When they reached Lindrian's bedchamber, she saw that the birds he'd kept there were missing also. The patriarch of the House of Karn himself looked shockingly ill. His wrinkled face was white as wax save for bruise-like discolorations under his clouded, sunken eyes. Even worse, a faint, rotten smell hung in the air, as if his flesh was already decaying from the inside.
At least he was awake and alert. Propped against a mound of pillows, he gave Shamur a sardonic smile and said, "You came. I wasn't certain you'd bother."
Shamur felt a twinge of guilt, for in truth, she hadn't often called at Argent Hall in recent years, even after Lin-drian had fallen ill. It was strange, really. Nearly three decades before, she'd loved her kin enough to forfeit any chance of happiness on their behalf, yet once she'd made the sacrifice, she'd gradually lost any enthusiasm for their society.
"Of course I came," she said. "What happened to your birds?"
"I had to have them removed so I could rest," Lindrian said. He coughed convulsively, spattering the front of his nightshirt with tiny drops of blood. "They were making a terrible commotion. They saw Death's hand reaching out for me, I imagine."
"Death needn't take you yet," Shamur said. "Not if we send for a priest versed in the healing arts."
"I'm terrified you're right," Lindrian said, "and that's why we're not going to do it. I don't want to live in pain any longer. I want to rest." He gave Fendolac a bitter smile. "Besides, my son is impatient to be Lord Karn, aren't you, boy?"
Fendolac's bloodshot eyes widened in shock. "Father, I swear to you-"
"Get out," Lindrian said. "I want to talk to your sister in private."
"Father, I love you!" the youth persisted.
"What's the matter?" said the dying man. "Are you afraid I'll disinherit you and give everything to her? I will if you don't make yourself scarce. Now, scat!"
Fendolac threw up his hands and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
"That was unjust," Shamur said, seating herself on a low-backed green velvet chair. "That young man has his faults, but he does care for you. Now he may live out his days wondering if his father ever truly cared for him."
"Well, pray forgive me for wounding his tender sensibilities," Lindrian said, "but dying in pain makes a person irritable. I'll dry his tears later. " He waved a tremulous, liver-spotted hand, dismissing the matter. "Right now, I need to talk to my aunt."
Shamur was surprised. Indeed, though he was a man at the end of his life and she, still strong and hale, she was his aunt and not his eldest daughter as the rest of the world believed. Neither of them had explicitly acknowledged that fact for a number of years, not even when they were certain no one else could overhear.
"About what, nephew?" she asked.
"I fear I've done you a great wrong."
Shamur shook her head. "Has my situation weighed on your conscience for all these years? Please, you mustn't fret any longer. The switch was your father's idea, and in any case, it was my choice to replace your poor daughter as Thamalon's betrothed. I wish it hadn't been necessary, but I couldn't permit the impoverishment of my family when a wedding and twenty chests of Uskevren gold could avert it."
"I'm not talking about the substitution," Lindrian said, "although I suspect your marriage made you far more unhappy than you've ever confided. It's, well, it's that I've kept a secret from you. For the past twenty-four years, I've known the identity of the foe who worked behind the scenes to destroy our family's every venture, then finally murdered my little girl."
"Are you serious?" she asked. She'd never stopped praying that someday she'd discover who had relentlessly attacked her family, slain her beloved grand-niece, and so forced her into her current dreary existence, but after so many years, she'd essentially abandoned hope of ever seeing the murderer punished. "Who was it?"
"Thamalon."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Thamalon Uskevren, the very husband to whom, may Sune Firehair forgive me, we sold you."
Shamur frowned. "Lindrian, your illness is filling your head with fancies. You think you know this, but you don't."
"Yes, I do."
She sighed. "All right, if you say so."
"Don't patronize me! It's my body failing, not my mind."
"But what you're saying doesn't make sense," she said. "Why would he drive our House to the brink of ruin, then rescue us? Why seek my grand-niece's hand, try to kill her, then ultimately go ahead and marry her, as he imagined he was doing?"
"Because his plans changed from one day to the next. I'll tell you the tale as I pieced it together once I discerned the atrocity at its center. As you recall, the other merchant-noble Houses had driven the Uskevren out of Selgaunt half a century ago for conspiring with pirates. By trading elsewhere, Thamalon acquired a new fortune, then dared to return to the city. For all his wealth, he wasn't received in the parlors of the Old Chauncel. The other nobles still held his father's crimes against him. To gain acceptance, he needed to marry into an honorable family."
"So he courted your daughter," Shamur said. "I've always assumed that was the reason, and while it might not inspire a troubadour to rhapsodize on the theme of love eternal, it isn't dishonorable. It certainly doesn't implicate him in any crimes."
"But you see, if we Karns had been prospering, Father and I would likely have spurned Thamalon like the rest." The old man pressed his hand to his chest as if his heart was paining him. but then, rather strangely, immediately snatched it away. "We certainly wouldn't have allowed him to marry my child, and he knew that. Accordingly, his agents poisoned our flocks and the soil in our cotton fields, collapsed the tunnels in our mines, burned our sawmill, and hired brigands to raid our logging camps. This depleted our coffers and set a pack of creditors snapping at our heels. All so we would have no choice but to welcome an Uskevren into the family if we wished to save our House."
Shamur shook his head. "Thamalon wouldn't have done that."
"Have you never known him to be ruthless?"
She hesitated. "Only to his enemies. Besides, this tale still doesn't hang together. You still haven't explained why, if he wanted your daughter for his wife, he nonetheless tried to kill her."
"Because he believed"-the dying man coughed long and hard, and when he resumed speaking, his voice was a painful rasp-"a better opportunity had come along. Do you remember Rosenna Foxmantle?"
"Yes."
"I imagine everyone does. That teasing smile and lilting laugh! I've never known a more captivating woman, and that year you came home to Selgaunt, every nobleman in the city was infatuated with her, Thamalon included."
"At the same time he was wooing your daughter?"
He gave her a cynical grin. "Now I suppose you're going to tell me that you've never known him to take an interest in another woman."
"No," she said flatly, "I won't tell you that."
"I'm glad we at least agree on that much. It wasn't just Rosenna's beauty that made the men love her. It was her vivacity. Her flirtatiousness. Her wildness. As it turned out, she was wild enough to dally with a charming pariah. I infer from what followed that she and Thamalon even spoke of marriage. An elopement, no doubt. They must have hoped that once they were wed, her kin would see little choice but to accept the situation."
"At which point," said Shamur, following the logic of the story despite herself, "Thamalon would acquire the status he craved and the woman he truly coveted as well. Moreover, he wouldn't need to expend any of his hard-won wealth to forestall the ruin of the Karns."
The old man nodded. "Precisely. Indeed, if he wished, once we were bankrupt he could purchase our holdings at bargain prices and own them outright."