“He’s earned it. I wish there was more I could do.” Em sighed and cinched the pouch closed. “I don’t dare risk associating my temple with Simon. As his sister you can afford to be charitable without raising comments.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “The mystics of Marana are known for their discretion.”
“I won’t stake my reputation on theirs.”
“You worry too much about your reputation.”
“I worry too much, period,” Em replied. “It’s how you all stay fed.”
Her acolyte pressed her palms together and bowed her head. “I wish we weren’t such a burden to you.”
“Being a Lady of Air and the patron of Aerynet is an honor, not a burden. I would never have it another way. Never.” As proud as she was of her temple and title, supporting it did require struggle. She had sacrificed much in the last six years, including any sense of honor. The little pouch weighed heavy in her hand. She was sorely tempted to pocket the payment intended for Simon, but it hurt her heart to abuse Quintin’s trust.
Before she could change her mind, she thrust the pouch at Lucy. “This is the rest of Simon’s pay. Take it to his wife, as I’m sure she’s at her wits’ end.”
Her acolyte squeezed the pouch. “How can you afford this?”
“They’re not mine.” Em stooped to pick up her clothes. “Those beans are for Simon. Since he’s not available, giving them to his wife is only fair.”
“It’s uncommonly generous of you.”
Em yanked the kaftan over her head, shaken by how close she had come to betraying Quintin’s kindness.
“I like to think I have not sunk so low that I can’t be trusted with a simple delivery.” Her voice rang sharper than she intended.
“No, my lady.” Lucy said. “I’m sure Jenny has been beside herself with worry, and these beans will mean the world to her, is all.”
Em rubbed her temple in regret for snapping at Lucy, unsure how to mend the damage. “I should return home soon. Father worries when I spend the night at Aerynet. I don’t want to worry him further by dallying here this morning.”
The acolyte gave her a sideways glance, tactfully not pointing out that Em had not spent the night at the temple. “I’ll get the beans to my brother’s wife.”
Em nodded absently, still thinking about her father. “I wish we weren’t so dependent on him,” she muttered.
“I’ve always felt it was risky, but what choice do we have?”
She frowned at the acolyte. “What?”
“He lives in a dangerous world and there are a lot of ways for it to go wrong, like it has.” Lucy sighed, her fingers tightening around the pouch of beans. “I’m indebted to your mother for giving me a place as a novice instead of leaving me to fend for myself like my brother.”
“Oh, I was talking about my father. I wish we weren’t so dependent on his largess.” Em smiled tightly. “Though it would be nice not to have to rely on your brother so much, either.”
Lucy’s brow wrinkled. “Your father’s largess isn’t very large though, is it?”
“No, but I don’t know how we would ever manage without my allowance, and you’re dressed in my cast-offs, too. It would be a long time before we could afford any new clothes if my father wasn’t so foolishly intent on finding me a suitor.”
“What if Isabel and your father are right?” Lucy asked. “Maybe you should think about getting married.”
Em blinked, stunned by the suggestion from such an unexpected quarter.
Her acolyte shrugged. “It would free us from dependence on your father.”
“And make us dependent upon my husband instead.”
“Exactly.” Lucy nodded. “Your mother didn’t have to stoop to selling her jewels and all the other indignities you’ve endured, her husband made sure of it. Perhaps you can find a spouse to do the same for you.”
Em jerked her chin up, a sour taste in her mouth. She had been too young to consider marriage when she first inherited. Now she was used to her independence and didn’t relish the idea of entering a marriage like a beggar with her hand out. Besides, the secret of her sneak work would always be lurking, waiting to come to light and destroy her.
“While my father is miserly with his funds, he is generous with my time. If I marry, then my time will hardly be my own. I’ll be too busy helping my lord husband run his estate, doing all the work Isabel does in my mother’s stead.”
“Please think on it, Lady Em. You’re not a child anymore.” Lucy bit her lip. “Working with my brother has always been chancy at best. We need a better, more reliable solution. For all of us.”
