and in the past, she might have, waving a crooked finger at him and even threatening to take his head for speaking so forwardly. The cushions held her captive. Spittle built up on her lips. What did he know? She exhaled through her nose, and it came out like a snort, louder than she intended.
“Was the additional threat also necessary?” he asked. “Doesn't he have enough burden to bear?”
“Threat?” she snapped. “Do you spy on your own house?”
She didn't ask if he spied on behalf of his secret Vakayne lover. Was he already bound to that girl? Working on behalf of a rival within her own citadel? She coughed. No, no! She had to guide and nurture that alliance.
“Our matron mother does what is best for our house. As will I, some day,” Julissa said. She fixed her gaze on her brother; brother in name only, by pronouncement of the high matron, the Son of Hosmyr.
He was too much like his real ancestors, that self-righteous spirit that kept them so powerful for twelve thousand years. It irked Gishna because he was right, but she had a bigger scheme than adhering to the respect and values of the past. She was saving her house from certain annihilation, and she would keep doing it if only to satisfy the urgent need housed in her bones. House above all, her bones seemed to scream with every ache. So much kept buried it ate at her. She wafted her fingers gently, taking from them all the life force which could keep her inching away from death. Let them share her burden. A dribble of drool welled at the side of her mouth.
Saugraen squinted at her. There was no love in him for her. His eyes pierced her with judgment. He still had his part to play. She didn't need his love.
Did he think she took pleasure in crushing the Toshtolin consort? He who was a good seed on that third tree left of the scriptorium's door. She slammed her skeletal fist on the armrest, sending a sharp ache rattling through her body. All must play their part!
