He turned back to his new Krann and said, 'Isak, you need to sleep more than you realise. Any questions you have can wait for later. I will wake you when it is time.'
Without waiting for a reply, Bahl repeated his motions and the pair disappeared upwards in a sudden flurry. Isak found the chair behind him and sank down thankfully. The weight on his mind had drained his limbs of strength and he suddenly felt desperately tired. This wasn't what he'd imagined, but the presence of a bed was enough, and anything more than a rug on the ground was luxury.
He turned to the desk, where he found a razor lying snug in a bone sheath, beside it a copper bowl, a water jug and a polished copper and glass mirror. Leaning forward, he caught his face in the mirror, a perfect reflection that sent a shiver of excitement through his body. It had been made with magic: there was no other way to produce such a smooth surface. It might have been a paltry extravagance for palace, but it still cheered Isak's spirits. His eyes drifted up to the single shelf above the desk. A few dusty books lay on it, all of them looking older than he was. Carel had taught him to read, but it had always been a chore rather than a pleasure, Scanning the titles – From Across the Sea, The Campaigns of Manayaz Vukotic, Duels of Words: the Founding of the College of Magic – Isak decided he was too tired to face any of them tonight, although the second one made him linger a moment, wondering why it was here in the first place. Manayaz Vukotic had died as the worst of traitors, for he had led his tribe against their patron God during the Great War, This act of heresy had condemned Vukotic himself to an eternity in the Dark Place, and his five children to be cursed with vampirism, Odd to have an account of his successes in the new Krann's quarters, no matter what lessons could be learned from them. Isak hadn't expected that sort of book to be readily available, even here. Perhaps it was a test of some kind, though to what end he couldn't fathom. With a sigh he looked back at the maid, this time seeing her properly. She was pretty, taller than he'd first thought, and with what looked to be a fine bosom under her thick robe.
'What's your name?' he started.
The girl gave a small shriek at the unexpected break in the silence. She stared round, looking horrified that Isak was capable of speech Isak wondered if some of Bahl's guests were a little less than friendly to the maids when left alone with them.
The girl steadied herself, reassured perhaps by Isak's equally startled expression. She looked him over quickly, then said, 'Tila, my Lord, my name is Tila Introl. I am to be your personal maid.'
Isak had no idea why he needed a personal maid, but she was pretty so he had no complaints. He looked around the room for a way to open conversation, prodding absentmindedly at the blood-stained bandage around his left hand. Then the books caught his eye once more.
'Can you read?' he asked, nodding his head encouragingly towards the dusty tomes.
'Of course, my Lord. My father has an extensive library.' She sounded a little surprised.
'Your family has money?' he asked, bemused at the idea that his maid was highborn. No one else could afford any sort of library.
'Yes, my Lord. My father is Anad Introl. He is Gatekeeper of the City, and a member of the city council.'
'Does that mean I should have heard of him?' Isak asked.
'No, my Lord,' she said with a worried expression. Isak forced a
smile at her; he'd snapped because he was tired. Tila looked a little uncertain, but she returned it; Isak had always been able to elicit a mile from people, even his father sometimes, despite his unwilling-ness to like anything about his son. Carel said it was part of being a white-eye: after all, men had been willing to rush to their deaths at Lord Atro's command; Lord Bahl was considered withdrawn, practically a hermit, yet his presence was enough to command complete attention and obedience. Carel had told him that every white-eye he'd ever met, no matter how brutal, possessed some remarkable redeeming quality.
Isak was pretty sure he could start to put people at ease by making them laugh, so Tila's hesitant smile gave him hope. The last thing he wanted was a maid who hated white-eyes.
'It's traditional for the palace maids to come from the noble families,' Tila began hesitantly. 'Lord Atro initiated it as a hostage system so he could keep control of the nobility, but the tradition has continued. The rest of the palace has proper servants; we're only here in the main wing. Sometimes it feels more like a finishing school. Readying us for being married off.' She looked down at the bed. 'I'm sorry, my Lord. I've been chattering away; I'll finish here and get out of your way. We were all instructed to keep from wasting your time-'
'You aren't in my way,' he replied quickly, 'and as for wasting my time, you probably have far more idea than I do about what I'm meant to do with it. I know what a Krann is, but not what will be expected of me. Can you tell me anything?'
'No, my Lord, I'm sorry.' The girl shook her head. 'I was just woken to make your room ready; we weren't even told to expect you. I'm sorry it's dusty and bare in here, but Lord Bahl is the only one who can bring us up and he's been in the forest for weeks. There is a library, on the second floor; I could try to find you some lore books, I suppose.
The Chief Steward will know but… well you don't want him to
think you're in his pocket. The only other person is Lord Bahl; he was once Krann, but I wouldn't dare ask him.'
Why not – does he beat the servants?' Isak asked, on more familiar ground now.
‘No my lord,' Tila replied quickly, 'Lord Bahl is good to us; he doesn't even notice us most of the time, which suits me fine. But you do hear stories-'
'What sort of stories?' he said, annoyed at his own ignorance – even the maids knew more than he did.
'Well-' she sounded a little dubious, as if unsure of how much she should say. Spreading gossip was dangerous, but if the new Krann was going to survive in the palace, he had to know.
She took a breath and started, 'Stories about what he did to the last lord, to Lord Atro. I suppose it's romantic, to avenge the death of one's lover, but-'
'But?'
She looked disinclined to go further, wondering if she should even have started this conversation.
'What sort of stories?' Isak pressed her. 'What happened? When?' Herman had banned all talk of white-eyes around Isak; though tales of blood and violence were a staple diet at the fireside, Isak had never been welcome. All this was completely new to him.
'Surely you must know?' she started, but as she saw him stiffen, she quickly continued, 'They say that three entire streets were destroyed in the battle. It ended in Cornerstone Market and bits were found as far away as Myrenn Avenue. Atro was hacked apart, and they say that when they tried to gather all the pieces together to bury them, half of them were burnt.'
'Is Myrenn Avenue far from the market?'
Tila gaped. 'Far? It's more than two hundred paces! Two hundred paces – for pieces to fly through the air!'
'Oh that's easy, I can do that.'
A look of panic flashed over her face, but Isak smiled as she started back and she realised that he had been joking. Tila gave a hiss of exasperation at her own gullibility and opened her mouth to retort when the words died. Isak's own smile faltered as he realised she had checked herself, remembering her position in relation to his: she was a maid, noble-born or not, gossiping to the new Krann rather than attending to her duties. She pushed errant strands of hair back behind her ears as she turned back to the bed and tugged the sheet flat with a practised hand.