"My mistress sends me to tell you that she is a woman of substance, and she is prepared to make her admiration clear in material ways," he continued, apparently unaware of her scrutiny. "To make myself completely clear, she has heard of your current rash of troubles, and she would like to make you a loan sufficient to cover your current needs. This loan would be payable in installments, so as to keep the repayment from being too onerous."
Xylina could not keep her amazement from showing, and the slave did not-quite-smile.
"You need not fear that my mistress is either a madwoman, or a lady who is likely to change her mind from one moment to the next," he said smoothly. "She simply recalls her younger days, when she encountered tribulations, and she wishes to help those deserving of help so that they need not fear the future. Would you care to meet with her?"
"Why-of course," she replied, trying not to stammer. "When would the lady wish to see me, and where?"
"This afternoon, if it pleases you," the slave said. "And in the lady's own home. I shall come to take you there, if you find that convenient."
A thousand possibilities ran through her mind-and one of them was the notion that this might be a trap by her unknown enemy. Faro was in no condition to go with her, and who knew where this odd manservant might take her?
On the other hand, what choice did she have?
"I shall be happy to meet with your mistress at that time," she said, hoping her hesitation didn't show. "And please convey to her my heartfelt thanks."
• Chapter 7
Hypolyta Dianthre was nothing like the woman Xylina had imagined. She had expected someone like Lycia and most of the other Mazonites of her acquaintance: a tough old warrior, who could still pick up a blade and trounce men (and women too, for that matter) half her age. Such a woman would be broad-shouldered, tall, and muscular, with the physique of any true veteran. Perhaps she would bear the scars of many combats; she might even still wear the leather of a Guard.
Xylina had also expected a house something like Lycia's home, perhaps a little larger. The comfortable but not extravagant dwelling of a Mazonite who had done well in her life, a place with a room or two for guests, and perhaps a half dozen slaves to serve her.
Such a woman, in such a house, would fit the description of the friends of Elibet, Xylina's mother. That would be where Xylina could expect to find her support. And such a woman might well, with care and prudence, have amassed enough wealth to be able to afford to loan it to so odd a debtor as Xylina. Such a woman would not have felt the need to squander her savings on ostentation or luxury, and would feel well able to spare it.
Instead, she was conducted to a part of the city that she had never seen before. She had thought that her region was quiet, but here the walls were so high and the gates so thick that the quarter might have been completely deserted. The distance between gates was somewhat intimidating, too. Were the homes behind them as huge as this implied? Just exactly who and what was Hypolyta, and how had she made the fortune a villa like this must cost?
Several times she was certain that her would-be patroness could not possibly live in this quarter, that the manservant was only taking her through this section on the way to somewhere much more modest. But then he came to a halt before one of those gates, and opened it to display a lovely "wilderness garden" full of birds and the sound of falling water, bisected by a lane that led to an enormous villa. But strangely enough, as she neared it, and could see beyond it, she realized that it was positioned right against the wall around the Freedmen’s Quarter. That seemed very odd, as normally only the poorest Mazonites lived anywhere near the Freedmen's Quarter.
There must be prosperous freedmen, men with villas and servants of their own. Perhaps the section of wall this villa abutted was backed by those islands of prosperity. In such a place, the danger of robbery from renegade men would be nonexistent, as would noise from over the wall. Most of the Freedmen's Quarter was poor, but Xylina had heard of men who had acquired wealth and position and even traded outside Mazonia. Such men were tolerated, provided they kept to their place, because the enormous taxes they paid to the Queen made toleration worthwhile.
The manservant was the only slave she saw as they walked up the heavily tree-shaded lane to the door. There was not even a gardener in sight, although the grounds were wondrously beautiful and it must have taken a small army of slaves to cultivate the impression of controlled wildness.
They entered the front door, which was standing open to let in a gentle breeze, and as Xylina stepped onto the polished marble floor it seemed to her that the villa was echoingly silent. Although it must have taken another small army of slaves to tend this dwelling, there was not a single sight nor sound of them. Either they had been trained to work without a noise, and without being seen, or the place was tended by magic!
Still, it was hardly empty. As she followed her guide past the antechamber (a lovely jewel-box of a room, all marble and glass mirrors), past the large reception chamber (marble-floored and paneled in cream silk, full of comfortable chairs and couches upholstered in matching fabric), down a wide marble hall and into a smaller parlor, she could not help but notice the luxurious furnishings and appointments. There were huge ceramic pots containing generous swaths of colorful dried grasses, enormous fans of exotic feathers, or whole living trees. The lamps were all of delicate porcelain, thin enough for light to shine through. Furniture was uniformly made of gracefully carved pale woods, upholstered and padded in creamy leathers and satins. Windows stood open to gentle breezes, revealing yet more gardens outside. There was room enough and more for a huge extended family, with slaves to tend to every need, yet she saw no one.
It was all very strange.
By now, she was anticipating someone like the hostess of that entertainment that she and Faro had graced. Someone very wealthy, very powerful, and very much aware of both those attributes. She could not imagine how such a woman would have heard of her, much less actually seen her at her woman-trial.
Yet the woman she met matched neither of the images she had created in her mind.
The manservant ushered her into a small parlor, paneled in fine, pale-golden wood, and furnished with comfortable, casual couches covered in soft golden leather and beautiful marble-topped tables. Her hostess awaited her, seated on one of those couches, with a table beside her holding wine and two cups.
The woman greeted Xylina in a soft, almost hesitant voice. She looked like a plump and peace-loving grandmother, not like the kind of woman ruthless enough to have accumulated the wealth it would take to pay for a house like this one. Her short silver-gray hair clustered in tight curls about her head; her round face bore a curiously serene expression. She had a wide brow, round, very blue eyes, and a generous mouth that smiled a greeting to her guest.
Hypolyta wore breeches and a gracefully draped tunic of peacock-blue silk so heavy and lustrous that Xylina could not begin to guess how much it cost. Certainly more than the very expensive clothing she had seen at that party. Her round face was kind, with no scars or any other visible signs that she had ever been a warrior, and her voice was so low and so shy that Xylina had to lean forward to hear her properly. She patted the seat of the couch opposite hers, inviting Xylina to take her place there, and immediately poured the girl a cup of wine with her own hand.
"I greatly admired your performance in the arena, child," Hypolyta said, handing her the cool silver goblet. "It reminded me of my own, in a way-both in the fact that you spared your opponent's life, and in that you used cleverness to offset a situation that seemed doomed from the start. The simple-minded brute I picked as my opponent had no more brains than a day-old chick, poor dear. It was ridiculously easy to befuddle him with simple tricks, then run him until he fell down from exhaustion. My woman-trial was far less of an ordeal than yours, and so I admired you that much more for your accomplishment."