By the time I returned from the dining hall after lunch on Samedi, I was more than ready to leave Imagisle. I’d been looking forward to that afternoon and evening, particularly after the long evening the week before at my parents’ house. I had written them a short note thanking them for their thoughtfulness and kindness, and the wonderful food-which it had been. I doubted that would much appease my mother, who definitely wanted her eldest son married to someone from the “right” background, certainly not another Pharsi girl, and before all that long . . . and never mind the imager business.
Ready as I was to depart Imagisle right after lunch . . . I didn’t. Instead, I sat down and attempted to organize my thoughts on my final essay for Master Jhulian-an analysis of the applicability of the Juristic Code to imagers. Two glasses later I had three pages of notes and an outline-as well as a profound desire to leave Imagisle as soon as possible. Since I had the feeling that I might be meeting Seliora’s parents, I did wear my best uniform and make sure that my boots were well blacked and shining. I had also squeezed in another haircut on Jeudi.
Outside, the day was pleasant, if overcast, with a slight breeze out of the northwest. I did have to wait almost a quarter of a glass before a hacker stopped to pick me up.
“Nordroad and Hagahl Lane, on the east side.”
He nodded, and I stepped up into the cab. The inside was clean, but threadbare.
When I descended onto the pavement close to a half glass later, I found that the building that served Seliora and her family as factory, factorage, and dwelling was far larger and more impressive in the daylight than in the lamplit gloom of late evening. The walls rose three stories, and the yellow brick was trimmed with gray granite cornerstones. Even the wood of the loading docks at the south end was stained with a brown oil and well kept, and the loading yard itself was stone-paved. The entrance on the side street to the north was the private family entrance, and it had a square and pillared covered porch that shielded a stone archway.
The hacker looked at me, and my grays, then at the stone entryway, but he said nothing. I gave him two coppers extra, then made my way up the steps. In the middle of the wide eight-panel door was an ancient and ornate brass knocker. Both the knocker and the plate had seen much wear, but both were brightly polished. I gave the knocker one hefty blow, then prepared to wait, but the door opened immediately.
Odelia stood there in the modest foyer, dressed in a pale green dress and darker green shawl that set off her coloring well. “Do come in, Master Rhennthyl.” She grinned at me.
“Thank you, Odelia, but I won’t be a master for some time.”
The only exit to the foyer was the polished oak staircase behind Odelia, and she turned and gestured toward it. “Everyone’s waiting upstairs.”
“Then I’ll let you lead me.” I added, “Who’s everyone?”
“Besides Seliora? Uncle Shelim and Aunt Betara, of course, and there’s Hanahra and Hestya-they’re the twins, my sisters-and Methyr, Seliora’s younger brother. Bhenyt’s off somewhere. Then, there’s my mother. You’ll recognize her.”
“She’s Aegina?”
Odelia nodded, adding, “And there’s Shomyr. He’s Seliora’s older brother, and he very much wants to meet you.”
I found myself squaring my shoulders as I followed Odelia up the steps.
The staircase, ample as it was, with its carved balustrades and shimmering brass fixtures, opened at the top into a large foyer or entry hall, a space a good eight yards wide and ten deep. The walls were paneled in light golden oak, and the floor was an intricate parquet, mostly covered with a lush carpet of deep maroon, with a border of intertwined golden chains and brilliant green leafy vines. Set around the foyer were various chairs and settees of dark wood, upholstered in various fabric designs. At the far end was a pianoforte.
The group standing in a rough circle at the edge of the carpet, beside a long settee, all turned as Odelia announced, “Rhennthyl D’Imagisle.”
I had barely picked out Seliora, in a crimson dress with a black jacket, when a broad-shouldered, black-bearded young man a half head shorter than I was stepped forward. “I’m Shomyr. I’m Seliora’s brother, and she’s said so little about you that I wanted to meet you.”
Said so little?
“Now, now, Shomyr, you’ll have confused him totally.” A dark-haired and wiry woman in green silk trousers and a matching jacket, who could easily have been Seliora’s older sister, moved toward us. “The less my daughter says to us, generally the more she’s interested, and the less we know.” Her smile was identical to Seliora’s.
I inclined my head. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Madame D’Shelim.”
“Betara, please. Please. We’re not that formal here.”
They could have fooled me, given the furnishings in that grand upper entrance hall.
Seliora eased forward and around the others. She took my arm gently, as if to suggest a certain restrained possessiveness. “Rhenn is very talented. He’s an outstanding portraiturist as well as an imager, and his family owns Alusine Wool.”
“Ah . . . you’re Chenkyr’s boy, then?” asked Shelim.
“He’s my father. My brother Rousel runs the factorage in Kherseilles.” Even as I explained, I wondered how Seliora had known. I’d never said more than my father was a wool factor, and there were more than a few in L’Excelsis, and even more throughout Solidar.
“How did you get to be an imager?” The question came from the single boy in the group, standing beside the red-haired twins, who looked to be two or three years younger than Khethila.
“Methyr,” someone murmured.
“When I discovered I could image, I walked across the Bridge of Hopes and told the imagers. They tested me and decided I was an imager.”
“It couldn’t have been that simple,” suggested Shomyr.
I managed a short laugh. “It was just that simple. Everything that came after that wasn’t at all that easy. They didn’t let me leave Imagisle for over a month.”
“Are there are any girls?” asked one of the twins.
“Some. One of the maitres I’ve been studying with is a woman, and there are others.”
“Can imagers marry?” That was Odelia, and the question was delivered with a grin.
I could feel Seliora stiffen just slightly, and I had a definite sense that the question hadn’t pleased her. “They can. That’s if anyone wants to marry them.”
That brought smiles to several faces, including to the face of the older and taller redheaded woman who had to be Odelia’s mother.
“Generally, they usually live on Imagisle after they’re married,” I added.
“What exactly do imagers do?” pressed Shomyr.
“Whatever our duties are.” I paused for a moment. “I’ve worked at certain things, but right now I’m being trained for a position at the Council Chateau.”
“With the Council?” asked Shelim.
“I haven’t been given all the details, but young as I am, I suspect it’s far more like working for them.” I tried to keep my tone wry.
“Do imagers make lots of coins?” asked Methyr.
“More than journeymen, and a great deal less than your father makes.”
At that, Betara nodded slightly, and there was a quick set of glances between Seliora’s parents. Before anyone else could ask another question, Betara spoke up. “Rhenn came here to take Seliora to dinner, not to see all of us. I think we’d best let them go.”
Seliora gave her mother a quick glance that I wasn’t about to try to decipher, then turned. Since she was still holding my arm, we turned and moved toward the steps, and then down them.
More surprising, there was a hack waiting outside, and a youngster standing on the steps. He grinned at Seliora.
“Thank you, Bhenyt,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he replied, nodding to us both.