The Seekers of Fire (16 page)

"I've taken care of him, don't you worry," Nan replied after a brief measuring look. "He is all right," she added more firmly as Linden's hands started trembling again while her eyes stared unseeingly somewhere in the air. "Eat now, all will be well."

Rianor's note said that he would be gone for a few days, but she should make herself comfortable and ask Nan for anything she needed. She was free to explore Qynnsent, but in no way was she to leave the House's territory, and she should try to not worry until he came back. Also, since Blake had decided to stay with her when Rianor would not take him with himself, she might want to investigate the dog's First Counselor potential.

Linden smiled and finally started drifting to sleep.

Nan

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

Nan watched the sleeping girl with barely concealed curiosity. Then the old nurse gently took the note and what was left of the toast from her young charge's hands, and hesitated before she put both on the nightstand. She shook her head. Another in her place would probably have read the note already. Then again, Rianor would not have trusted another with an unsealed message. She would very much appreciate a clue as to why exactly he had risked getting himself into an impossible mess with this girl, but never would she pry into their communication.

She brushed a lock of hair from Linden's cheek and stroked the smooth skin. Most bruises should fade away in a few days, and the more stubborn ones they could hide with make-up. The leg should be better with some more good sleep, and the exhaustion was more in the girl's mind than physical, anyway.

The girl should be fine now. Nan fingered her hair. Yes, dark blonde with a silvery tint would go perfectly with the dark-green dress she was having made for her, and with the silver-colored belt and scarf. Dark-green and silver—the official Qynnsent colors, for a new Qynnsent lady. Mira the Mistress Seamstress was almost ready, having worked since dawn, and Nan wished Clare and Felice had prepared their lady for a fitting, as they had been instructed, instead of doing Master knew what. Well, they were good girls; they would learn. Linden was a good girl, too. Nan would not forget how she had stood up for her against lord Desmond, without knowing either of them. She must have also done something to Clare and Felice, for they seemed to already love her.

Nan pushed herself up from the bed and lifted the chest that contained the unfinished dress. She would bring it back to Mira before she went down to the kitchen to check on the cooks' lunch needs, and hopefully it could be finished without detailed measures. Then she would send Linden's maids back here; they could call her when the girl awakened.

Nan glanced again at the sleeping figure. She was beautiful, with her finely sculptured face, long lashes, and nicely shaped breasts; albeit too thin if Nan would have a say. Rianor would like her, and judging her character by how she had behaved so far, he might as well like her a lot.

He'd better. If the boy would walk on the Edge just to find himself a girl, it'd better be for something more pertinent than his Science nonsense.

Rianor

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

Rianor clenched a fist, then breathed deeply and forced himself to stretch his fingers, before he took the reins of Star and Beauty. Desmond cast him a brief questioning glance, but recognized his lord's temper and did not argue. Slowly, Rianor pulled, and Beauty jerked back, the reins grating through Rianor's gloves over last night's bruises. He bit back a curse, then stroked the silky muzzle.

"It is all right, Beauty." For a moment she looked as if she would flinch away from his touch, but then inclined her head to be pet more comfortably. "I will not let anyone hurt my beautiful girl."

Star snorted indignantly at that, then nibbled the sleeve of Rianor's neatly pressed frock coat. He reached to pat her neck, while Beauty ignored his coat but snuffed his hair, forcing Desmond to finally execute his own version of snorting.

"Do you really want to enter the Fireheart smelling like a horse?"

"No. But I will if I have to." Rianor glared at his First Counselor, then tried to subdue his fury. Desmond had not hired the servant who had hit Beauty. Rianor had, and it was his responsibility to make amends.

"You go ahead," he said with forced calmness. "I will come shortly after."

"As you wish. I will take care of the donations. But you need to make the apprentice request in person."

"I certainly will." This was the reason he had come at all. He would not be here today if it were only for the accursed taxes. "
Donations,
" the Bers called them. Noble Houses were only too happy to
donate
fifty percent of their income every year, for most definitely it would be improper to tax them like commoners. Even if the commoners were only taxed thirty percent. Rianor pulled Star and Beauty's reins forward. Damn the social order.