Chapter 13
Near midday, Em entered the receiving room where her father lounged on a divan with his eyes closed. “You sent for me, Father?”
The air was heavy with midday heat, and she longed to be resting herself in her room. Careful not to tread on the hem of her sari, she glided over to her father. The soft carpet muffled her footsteps, though the silver bells of the payal around her ankle chimed with her movements. When she reached the divan, she pressed her hands together and bowed at the waist.
“We have a number of guests coming for the Allgoday celebration next week. The first of them will arrive today,” her father said as he opened his eyes. The triple stranded deed chain around his neck clinked as he swung his legs over the side of the divan to sit up. “I want you to be the one to greet them.”
“Me?” Such duties usually fell to Isabel as the wife of his heir.
“Isabel has enough to do preparing for the festival. I expect us all to help her in the coming week, especially you, Emmie. I sent for you now to make sure you weren’t off hunting or dressed like a ragamuffin.” Lord Harold inspected her from head to foot.
She struggled to exude the calm stillness of a Lady under his scrutiny, very glad she had taken the time to change into a sari when she received his strange summons. She wore it wrapped in a traditional style with the pallu covering the top of her head. Isabel might encourage her to show off her unusual hair, but Em knew her father preferred the old ways.
“You look nice, almost as pretty as your mother. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be to greet our guests.” Lord Harold gave a short nod. “No need to dress quite so well tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“We’ve got an auditor coming to inspect the estate, as if we haven’t enough going on without a taxman underfoot. Ah, well, the Tribute Office in Trimble sets its own schedule.”
Her stomach fluttered at this news. She’d had too many encounters with the Tribute Office of late.
“I expect you to take care of the taxman while he’s here, since Isabel is so busy,” Lord Harold continued.
“How long does an audit usually take?”
“Two or three days. Maybe longer if he’s a real stickler.”
“Fermenasday is in two days. I’ll need to be at Aerynet—”
Lord Harold scowled. “We need you here. Your temple will have to get by without you this week.”
“Can’t Gregory or Jonathan greet the taxman? Surely he doesn’t need to be honored by a Lady. One of your other children would serve as well.”
“It never hurts to flatter the taxman, and I won’t have my household accused of being rude. I certainly don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Tribute Office.”
“But—”
“No buts, Emmie. Your duty is here, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Yes, Father.” Em bowed her head in acquiescence, though resentment bubbled in her heart. Once again, she wished she was not so dependent on her father’s good graces.
“Our guests will be here any moment,” Lord Harold said briskly. “Lord Evan a’Maral a’Tarina is a diplomat and one of my closest friends at court. He was
widowed three seasons ago and will be coming out of mourning on Allgoday. I am very pleased he has chosen to spend such a significant holy day with us. I expect you to honor our house when you greet him and his daughter, Mistress Catherine.”
“I will, Father.” Her stomach pitched at her father’s description. No doubt her father considered the widowed Lord Evan a potential suitor, though she had no interest in marrying a diplomat who lived in the capitol.
A gong reverberated at the front of the house, signaling the arrival of Lord Evan and his daughter.
“I’ll return shortly with your guests.” Em bobbed a quick bow to her father. She hurried to the entry hall and picked up a platter of delicacies set out on a side table. An assortment of nut cakes sprinkled with ground cacao, chilled fruits, and snake eggs cooked in the skin decorated the platter. Em’s father clearly wanted to impress his friend from court.
As a guard opened the door, Em dropped into the pose of welcome. Her mother had patiently spent many an afternoon practicing the welcoming arts with Em before she got so sick. Even now, greeting a man whom Em would rather turn her back on, a slight smile curved her lips at those sweet memories. She crouched low with her feet crossed and close together while her knees stayed off the floor and her sari pooled around her. She held the platter above her bowed head, tilting it just so to display the delicacies at the most inviting angle.
A pair of dusty feet moved into her line of vision.
“Welcome to Merdale, Lord Evan a’Maral a’Tarina. We are most honored by your presence. For as long as you may grace our halls, our bounty is your bounty.”
