Beside her, Mirolyn looked at the rest of the group gathered at the table and shrugged. Despite her lost sight, Nimra still seemed sharp in conversations, and if the elderly woman could shed some light on the mysterious assassin who had been plaguing the family, it would be a great boon. Marga knew she wasn't the only one who realized that. Everyone at the table was watching the woman with intent expressions, too. When Nimra shrugged and said nothing further, everyone resumed eating.
Marga continued to watch Nimra for a moment longer. She felt sorry for the old woman, for she could imagine all too keenly the pain of losing a child. Thinking of trying to cope with the deaths of Obiron and Quindy made a lump form in the woman's throat. She tried to banish such notions, but it was difficult.
"I do hope Vambran is well," Ladara commented, breaking the silence. "It's all so terribly unfortunate that they were ordered away while this unpleasant business of war is still unresolved. And so soon after-" the woman paused, suddenly aware of what she was about to say. She sniffed once, her lip trembling, her eyes rimming red with the beginnings of tears. "I'm sorry," Ladara said, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin while another silent pall settled over the table. "I still miss them so much, whatever their faults."
"It's all right to speak of it," Hetta said, trying to smile disarmingly at her whole family. "We can't pretend they're still here. We must accept it and move on."
There was a moment or two longer of uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Hetta turned back to Emriana and asked, "Have you spoken to Vambran since he left? Any mention of how he and Kovrim are doing?"
Emriana shook her head, fingering the opal pendant that hung around her neck. "I thought about it, but I know he's busy, and I haven't wanted to disturb him. I might contact him this afternoon."
Hetta sniffed. "Well, if I know Kovrim, he's likely as not leaning over the railing of that ship right now." Then, in a more serious tone, the elder matriarch added, "Waukeen, keep them safe. Cimbar is no place to spend the summer, and this summer is liable to be particularly unsettling, if Grozier gets his war."
Marga started at the mention of her brother, but she didn't say anything. She hoped no one noticed her reaction, and she very carefully scanned the room to see. No one was even looking at her.
"And you know that's exactly why Lavant sent them there," Emriana said sullenly. "To get them out of the temple so he could do whatever he does."
That uncomfortable silence threatened to return, but Hetta clicked her tongue. "Enough of this morbid talk. Whatever Grozier is cooking up, it isn't happening right here, away from Arrabar. Or even in Arrabar, for that matter. Sammardach is in two nights. I intend to make certain House Matrell celebrates suitably when we return."
At mention of the impending holy day, almost everyone's face brightened.
"Oh, are we going to attend the ball at the Generon this year?" Emriana asked excitedly, sitting forward in her chair. "I want to see the fountain of dancing coins again!"
"Well, certainly we are," Hetta replied. "And we must discuss what you'll be wearing, child."
As the conversation turned to thoughts of festivals and clothing, Marga excused herself and stood up from the table. She noted that only Xaphira was not eagerly joining in the conversation, and she could guess why. The mercenary's last visit to the palace about twelve years before had not been a pleasant one.
The discussion of subterfuge and impending war, the threats to family, all of those were making Marga struggle to breathe. She felt stifled, as though the warm, humid air were crushing her. She had to get out of there.
Slipping away, she practically ran to her chambers and shut the door behind her. Stumbling across the room, she stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked a portion of the garden where her children normally played. She could see the two figures in the morning sun, huddled together around something obscured from her view. She choked on a sob, watching them.
"Hello, Marga," came a voice from the shadows, back inside the room.
Marga didn't turn around, though her back stiffened at the sound of her brother's words. "What are you doing here?" she asked tiredly. "Someone will spot you."
"Not unless you tell them I'm here," Grozier replied coldly, the warning in his tone more than a hint. "I came to see how my favorite sister was faring," he added more cheerfully.
"Stop it," the woman said, still not facing Grozier. "What do you want?" she demanded.
"Fine," her brother answered. "What news?"
Marga sighed, hating herself for what he was making her do. "We're returning to the city tomorrow night."
Grozier grunted. "That's not news. Tell me something I can use."
"There's nothing more to tell," she answered harshly. "Emriana and Xaphira ran into some beasts in the woods this morning while out riding. Everyone is worried about Vambran and Kovrim. What more do you want?" She felt tears welling in her eyes, tears of anger and shame.
"Stop being difficult," Grozier snapped. "I don't have to remind you-"
"You don't," Marga agreed, cutting him off before he could say the words. "I know what's at stake. I'm helping you, not causing you any trouble. So don't hurt them. Please." The woman still stared down at the two creatures playing in the garden below, her heart aching in terror and sorrow.
"Then just keep feeding me the information, and we'll be the happier for it," Grozier replied. "I do all this for them, too, you realize."
"You do this for yourself and no one else!" Marga cried, turning at last to face her brother. Grozier stood beside the doorway leading back into her chambers. Behind him, Bartimus also stood, with that perpetual foolish grin on his face. Marga had hated the wizard since she had been a child. More than once she had caught him prying into her belongings or simply staring at her. She had no doubt that he had often used magical means to watch her undressing or in her bath-his glances were always too knowing.
"I won't dare refuse you," she said to her brother, ignoring the spectacled wizard behind him, "if it means keeping my children safe, but don't pretend you have their best interests at heart! I can't stomach the lies on top of the threats!"
Grozier didn't say anything. He grinned at Marga, a look that had infuriated her all of her life. Finally, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "Straight and to the point. Now, what else do you have to tell me?"
Marga bit her lip, wishing there were a way to avoid giving the man every bit of news. But there was too much risk that he would find out some other way, and if he realized she had been holding out on him-she didn't want to even consider it.
"Come on, I can see you know something. Tell me." Grozier took his sister by the shoulders and squared her to him, making her look him in the eyes.
Marga's stare was baleful. She hated him for what he was making her do.
"Xaphira seems to know someone who can help her find Junce Roundface," she admitted. "She's returning to the city again tonight to meet with her old friend."
"Oh, really?" Grozier said, letting go of Marga's shoulders and rubbing his chin with one hand. "That's not good." Then he got a wicked look in his eyes. "Or maybe it is," he added, smiling. "She might not be returning this evening, Marga, dear." The man turned to go, and Bartimus stood straighter, reaching for something inside his robes with which to create one of his infernal magical doorways.
"Waukeen, Grozier," Marga said, her voice breaking with humiliation and frustration. "Is there nothing you won't do to get your way?"
Grozier turned and looked back at the woman as Bartimus channeled his arcane energy into a shimmering blue portal in the middle of Marga's room. The wizard stepped through, but Grozier glared at his sister for a moment. "I'll see you in a few days. Be certain you have something interesting to tell me." Then he, too, passed through the doorway. It silently vanished a moment later.