A moment later, a single look from him sent a Fireheart stable boy scurrying away to clear his path, and he had to concede that the social order did have its advantages. It even gave him the right to punish his servants. It was not a right he generally approved of, but he would undoubtedly exercise it this time if he found the horse-abusive bastard. The man had fled before taking care of the carriage, and Rianor did not have time to chase him. As the day progressed, numerous lords and ladies would crowd the Fireheart and demand Bers' attention. Rianor could barely afford the time he was now giving the horses.

He clutched the reins with new anger. It might be customary for horses and other animals to be beaten, but not Qynnsent animals. Not Rianor's animals, or any others if he could prevent it. And he would beat himself before he ever again hired, or allowed to be hired, a person not personally tested by himself or by someone he trusted. He had learned just how much the recommendation of the Stablers' Guild was worth, and he did not think the other guilds were to be better trusted, either.

Rianor led Beauty and Star into stalls and groomed them himself, while they nibbled at the neatly arranged hay, a braver stable boy watching him with a wide-eyed expression.

"Lucky horses, m'lord," the boy ventured just as Rianor turned to leave, then flinched at the lord's responding glare. "Just I ain't seen lords care for their animals, m'lord—I—I just—" The boy's tongue seemed tied now, probably because Rianor kept watching him, saying nothing. It was not fair on Rianor's part, for Rianor's problems were not the boy's fault. The lord doubted the boy would have uttered his next words under normal circumstances. "I just thought all lords were stupid, m'lord, but you're not!"

Rianor laughed despite his temper, and the boy smiled shyly, an apple appearing in his hands as if from thin air. It disappeared even faster, Beauty and Star eying expectantly the boy's pocket for more as they swallowed. Then they proceeded to nudge his shoulders, and the boy pet them, the lord entirely forgotten, the smile solely for his new four-legged friends. What was the boy, an Apprentice Stabler? Perhaps he hoped to be, in the future; he was still too young. He was a rare one, for certain. He jumped as Rianor tapped his shoulder.

"You realize that sharing your highly esteemed opinion of lords with anybody else would earn you, in the best case, a beating?"

The smile froze and the boy cringed, his body pressing back to Beauty's stall fences. She snorted, and he embraced her neck from below, huddling into her as if for protection. He had certainly been beaten before, maybe often. Fireheart servant treatment was rumored to be worse than what occurred in the less pleasant Houses. Rianor sighed and moved closer.

"People have died for less than that," he said softly. "Never assume that only because someone seems to share some of your values, he is your friend or will not betray you."

Fear flashed in the boy's expression, then he suddenly hissed "So I'm as stupid as those lords!" and held Rianor's eyes, even though his knuckles were white on Beauty's mane. It was commendable. Few people ever attempted to match the Qynnsent lord's steely stare.

"You most certainly are, in some aspects." Rianor waited for him to break the eye contact. "But I value others more." He carefully detached a badge from his coat and reached over. "This bears the Qynnsent crest. People have other means to know who the High Lord is, so I do not need it. You, as a new servant with the unenviable task of giving your resignation notice to the Fireheart's Head Stabler, do. The white girl who seems so protective of you is Beauty, the bay with the white on the forehead is Star. I need a horse servant, and my Stable Master will need a new apprentice in a few years. We are going back tomorrow or the next day, and I want your old duties dealt with. What is your name?"

"Parr, m'lord," his new horse servant whispered, and Rianor did not wait to watch as the boy's face was overwhelmed with emotions.

"Do find me if your old master turns out to be obstinate, Parr," he called over his shoulder, then strode out of the stables.

Rianor

Day 78 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

Rianor decided to compensate for the time in the stables by taking a shortcut through a Fireheart backstreet, which served to worsen his mood even further. He had not expected the stroll to be pleasant. Still, jumping up overturned barrels while navigating around stinking trash heaps was not an activity he enjoyed immensely. An eventful night with just two hours of sleep, and his broken ribs announcing themselves at every sharp movement, did not help, either.

