Shards of Time by Lynn Flewelling

looked very happy at their work.
    “Are these all the household?” asked Alec. “It seems a small staff for such a large house.”
    “There were others,” Dorin told him. “Some went away with the Plenimaran lord. Others—slaves—ran away. I don’t know what’s become of them.”
    “Hopefully they’ll return,” said Seregil. “And now the upstairs?”
    The second floor had enough bedroom suites to host a royal delegation, though most were unfurnished and closed up.
    “The master suite, my lords,” Dorian said, swinging open an ornate set of doors into a sun-washed room the size of the upper floor at the Stag and Otter. It was lavishly appointed, with carved cornices, fine tapestries, blue velvet hangings with silver bullion edging on the massive bed, and some excellent Aurënfaie statuary. Evidently their predecessor had been a man of good taste. Two tall windows and smaller side ones overlooked the pond and the sea beyond. Another equally impressive suite with red hangings had been prepared for Micum.
    “This is very fine. Very fine, indeed, Dorin,” said Seregil. “I’m most impressed. But where are the baths?”
    “There is a separate bathhouse adjoining the house, my lord, built several hundred years ago. Before that, tubs in the kitchen were used.”
    Alec chuckled. “You’d better show him. If the baths aren’t up to his standards, we may have to build new ones.”
    The bathhouse, reached by a long covered walkway, was as finely appointed as the rest of the house, with separate rooms for men and women, heated stone floors, its own spring, a special furnace to heat the water, and tubs carved from blocks of polished basalt. The room was outfittedwith fretted golden lamps, clothing racks and bath stands carved from fragrant wood, and various other luxuries.
    “Even you must approve of this, talí.” Alec laughed as Seregil walked around, inspecting it.
    Seregil nodded. “Beautiful, immaculate, and properly heated. Are the other members of the household allowed to use it?”
    “Certainly not, my lord!”
    “That changes today, Dorin. Aurënfaie are by nature fastidious.”
    “But my lord—!”
    Seregil raised an imperious eyebrow. The steward shut his mouth and bowed.
    They enjoyed Sabriel’s cold lunch, then rode out to inspect the herds and look for Micum.
    He found them, accompanied by a sandy-haired, bearded man who appeared to be about the same age. He was mounted on a handsome bay mare. She was a few hands taller than the ’faie horses, but had the same fine lines and arched neck.
    “Here they are,” Micum said as they reined in. “Master Carpis, these are your new lords, Baron Seregil and Baron Alec.”
    “Honored to meet you, my lords,” Carpis said with the thick burr of a Kouros accent.
    “If your mount is an example of the rest of the herds, then they must be fine indeed,” said Alec.
    “She is, my lord,” Carpis replied, rubbing the mare’s neck. “You’ve the best horses on the island and there’s none who’d dispute it.”
    “I can vouch for that,” Micum agreed. “We’ll be doing some horse trading before I head for home.”
    In addition to Carpis, the herds were tended by servants who lived in stone cottages scattered among the fields. All of them were islanders who, like Dorin, had served the estate for generations. Carpis and his family had a cozy house next to a stream.
    The horses were magnificent, robust and tall, with variedmarkings from golden with pale manes to parti-colored ones of all colors.
    They spent the afternoon exploring the boundaries, then turned back to the house for dinner.
    “I like it already,” said Alec. “The house and the horses. I think I’d like to spend some time here, Seregil.”
    “I have to agree.”
    “You wouldn’t like it half so well if it was an orchard, rather than horses,” Micum said with a grin.
    When they got back to the house they found seven former slaves waiting for them in the kitchen, three of whom had