One of the servants of House Matrell brought a fresh pitcher of chilled milk and set it on the table, along with a couple of thick, clay-fired mugs. The two women slouched down into chairs and began to eat.
“Between the dire-cats and last night,” Xaphira said between bites, “I feel like I was stuffed into a box that was kicked down the garden steps. Now I remember why I don’t run with the old crowds anymore. I can’t keep up with them.”
“Well, I hope your prowling around was worth it,” Hetta said, sipping at a porcelain cup of steaming Amnian tea. The elder dame of the house didn’t sound the least bit reproachful, merely concerned.
“It was,” Xaphira said, smearing some butter and peach compote onto a thick slice of bread. “Quill might know someone who can tell me more about Junce. I’m supposed to meet with him again tonight to find out for certain.”
Marga sighed, wishing she were in another part of the house. She didn’t want to hear of Xaphira’s plans for tracking down the assassin who worked for Grozier. She blamed her brother and his cronies for Evester’s death almost as much as she blamed Evester himself. It was bad enough that they had been trying to start a warespecially for the sole purpose of profiting from itbut the tangle of deceit, murder, and greed that Grozier, Evester, and Denrick Pharaboldi had woven in trying to get their business alliance established went beyond making her sick. It horrified her that her own children would have to live with their father’s treacherous legacy.
“Well, you be careful,” Ladara Matrell said, sitting next to Hetta. “That Junce Roundface is a dangerous character. The way he almost” the woman couldn’t finish, and she swallowed hard as she reached out and squeezed Hetta’s hand. “Even the thought of him roaming around out there frightens me,” Ladara said, wide-eyed, in a near whisper.
“Calm yourself,” Hetta said, giving her daughter-in- law a level look. “Xaphira has hired some very reliable House guards to replace the fools who let Dregaul and Evester lead them astray. We’ll be perfectly safe once we return to the city tomorrow evening.”
“Did you say Roundface?” Nimra Skolotti said from where she was sitting at the far end of the table, gazing across the room without really looking at anything. She could not see, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing, it seemed. Her daughter Mirolyn sat beside her, looking as surprised as everyone else that the aged woman had spoken.
Xaphira held a bite of food halfway to her mouth. “Yes,” she said, a worried look on her face. “Do you know of him?”
“I’m not sure,” Nimra replied, bringing her hand up to rub at her brow, which was furrowed in thought. “It seems familiar somehow, but I can’t recall.”
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
“Between the dire-cats and last night,” Xaphira said between bites, “I feel like I was stuffed into a box that was kicked down the garden steps. Now I remember why I don’t run with the old crowds anymore. I can’t keep up with them.”
“Well, I hope your prowling around was worth it,” Hetta said, sipping at a porcelain cup of steaming Amnian tea. The elder dame of the house didn’t sound the least bit reproachful, merely concerned.
“It was,” Xaphira said, smearing some butter and peach compote onto a thick slice of bread. “Quill might know someone who can tell me more about Junce. I’m supposed to meet with him again tonight to find out for certain.”
Marga sighed, wishing she were in another part of the house. She didn’t want to hear of Xaphira’s plans for tracking down the assassin who worked for Grozier. She blamed her brother and his cronies for Evester’s death almost as much as she blamed Evester himself. It was bad enough that they had been trying to start a warespecially for the sole purpose of profiting from itbut the tangle of deceit, murder, and greed that Grozier, Evester, and Denrick Pharaboldi had woven in trying to get their business alliance established went beyond making her sick. It horrified her that her own children would have to live with their father’s treacherous legacy.
“Well, you be careful,” Ladara Matrell said, sitting next to Hetta. “That Junce Roundface is a dangerous character. The way he almost” the woman couldn’t finish, and she swallowed hard as she reached out and squeezed Hetta’s hand. “Even the thought of him roaming around out there frightens me,” Ladara said, wide-eyed, in a near whisper.
“Calm yourself,” Hetta said, giving her daughter-in- law a level look. “Xaphira has hired some very reliable House guards to replace the fools who let Dregaul and Evester lead them astray. We’ll be perfectly safe once we return to the city tomorrow evening.”
“Did you say Roundface?” Nimra Skolotti said from where she was sitting at the far end of the table, gazing across the room without really looking at anything. She could not see, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing, it seemed. Her daughter Mirolyn sat beside her, looking as surprised as everyone else that the aged woman had spoken.
Xaphira held a bite of food halfway to her mouth. “Yes,” she said, a worried look on her face. “Do you know of him?”
“I’m not sure,” Nimra replied, bringing her hand up to rub at her brow, which was furrowed in thought. “It seems familiar somehow, but I can’t recall.”
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
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