asked
to do maid service. Becca and Wena, looking not much changed from when he had last
seen them, were no help at all. They appeared a little thinner, which was not surprising
in light of what the cook had said, and rather dim-witted. When he asked them where
he might find some towels, they just squawked like a pair of hens, and retreated into
the nursery, muttering about their lack of responsibility for the chaos around them.
Mikhail tried to ignore his increasing revulsion as he looked around. But when he
came into the room where the three lads shared a noisome bed, he could not. He
discovered Alain Elhalyn sitting in a chair, staring into space. He was in his
bedclothes, a shabby robe with foodstains on the breast, and the smell of old sweat on
it. It was thin, like everything else, and poorly mended in several places. The oldest
boy did not seem to know or care who Mikhail was.
"Is Alain ill?" Mikhail asked Vincent, who seemed the healthiest of the bunch. He was
a handsome boy, with the prominent features of the Elhalyn line, and an air of
assurance that set him apart from his siblings.
Vincent shrugged. "111? Maybe. Emelda says he is feebleminded." He appeared
indifferent, and not at all like the boy Mikhail remembered. "He just sits there, and
Becca comes in and takes him to the toilet." The answer disturbed him.
"He was not feeble-minded four years ago, Vincent!" The simmering rage at the
neglect he saw everywhere in Halyn House was more than Mikhail could stand. "He
had already been through his threshold sickness, and was a fine lad."
"Was he? I can't seem to remember. It doesn't matter, does it? I'm the one you want."
Vincent grinned, and there was something in his eyes that Mikhail mistrusted
immediately. It was gone before he could measure the look, but Mikhail had a sinking
feeling in his belly that had nothing to do with an empty stomach. He was starting to
believe that the place was cursed, but he suspected the curse had a human form, and
that its name was Emelda.
Who was she, and what had she done to the children? They were no longer the
cheerful, noisy brats he remem-
bered, but more like mice, except for Vincent who swaggered and bristled at every
turn. He had the impulse to put them onto horses the following morning and drag them
away from this dreadful house. But Alain did not look as if he could endure a ride of a
mile, let alone the long journey to Thendara, and Emun was not in much better shape.
The youngest boy looked haunted, started at noises, and kept peering anxiously over
his stooped shoulder. And in the shape the horses were, they would falter in a day.
Was there a carriage? He did not remember one in the stable. Anything would do—a
wain, a haycart! He wanted to leave Halyn House immediately! Even without the
children.
As soon as he had this thought, Mikhail realized he sensed a whispering in his mind.
He was stunned! Could that woman be influencing him? It was subtle enough that he
had almost missed it, but it was also clear that Emelda was up to some mischief. It was
fortunate, he decided, that she was an Aldaran—if she had not been lying—and not an
Alton. That she might have a measure of the Alton Gift of forced rapport was
frightening.
How was he going to get her out of the house? Mikhail had never laid hands on a
woman in his life, no matter how great the temptation, and he wasn't sure he could. His
Guardsmen would drag her off, if he ordered it, he assumed. But she was a woman!
How could he bear the humiliation of handing that scrawny bit of trouble over to two
big men? Surely there was a better solution. All he needed to do was think of it, but his
mind seemed fuddled and tired. Tomorrow, after a good night's sleep would be time
enough. Emelda was none of his concern—the children were.
Still, he could not let go of the problem. What would his father do? It was a peculiar
question to ask himself, considering his rather hostile
to do maid service. Becca and Wena, looking not much changed from when he had last
seen them, were no help at all. They appeared a little thinner, which was not surprising
in light of what the cook had said, and rather dim-witted. When he asked them where
he might find some towels, they just squawked like a pair of hens, and retreated into
the nursery, muttering about their lack of responsibility for the chaos around them.
Mikhail tried to ignore his increasing revulsion as he looked around. But when he
came into the room where the three lads shared a noisome bed, he could not. He
discovered Alain Elhalyn sitting in a chair, staring into space. He was in his
bedclothes, a shabby robe with foodstains on the breast, and the smell of old sweat on
it. It was thin, like everything else, and poorly mended in several places. The oldest
boy did not seem to know or care who Mikhail was.
"Is Alain ill?" Mikhail asked Vincent, who seemed the healthiest of the bunch. He was
a handsome boy, with the prominent features of the Elhalyn line, and an air of
assurance that set him apart from his siblings.
Vincent shrugged. "111? Maybe. Emelda says he is feebleminded." He appeared
indifferent, and not at all like the boy Mikhail remembered. "He just sits there, and
Becca comes in and takes him to the toilet." The answer disturbed him.
"He was not feeble-minded four years ago, Vincent!" The simmering rage at the
neglect he saw everywhere in Halyn House was more than Mikhail could stand. "He
had already been through his threshold sickness, and was a fine lad."
"Was he? I can't seem to remember. It doesn't matter, does it? I'm the one you want."
Vincent grinned, and there was something in his eyes that Mikhail mistrusted
immediately. It was gone before he could measure the look, but Mikhail had a sinking
feeling in his belly that had nothing to do with an empty stomach. He was starting to
believe that the place was cursed, but he suspected the curse had a human form, and
that its name was Emelda.
Who was she, and what had she done to the children? They were no longer the
cheerful, noisy brats he remem-
bered, but more like mice, except for Vincent who swaggered and bristled at every
turn. He had the impulse to put them onto horses the following morning and drag them
away from this dreadful house. But Alain did not look as if he could endure a ride of a
mile, let alone the long journey to Thendara, and Emun was not in much better shape.
The youngest boy looked haunted, started at noises, and kept peering anxiously over
his stooped shoulder. And in the shape the horses were, they would falter in a day.
Was there a carriage? He did not remember one in the stable. Anything would do—a
wain, a haycart! He wanted to leave Halyn House immediately! Even without the
children.
As soon as he had this thought, Mikhail realized he sensed a whispering in his mind.
He was stunned! Could that woman be influencing him? It was subtle enough that he
had almost missed it, but it was also clear that Emelda was up to some mischief. It was
fortunate, he decided, that she was an Aldaran—if she had not been lying—and not an
Alton. That she might have a measure of the Alton Gift of forced rapport was
frightening.
How was he going to get her out of the house? Mikhail had never laid hands on a
woman in his life, no matter how great the temptation, and he wasn't sure he could. His
Guardsmen would drag her off, if he ordered it, he assumed. But she was a woman!
How could he bear the humiliation of handing that scrawny bit of trouble over to two
big men? Surely there was a better solution. All he needed to do was think of it, but his
mind seemed fuddled and tired. Tomorrow, after a good night's sleep would be time
enough. Emelda was none of his concern—the children were.
Still, he could not let go of the problem. What would his father do? It was a peculiar
question to ask himself, considering his rather hostile
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