No man but a knight or soldier of the dark army wore weapons openly in Haven.
Usha’s heart thumped hard in her chest. She turned to slip back into the house then stopped when she saw a young woman walking beside the knight, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. The girl laughed at something he said, a pleasant trill. His own laughter followed close upon it, a short, sharp bark. Shuddering, Usha knew the knight must be one of Sir Radulf’s men. Yet the girl, fresh and sweet as one of the tiny white roses she wore in her raven hair, seemed perfectly comfortable on his arm. Lorelia walked a little behind the two, head low and talking to a well-dressed man in his handsome middle years. His boots had the look of well cared for leather, his breeches were of wool and slate colored; his shirt of white broadcloth, open at the throat and wide sleeved. In his ear a diamond stud glittered. Dark haired, as the pretty young woman, he had more the look of Lorelia’s kin about him—straight-backed, long-jawed, and purposeful.
These were Lorelia’s guests.
Lorelia looked up in response to something her companion said, let go his arm and hurried to Usha. “My dear! There you are.”
The knight’s sharp glance fell on Usha, and he cocked his head, curious. His companion stopped. Unless he wanted to break her hold on his arm, he could go no farther without her. Usha smiled, recognizing the young woman’s move. If he was a courteous knight, a girl’s escort must stand if she did. And stand she did, for the girl with the rosebuds in her hair did not see a woman twice her age or more. She saw Usha, Irda-raised and surpassingly lovely, who looked no more than a young woman herself. The girl had no mind to let her knight come closer till she knew whether Usha was a threat to his attention.
Lorelia made introductions. “This is Mistress Usha Majere of Solace. You have heard of her, of course. She is a well-known portraitist, and she is painting my Thelan and Kalend. It’s very exciting and fortunate to have her. The first in the city to engage her service, I’ll have you know.
“My dear,” she said, putting her hand on Usha’s arm and drawing her closer to the others. “Here is my cousin, Loren Halgard.” The man she’d been walking with inclined his head in a small bow. “And his daughter, Tamara,” whose eyes grew distant, as though she were bored, “and this is Sir Radulf Eigerson.”
Usha made herself smile as the knight bowed over her hand with grave civility.
“Mistress Gance speaks highly of you, madam, though in Neraka, where I was lately stationed, we have not heard much about you. I look forward to learning more.” His blue eyes were sharp and cool. The hair rose on the back of Usha’s neck. “I do know of your husband, Lord Palin, however. But I did not hear that the head of the Order of White Robes is in Haven.”
The Order of White Robes no longer existed, as the knight well knew. Magic barely existed. Usha understood the barb and would not acknowledge it. Head high, her own look as cool as the knight’s, she said, “That’s because he is not in Haven, sir.”
“And not likely to make a sudden appearance to deprive my city of his wife’s charm and talent?”
Loren Halgard, till then silent, stood a little straighter, as though to raise objection to Sir Radulf’s characterization of Haven as his city. The line of his jaw, rather like the stubborn jaws of his two nephews, hardened. However, he said nothing, nor did Lorelia. It seemed Tamara, her eyes on the knight, couldn’t have cared at all.
Usha shrugged carelessly. “If it were likely, sir, Palin would have been here by now, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But we are, and you needn’t worry. Unfortunately, the state of my husband’s magic, gods-given or wild, is no better than that of any mage you might yourself employ.”
Voices on the path from the house warned that servants were coming. The scents of wine and fruit and cold meats hung to entice. Fluttering, Lorelia slipped between Usha and Sir Radulf. The knight bowed again and followed Lorelia as she ushered her guests toward the tables. Looking down her pretty nose, Tamara Halgard followed the knight. Usha shook her head, amused.
“Well,” said Loren Halgard, “they are a handful at that age, aren’t they?”
Usha nodded. “Indeed, they are. Though ‘a handful’ wasn’t often the way I described my own daughter. When she was your daughter’s age Linsha was ... something more than a handful.”
Startled, Loren said, “Your daughter? Surely not? Why Lord Palin is a man of—” He stopped, tried to back carefully out of enumerating Palin’s many years.
“Lord Palin is my age,” Usha said, laughing at his confusion. “We are strange people, we Majeres.” She raised a brow. “Some of us stranger than others.”
Loren had the good grace to smile, then to offer his arm. “May I escort you to dinner, Mistress Usha?”
Between one word and the other of that invitation Usha thought she heard him begin to say “Mistress Majere.” If he recovered, he recovered well. She did not take his arm, but she accepted his offer. Watching Tamara and the knight, she said, “Your daughter is lovely, sir.”
Loren nodded. “Lovely, indeed. The image of her mother.”
“She must have been very beautiful,” Usha said.
“Yes, and not with us long. My wife died the year after Tamara was born.” He shrugged as though to dismiss old pain. “If it weren’t for Lorelia, I doubt I’d be seen outside my door unless on business. But—” he winked a smile—“my dear, she’s very good to Tamara, and she yanks me out the door from time to time, too.”
Gentle breezes ran through the rose arbor, cooling the afternoon. One could almost imagine this was a summer’s day like any other before the coming of Sir Radulf and his dark knights. Lorelia’s servants attended her guests unobtrusively. The sound of muffled traffic drifted over the garden wall—the clop of horses’ hoofs, the creak of a carriage wheel; once the soft, musical voices of two elves in conversation as they walked by. Usha lifted her head at that, for she had seen very few elves since arriving in Haven. Hardly any of those who had fled the Qualinesti forest with the help of Aline’s Qui’thonas remained so close to their imperiled homeland long enough to do more than find other places to live, often moving east to Solace or beyond. As she looked up, so did Sir Radulf, and their eyes met then glanced away.
“He is still considering your husband,” Loren said quietly.
“Do you think so?” Usha refilled their goblets from the bottle at their table. Blond wine the elves called one of their whites. This she poured was not elven, it was not blond, but to the lips of those who had never tasted wine from Qualinesti’s vineyards it must surely be counted good.
“He is wondering if Lord Palin is in Qualinesti,” Loren said, “or if he is somewhere else, soon to appear in Haven. I doubt he’d want that.”
Usha sipped the wine. “I don’t think he has to worry. Palin might be in Qualinesti, or he might be somewhere else. I am not privy to all his motives, and he doesn’t leave an itinerary. But Palin is not in Haven, so Sir Radulf can rest easy about that. His city is safe from my husband. Or anyone else who might challenge him.”
Loren raised an eyebrow. “You sound as though you think someone should.”
She did think so, though she hadn’t said it to anyone before now. Of the two of them, Dez had been the impatient one, restless captive in a captive city. Till now Usha had been spending thought and energy keeping them housed and fed. But now, her eyes on Tamara just then allowing the knight to lift her hand to kiss, Usha said, “The Lord Mayor and the Council don’t seem to put up much resistance. At least in Qualinesti they tried.”