He glanced at the back door of a huge grayish building. If he had calculated his route correctly, this should be one of the fashion stores a block away from the Head Temple, although from this side it looked very different. Its facade, like that of most Fireheart District buildings, would be a shiny monstrosity of steel and glass meant to attract vain lords and ladies, while reminding them of the greatness of the Bers who had built it.

The Bers claimed to have built Mierber—or the part of it that mattered—in a single night seven hundred years ago to please their dying Master. He had disappeared shortly after, but Mierber and the Bers had remained, and the times and people had changed, but nothing built that night had ever crumbled. Never would, people said.

Rianor examined the gray wall as he walked around it. He entertained a brief thought of shortening his path by going straight through the building, but a High Lord who forced his way through back doors and servant areas where he was not expected would attract too much attention. He would not be welcome, either, although no servant would dare express it.

There were parts of the Fireheart for lords and ladies, and parts for the inconsequential people who worked for their pleasure. Rianor jumped to avoid a puddle of something slimy, wondering at the vast expanse of people's stupidity and resignation. He would have never accepted a servant's lot for himself. He would have fought with all means if he had been born to it.

And only the Master knew how much he was fighting against the lot of a High Lord.

Rianor had reached the end of the wall. It did not have a single crack, despite its ugly appearance. He traced a cleaner spot on the edge with a gloved finger, then withdrew in discomfort. Somehow he was more perceptive after seeing the waterwell, and he did not like the feeling the wall gave him. Damn the Bers. The wall had really endured. Rianor would learn what they had done and how, and for the first time in his life he had a person who might provide a path to that knowledge. His new apprentice could do some of the things that Bers could do—or perhaps some of the things that they could
not
do, and thus feared—and Rianor had succeeded in taking her first.

She even had Science skills of her own and was willing to consciously help him. She was quite interesting, too, fiercely fighting for herself and against the role society had tried to impose on her. Last night she had even fought for Rianor.

He smiled, then took the narrow alley beside the fashion store and walked faster. Linden was currently safe in Qynnsent, but he needed a Ber to make it official. Under different circumstances it would have been better if she had come with him, but now it was out of the question. Desmond had come up with a story about the reluctance of the High Lord of the great House Qynnsent to be seen with a woman that was not yet officially noble, and since most of the noble fools would believe it, Rianor had accepted.

The narrow alley would end at the next corner, and if Rianor turned to the left and passed a small open space, he would find himself right in Temple Square, out of the repulsive backstreets that lords and ladies did not enter.

Or that
most
lords and ladies did not enter. Another young lord was currently leaning against a wall right behind the corner, attended by two Fireheart serving girls who seemed to enjoy his attention. Of all the bastards Rianor was bound to meet in the Fireheart, Donald of Waltraud was the last one he wanted to stumble upon in a back alley. Rianor drew his dagger and stepped carefully forward, causing one of Waltraud's women to stop rocking rhythmically and to remove her legs from around her lord's waist. Waltraud slapped her before he turned to face the intruder, and the two men glared at each other while the woman pulled her skimpy dress back to her thighs and stared. The other one was buttoning her blouse and backing away to a door a little further. The women did not bear themselves as if the situation a minute ago had been against their wishes.

"Do forgive the interruption." Rianor nodded in the direction of the three figures and slightly lowered his dagger as he tried to pass them. A hand grabbed his shoulder a moment later, and a punch barely missed his ribs just as he lurched back, one of his hands fixing the offender's to the shoulder he was still gripping. Rianor's other hand snatched Donald's elbow immediately after, Rianor shifting his own body to pull and unbalance his opponent, pressing against the elbow-joint. The force was just enough to give the bastard a choice: he could either fall face down on the ground and lie still, his elbow and arm at Rianor's mercy, or he could first resist and then fall, the elbow already broken.