“You see, Kharl,” Hagen went on, “there is a price to wealth and position. There is always a price. Those who do not attain either seldom see that price, and at times, the price is deferred, often for generations, but when it is deferred the cost falls upon the descendants manyfold.”
Kharl couldn’t help but wonder if Lord West of Nordla and his sons had ever paid such a price, or if it had been deferred in the manner Hagen suggested.
Adelya hurried up as Kharl and Hagen stepped onto the front porch. “Ser Kharl … ser Kharl …” Abruptly, she stopped and bowed. “Lord-chancellor … I’d not be meaning …”
“Whatever we have will be fine,” Kharl said to Adelya. “I didn’t know that Lord Hagen was coming, and he didn’t know before yesterday. That didn’t give him time to send a messenger.”
“Whatever you cook will be far better than we ate on board ship.”
Adelya did not look mollified, not completely.
“I’ll come back-with notice-for one of your finest meals,” Hagen offered with a smile. “Then you will have time to offer your best.”
Adelya bowed again. “Your lordship is most kind.”
“Please don’t blame Lord Kharl. He did not know I was coming.”
Kharl could hear the words under her breath as Adelya backed away, “But he’s a mage ….” He resisted replying.
Hagen laughed softly. “You see. There is a price for being a mage, too. People come to expect the impossible.”
“She isn’t happy that I like working with my hands.”
“People aren’t ever happy when you don’t meet their expectations.” Hagen’s voice was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive. “How do you find Cantyl?”
Kharl gestured toward the bay. “It’s more than I ever expected. I’m still learning about the lands, and I haven’t been through all the timberlands and the southern hills yet.”
“If you do, you’ll have seen more of them than any of the lords who’ve held Cantyl in generations,” Hagen said dryly.
“How can a man not know his lands?” asked Kharl.
“That’s a good question. It’s also why at least some of them didn’t keep them.”
“Let me show you the house and the nearer outbuildings,” offered Kharl.
“If you would …”
Kharl began the informal tour by showing Hagen the first-floor study with the wide window overlooking the bay, directly below the master suite, which had an even grander view, and took him through the entire two-story stone structure. By the time they had walked through the house, toured the barns, viewed the vineyards, and returned to the house, the midday meal was waiting.
Adelya hovered in the archway as the two seated themselves.
“This looks to be a feast, not a midday meal!” Hagen exclaimed, taking in the platters that Adelya set between them, with cutlets, fowl breasts, cheese lace potatoes, honeyed pearapples, and rye and dark bread with the honey-butter that was Adelya’s pride. There were two goblets, with a pitcher of Cantyl’s full red wine set on one side of the table.
“It’s little enough, ser.”
“It’s a great deal, Adelya,” Kharl said firmly, “and we both appreciate it. Thank you.”
“I am hungry,” Hagen admitted as he began to serve himself, “and we won’t have anything near this good on the return voyage to Valmurl.”
“How long will that take?”
“We’ll be using both the engines and sails. If the winds hold, we might reach the harbor by midnight.”
Kharl filled both goblets, then lifted one. “To you, for all of this …”
Hagen flushed as he lifted his goblet. “To you, ser Kharl … for saving Austra.”
“And to friendship …”
Hagen nodded, then took a sip of the wine. “It’s a good solid wine.”
“I like it. Glyan says that the Rhynn is better, but to me, they’re both good.” Kharl broke off a chunk of the dark bread and passed the basket to the other. “Do you know how Tarkyn, Furwyl, and Rhylla are doing?”
“The Seastag is on its way to Land’s End on Recluce. Only want to port there in spring and summer. I heard that there was some black wool to be had there. Doesn’t come on the market often. A good weaver can make cloth for a lord from it.”
At the reference to weavers, Kharl couldn’t help thinking about Jeka, wondering how she was doing with Gharan-hoping that she had been able to stay with his former neighbor. He just wished he’d been able to do more for Jeka. She’d certainly saved his life and befriended him at a time when no one else would lift a hand. Beneath the hard surface …
“Kharl?”
“I’m sorry. I was … thinking. Was everyone all right when they cast off from Valmurl?”
“Furwyl left a report for me, and everything was fine. He did say that he needed to look for another carpenter. Tarkyn was complaining that there was too much work for any one carpenter.” Hagen shook his head. “No one will ever be as good a ship’s carpenter as you were, not for Tarkyn.”
“Nothing is ever as good as it was,” Kharl said dryly. “Even when it wasn’t that good.”
“You are almost as cynical as I am, ser mage.” Hagen took another sip of wine. “That’s saying a great deal.”
Kharl feared he would need that cynicism when he reached Valmurl.
II
Thrap!
“Ser Kharl? Ser Kharl?”
Kharl struggled out of sleep. Where was he? How early was it?
“Ser Kharl?” The feminine voice was unfamiliar.
He squinted in the light pouring into the unfamiliar bedchamber, before everything came back. He was in the north wing of Lord Ghrant’s Great House. For just himself, he had not only a large bedchamber, but a sitting room with a desk, as well as a lavishly equipped bath chamber.
“Ser?”
“Coming …” Kharl pulled himself out of the triple-width bed and yanked on his traveling trousers, shambling through the sitting room to the door, aware of the old but thick carpet beneath his bare feet.
“Your breakfast, sir.”
Kharl concentrated, hard as it was, with his order-senses, but so far as he could tell, the young woman stood alone outside his door. He eased the lock plate back. A dark-haired young woman, barely out of girlhood, stood there holding an enormous tray.
“If you’d let me bring it in, ser. If you would, ser.”
Kharl watched as she eased through the doorway and set the tray on the table desk. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, ser.” The girl bowed and slipped away.
After locking the door again, Kharl crossed the sitting room. He looked at the tray, taking in the slices of ham, the egg toast, fillets of some sort of fish, a basket of black bread, a pot of jam, and the twin pitchers, one of pale ale, and the other of cider, with an empty beaker. He hadn’t expected a breakfast to be delivered, but he couldn’t say he was displeased, not as late as he had arrived in Valmurl the night before.
The winds had not been as favorable as Hagen had hoped, and the Seafox had not reached Valmurl until a good two glasses past midnight, even pushing the engines. A coach had been waiting, though, to take them to the Great House. For all that, or because of it, he had not slept that well, fretting as he had about the upcoming audience. Then, just when he had drifted off, or so it had seemed, the young woman had knocked on his door, carrying a tray with his breakfast.
A faint smile crossed his lips. A former cooper, being served by the servants of the Lord of Austra-that was something that Charee would never have believed. The pain he felt when he thought of his dead consort was not so much grief as a deep sadness over something that had never been quite right for years-and for the fact that she had been killed because Egen had wanted to punish Kharl. Her death had led to his losing both boys. Charee’s sister Merayni had claimed the younger Warrl just before Kharl had been forced into hiding. Arthal, bitter at his mother’s death, had signed on to the Fleuryl as a carpenter’s apprentice without even telling Kharl until the morning he had left.