I glanced at his table a time or two, or perhaps ten, and always found him intently engaged in conversation. Each smile he bestowed on one of his companions felt ridiculously like a tiny stab of betrayal. At Docendum Castle, I’d grown used to being the sole recipient of his smiles.
A memory flashed unbidden into my mind: I’d been helping Ronan learn the ancient language of Kemet, a land far in the east, so he could better study their magic. He’d begun calling me EnteAmari during these sessions, the name of one of their long-dead queens.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I asked. I was drawing pictographs on his wax tablet to test him and was cross because this meant I couldn’t sit near the fireplace lest the wax melt. It was a cold, dreary day.
Ronan was stretched out on a chair by the fire, throwing a ball up in the air and catching it. “She was the revered wife of Desher the Great. Why wouldn’t you take that title as a compliment?”
“She was one wife among fifty. We would feel sorry for a woman in those circumstances today. Imagine such faithlessness.”
He shrugged. “She had statues made in her honor, servants, and wealth.”
“I’d rather have a husband who loved me.” I held up the tablet. I’d written a phrase that meant: by the power of the king.
His gaze flicked in my direction. “She for whom the sun rises.”
“Not even close.” I kept the tablet raised.
“That’s what EnteAmari means,” he explained. “She for whom the sun rises.” He smiled at me, one of his warm, familiar smiles. “Some days you’re the only bit of sunshine in this place.”
I’d tucked that compliment inside my heart, taking it out to admire every once in a while, like a woman admiring heirloom jewels.
I’d suffered when Ronan sent me away, yes, but part of that suffering had been knowing that Ronan would sink into the gloom of his sunless world. Apparently, his gloom had not been long-lasting.
A good friend would be happy for that fact. I was not, it turned out, a good friend.
Bernard Godfrey, the merchant’s son, sat near me and occasionally asked me questions, trying to engage me in conversation. He had all the fine manners of the nobility but not their ego, which I counted as a point in his favor. He stammered and blushed when he spoke to me. I could see this vexed his mother. She knew that one in my financial state couldn’t afford to put on airs or spurn a man of means. I wanted to tell him that I especially didn’t merit his nervousness and any number of women seated at the lower tables would be vying for his attention by tomorrow.
When my gaze strayed from our table, it was mostly to check on the number of mages in the room. Recognizing them was easily done. An assortment of pockets marked their voluminous dark robes. The robes had to be voluminous because wizards carried so many objects in their pockets and hanging from their belts. Once, when some important wizard had visited Docendum, Wolfson had worn the skull of some unfortunate bird tied to his waist for two weeks.
I counted eighteen mages here. None of them Wolfson, although more might arrive before the wedding. All of them wore silk and brocade robes which were completely impractical for most of the work a wizard was required to do. I doubted any of them carried tallow candles, vials of oil, or clay pots nestled in their fine pockets.
With the exception of Redboot, who’d inspected our carriage, I couldn’t tell which of the wizards worked for the king and which were here as guests. But the morrow would give me faces for Telarian, Zephyr, Sciatheric, and Warison. The king’s wizards would sit at the high table during the feast.
I wondered what the five would do once they realized they’d lost their magic. Would any of the other wizards take pity on them and research methods to restore their marks? Ronan knew of a way, but even if he’d wanted to give them each a new mark, he wouldn’t have the supplies let alone the energy, at least not in time to save the king’s life. As with most things in life, much more energy was required to create something magical than to destroy it.
After supper, a jester stepped onto the dais to entertain the guests who wished to linger in the dining hall enjoying their wine. I told my companions I craved a bit of fresh air before turning in, and I pushed my chair away from the table. Despite Gwenyth’s prediction about ladies seeking out my company after dinner, Agnes seemed not at all interested in furthering our acquaintance.
Lord Percy, however, reached out and put his hand on mine. “Nay. You must stay. Night air is bad for the lungs. Whereas a jester is good for the spirit.”
I gently pulled my hand away. “I’m frequently outdoors at night. My constitution is used to it.”
Lord Percy turned in his chair, laughing in a way that showed more reproach than humor. “What cause do you have to go out after dark? I say, your servants must be slothful if you’ve need to be outdoors at such hours. I’ve half a mind to come to Paxworth and give them a severe reprimand on your behalf.”
Lady Edith sat straighter, slightly offended. “Our servants are quite attentive.”
My admission to being outside at night had been a mistake and although I doubted Lord Percy was on the search for renegade operatives, I chided myself for my carelessness. “I assure you, my forays aren’t far enough or long enough to merit worry on anyone’s part. I simply like to stargaze at times. The sky is so lovely on a clear night.”
Bernard Godfrey nodded. “I’m also familiar with the constellations. As long as the night is warm, as it is tonight, one needn’t trouble about ill vapors.”
“You see,” I said to Lord Percy, “Master Godfrey is quite healthy. You’ve no cause for concern.”
Bernard Godfrey stood. “I would be happy to accompany you outside.” His words didn’t have the easy cadence of Lord Percy’s banter which made his request seem even more fraught with intent than Lord Percy’s declaration that he would travel to Paxworth to scold my servants. I couldn’t have someone trailing me around, especially tonight.
“No,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “Now that I think on it, I should retire to bed. The journey here was taxing and I didn’t sleep well.”
“A proper idea.” Lady Edith finally came to my aid. “You mustn’t be so drowsy on the morrow that you fall asleep during the wedding ceremony.”
Neither Bernard nor Lord Percy looked pleased to see me leave but couldn’t contradict Lady Edith’s edict. I headed toward the door, reminding myself not to move out of the servants’ way. They’d been trained to move out of mine. Little details like that would reveal my lowborn beginnings.