… The child sat outside the door to her mother’s bedchamber. The little girl was alone; she’d been alone for the last three days and she was growing more and more frightened. Paithan’d been sent away to stay with relatives.
“The boy is too rambunctious,” Aleatha had heard someone say. “The house must be kept quiet.” And so Paithan had gone.
Now there was no one for her to talk to, no one to pay any attention to her. She wanted her mother—the beautiful mother, who played with her and sang to her—but they wouldn’t let her go inside her mother’s room. Strange people filled the house—healers with their baskets of funny-smelling plants, astrologers who stood staring out the windows into the sky. The house was quiet, so dreadfully quiet. The servants wept while they worked, wiping their eyes on the tips of their aprons. One of them, seeing Aleatha sitting in the hallway, said that someone should really be doing something about the child, but no one ever did.
Whenever the door to her mother’s room opened, Aleatha jumped to her feet and hied to go inside, but whoever was coming out—generally a healer or his assistant—would shoo the girl back.
“But I want to see Mama!”
“Your mama is very sick. She must stay quiet. You don’t want to worry her, do you?”
“I wouldn’t worry her.” Aleatha knew she wouldn’t. She could be quiet. She’d been quiet for three days. Her mother must miss her terribly. Who was combing out Mama’s lovely flaxen hair? That was Aleatha’s special task, one she performed every morning. She was careful not to tug on the tangles, but unraveled them gently, using the tortoiseshell comb with the ivory rosebuds that had been Mama’s wedding present.
But the door remained shut and always locked. Try as she might, Aleatha couldn’t get inside.
And then one darktime the door opened, and it didn’t shut again. Aleatha knew, now, she could go inside but now she was afraid.
“Papa?” She questioned the man standing in the door, not recognizing him. Lenthan didn’t look at her. He wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes were dull, his cheeks sagged, his step faltered. Suddenly, with a violent sob, he crumpled to the floor, and lay still and unmoving. Healers, hurrying out the door, lifted him in their arms and carried him down the hall to his own bedchamber.
Aleatha pressed back against the wall.
“Mama!” she whimpered. “I want Mama!”
Callie stepped out into the hall. She was the first to notice the child.
“Mama’s gone, Thea,” Calandra said. She was pale, but composed. Her eyes were dry. “We’re alone… .”
Alone. Alone. No, not again. Not ever.
Aleatha glanced frantically around the empty room in which she was standing, hurried back into the dining room, but no one was there.
“Paithan!” she cried, running up the stairs. “Calandra!” Light from her sister’s study streamed out beneath the door.
Aleatha made a dart for it. The door opened, and Paithan stepped out. His usually cheerful face was grim. Seeing Aleatha, he smiled ruefully.
“I … I was looking for you, Pait.” Aleatha felt calmer. She put her chilly hands to her burning cheeks to cool them, bring back the becoming pallor. “Bad time?”
“Yeah, pretty bad.” Paithan smiled wanly. “Come take a walk with me. Through the garden.”
“Sorry, Thea. I’ve got to pack. Cal’s sending me off tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Aleatha frowned, displeased. “But, you can’t!
Lord Dumdrun’s coming to talk to Papa and then there’ll be the engagement parties and you simply have to be here—”
“Can’t be helped, Thea.” Paithan leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Business’s business, you know.” He started off down the hall, heading for his room. “Oh,” he added, turning back.
“A word to the wise. Don’t go in there now.” He nodded his head in the direction of Calandra’s study.
Aleatha withdrew her hand slowly from the door handle. Hidden beneath the silky folds of her gown, the fingers clenched.
“Sweet sombertime, Thea,” said Paithan. He entered his room and shut the door. An explosion, coming from the back of the house, set the windows rattling. Aleatha looked out, saw her father and the old man in the garden, gleefully setting off rockets. She could Hear, from behind the closed door of her sister’s study, the rustle of Cal’s skirts, the tap, tap of her high-heeled, tight-laced shoes. Her sister was pacing. A bad sign. No, as Paithan said, it would not do to interrupt Calandra’s thoughts.
Moving over to the window, Aleatha saw the human slave, lounging at his post near the carriage house, enjoying the rocket bursts. As she watched, she saw him stretch his arms above his head, yawning. Muscles rippled across his bare back. He began to whistle, a barbaric habit among humans. No one would use the carriage this late into shadow hour. He was due to go off-duty soon, when the storm began.
Aleatha hurried down the hali to her own room. Stepping inside, she glanced into her mirror, smoothing and arranging the luxuriant hair. Catching up a shawl, she draped it over her shoulders and, smiling once again, lightly glided down the stairs.
Paithan started on his journey early the following mistymorne. He was setting off alone, planning to join up with the baggage train on the outskirts of Equilan. Calandra was up to see him away. Arms folded tightly across her chest, she regarded him with a stern, cold, and forbidding air. Her humor had not improved during the night. The two were alone. If Aleatha was ever up at this time of day, it was only because she hadn’t yet been to bed.
“Now, mind, Paithan. Keep on eye on the slaves when you cross the border. You know those beasts will run the moment they get a whiff of their own kind. I expect we’ll lose a few; can’t be helped. But keep our losses to the minimum. Follow the back routes and stay away from civilized lands if possible. They’ll be Jess likely to run if there’s no city within easy reach.”
“Sure, Callie.” Paithan, having made numerous trips to Thillia, knew more about the matter than his sister. She gave him this same speech every time he departed, until it had become a ritual between them. The easygoing elf listened and smiled and nodded, knowing that giving these instructions eased his sister’s mind and made her feel that she retained some control over this end of the business.
“Keep sharp watch on this Roland character. I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust any humans, Cal.”
“At least I knew our other dealers were dishonest. I knew how they’d try to cheat us. I don’t know this Roland and his wife. I’d have preferred doing business with our regular customers but these two came in with the highest bid. Make certain you get the cash before you turn over one single blade, Fait, and check to see that the money’s real and not counterfeit.”
“Yes, Cal.” Paithan relaxed, and leaned on a fence post. This would go on for some time. He could have told his sister that most humans were honest to the point of imbecility, but he knew she’d never believe him.
“Convert the cash into raw materials as soon as you can. You’ve got the list of what we need, don’t lose it. And make certain the bladewood is good quality, not like that stuff Quintin brought in. We had to throw three-fifths of it out.”
“Have I ever brought you a bad shipment, Cal?” Paithan smiled at his sister.
“No. Just don’t start,” Calandra felt imaginary strands of hair coming loose from their tight coil. She smoothed them back into place, giving the hair pins a vicious jab. “Everything’s going wrong these days. It’s bad enough that I have Father on my hands, now I’ve got some insane old human, too! To say nothing of Aleatha and this travesty of a wedding—”
Paithan reached out, put his hands on his older sister’s bony shoulders. “Let Thea do what she wants, Cal. Durndrun’s a nice enough chap. At least he’s not after her for her money—”