"I've already gotten a bath ready for you, Mistress Emriana. Get started while I prepare your outfit for the tea. When we're finished, you are to go straight down to breakfast. Your grandmother wishes to speak with you before you depart for House Pharaboldi."
"Aren't you coming with us?" Emriana asked, already stumbling toward her private bath, stripping off her chemise as she did so and leaving it in a pile on the tiled floor.
Jaleene sighed as she followed the girl, picking up the garment.
"No," she replied, and the strain in her voice made Emriana pause and turn back. "I must have an extended conversation with Master Dregaul today," she explained. "My duties at the house, indeed my very future, are being called into question. I've already been warned that your presentation and timely appearance at breakfast this morning will be used to gauge my usefulness to the household."
Emriana's eyes bulged at the notion that her own personal attendant, who had been taking care of her since before she could remember, might be let go.
"Jaleene, no!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "He can't blame you for last night. You didn't even know."
"It's my responsibility to know," the other woman replied softly, the look in her eyes pained.
Emriana felt the weight of guilt press down upon her, but she shook it off.
It's not right, she silently fumed. Uncle Dregaul cannot hold her responsible for my actions. I'm not a little girl anymore, and she can't be expected to keep up with me day and night.
"He's not going to do that to you. I won't let him. I'm going to go talk to Grandmother right now," she said, turning to find something to wear.
"Please," Jaleene replied, shaking her head, "just get to your bath and get ready. If you really want to help me, don't anger your uncle any further."
Her words were filled with desperation, and Emriana felt pity and sorrow welling up in her. She wordlessly nodded and headed back toward the bath.
For the rest of the morning, Emriana remained somber and quiet, conversing little with Jaleene. She dutifully got ready for her visit, bathing and dressing without any fuss at all. Once she was finished in her rooms, she gave her handmaiden one quick hug and a meaningful look, then went downstairs to meet with her grandmother.
Hetta Matrell was seated at the head of the same large table where the heated debate had raged the night before. When she saw her granddaughter enter, she dabbed at her napkin and gave Emriana a warm smile, then patted at the place setting next to her. Emriana came to her grandmother and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then sat down. Instantly, one of the serving women came out of the kitchen carrying a platter of eggs, scrambled and mixed with cheese and a sauce made of lemon and wine. The serving woman scooped a spoonful of the eggs onto Emriana's plate while another platter arrived with a baked fish stuffed with sausages and potatoes. Then came a fresh loaf of crusty bread already torn into chunks, and jars of apple butter, fruit compote, and even fresh cream so chilled and thick it literally mounded onto the hunk of bread that Emriana grabbed. A goblet of freshly chilled fruit juice mixed with just a hint of wine was set beside her, and another pair of hands slipped her napkin into her lap.
Once her plate was piled high with food and Emriana began to eat, her grandmother cleared her throat.
"Sweetheart, I want to discuss last night."
The girl stifled a groan around a hearty swig of the spiced juice and avoided rolling her eyes. She knew it was coming, and in many ways, it was worse hearing about it from her grandmother, whom she loved dearly, than from Uncle Dregaul, whom she didn't mind annoying in the least.
"All right," Emriana said at last, trying to put on a happy smile for her grandmother's sake.
"Oh, don't pretend you want to do this," Hetta said, chuckling. "I know you better than that, my dear."
It was true. Hetta had a way about her, an ability to read people and know exactly what they were thinking or planning, and precisely how they were likely to react in any given situation. It was how she and her husband, the first Obiron, had been so successful in business. Even though he had been the spokesperson during their business negotiations, it had been Hetta who had the shrewd business acumen and always advised the right course of action.
"I'm sorry, Grandma, but I'm not a little girl anymore. It's time to let me out of my cage, and Uncle Dregaul just doesn't seem to see that."
"You're absolutely right, Em. You're not a little girl anymore, and it is time you were able to make more of your own decisions. But child, getting caught sneaking out at night is not the way to prove that." It was funny to Emriana how her grandmother could tell her she was all grown up and still call her "child" in the same sentence. Somehow, it didn't sound wrong, either. "If you want Dregaul to respect your opinions and your adulthood, then you must first show him that you are capable of being smart, of making good decisions."
Emriana sighed.
"I know," she said quietly, "but I'm not so sure he has any better an idea of what's best for me than I do. He's always thinking about what's best for the family, and not the family members. I can't be someone I'm not, Grandma."
"Em, do you remember your Aunt Xaphira?"
The girl nodded and said, "A little bit."
"Your Aunt Xaphira was my youngest daughter. She was also the scamp in the family, and she drove everyone, your grandfather most of all, absolutely crazy."
"Why?"
"Because she was just like you. She wouldn't be tied down, wouldn't be sensible, like Obiron or even her older brothers wanted her to be. She had initiative, and ambition, and she went off and joined the Order of the Sapphire Crescent rather than allow the family to dictate what she did with her life."
"I understand," Emriana said. "I'll try to behave better."
"You're not listening to me, child," Hetta said, leaning in close. "Xaphira was, in some ways, the child I was closest to. I saw a lot of myself in her, just as I see a lot of her in you. You share that same spirit. Your future is not a game. I expect larger things from you, you know that."
Emriana actually blushed.
"Thank you, Grandma," she said. "What happened to Aunt Xaphira? No one ever talks about her."
"There was an accident," Hetta said softly, leaning in close to Emriana. "A man was killed, a very powerful man."
"Killed? What happened?"
Hetta sighed, obviously pained by recalling the memories of her revelation.
Her voice even lower, she said, "It's not really my tale to tell, child. Until the person involved is ready, I think it best that you keep this to yourself. But my point is, the blame on our family would have been a terrible tragedy that would have affected the whole household. Your aunt sacrificed herself to make sure that didn't come to pass. She did something selfless so that House Matrell would remain unscathed.
"Do not ever mention this again, though. It's a tale that must never come to light in front of the wrong people, for it could still cause problems, even today. Keep it to yourself, and eventually, you'll hear the whole of it."
Emriana nodded, the sense of conspiracy genuinely frightening her. She was beginning to think that growing up wasn't just about getting to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Turning sixteen suddenly didn't seem quite as perfect and carefree as she'd once thought.
CHAPTER FOUR
Grozier Talricci did not look pleased when Bartimus arrived in his employer's study. Two others were there, each of them looking equally grim. Junce Roundface was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, a goblet of something chilled in his hand, his feet sprawled out in front of him, the heel of one boot resting atop the toe of the other. The Grozier's spy was staring down into the goblet in front of him, tracing his fingers through the beads of condensation forming on its outer surface.