“It is I who am humbled and honored by your hospitality.” Lord Evan intoned the expected response in a strong cultured voice. The platter shifted slightly as he selected a delicacy. “Your gifts are welcoming indeed to this weary traveler.”
“We invite your daughter to also refresh herself with our humble repast,” Em said, trying to keep her tone warm and inviting though her legs were beginning to ache.
“I am most honored.” Mistress Catherine’s voice was soft and hesitant. She jostled the tray as she selected a treat.
Em tightened her grip on the edge of the platter and rose carefully to her feet, grateful to have the formal part of the ritual complete. As she raised her head, she got a clear view of their guests for the first time.
Lord Evan appeared older than her father, with a brow as wrinkled as a nut and wispy gray hair pulled back into a thin queue. A pair of deed chains set with green and yellow stones were the only ornament on his brown kaftan.
Mistress Catherine’s sari, on the other hand, twinkled with beads and shells sewn into the edges of the fabric. Her pallu draped over her shoulder, revealing thick black hair plaited around her crown. After a day of travel, some wispy strands had escaped to trail over her tawny cheeks. She looked older than her voice had sounded, possibly a year or two Em’s senior, certainly no longer a child. She licked the juice from a chilled fruit off her slender fingers, until she saw her father’s look. Her thumb popped out of her mouth.
“I am Lady Emmanuella a’Fermena.” Em held the refreshments out with a smile, wordlessly inviting the young woman to help herself to more fruit. Travel was a thirsty endeavor. “It will be a great pleasure to have a woman my own age in the house and at the festival.”
Catherine stared down at her bare feet. “You are too kind.”
“Come, my father is eagerly awaiting your arrival.” Em led the guests back to her father. As they traversed the short hallway, she could hear her father speaking sharply, though she could not make out his words.
“You will meet my eldest brother and his wife at the evening meal,” she said in a carrying voice, attempting to warn her father of their arrival. “I’m sure Isabel will also be excited to have another woman in the household.”
Lord Evan fingered the chain around his neck. “We are interested in visiting Trimble and seeing the sights while we’re here.”
Catherine’s dark eyes sparkled. “I’ve heard you get the latest in Verisian dyes and patterns here, so close to the border.”
“We are quite blessed in our market.” Em held aside a curtain threaded with crystals and bowed the guests into the receiving room. Her father had been joined by her brother Jonathan and his friend Curtis, which explained the raised voices.
While Lord Harold rose to greet his guests and introduce Jonathan, Em headed across the room to intercept her brother’s friend.
“Welcome, Curtis. Please share in our bounty.” She crossed one leg behind her and presented the tray in an informal welcoming posture. While it galled her to bend that much for Curtis, she would shield Mistress Catherine from the scoundrel’s attentions if she could.
“Good to see you, too, Emmie. I missed having you greet me when I arrived this morning.” Curtis leaned forward, one dark curl sliding with artful carelessness over his forehead. He lowered his voice to an intimate purr. “Though I prefer you with feathers in your glorious hair.”
“Perhaps Jonathan will be kind enough to wear feathers the next time you visit.”
“Because you won’t do the welcoming honors?” Curtis popped a boiled snake egg in his mouth with an insolent air. “Your cousin is never so inhospitable, and her hair is as pretty as yours.”
“Would you be happier finding your entertainment at her house?” Em gestured toward the door. “I would be delighted to see you out.”
“Oh, no. I knew this would be diverting when Jon was summoned here with all haste by your father. As much as I would enjoy a moment alone with you, Emmie, I find myself most intrigued by your other guests.” He gave her a wink as he strolled around her to the knot of people on the other side of the room.
Em glared at his back as she followed him.
Curtis pressed his palms together and folded over at the waist in a deep bow. “May I have the honor of an introduction?”
Lord Harold glanced at Curtis, his wide nostrils flaring.
Curtis did not rise from his bow, and Em had to admit grudging respect for his careful use of the formalities.
“Lord Evan, this is Curtis of Trimble, Heir of Councilor Richard,” Jonathan said quickly. “Curtis, this is Lord Evan a’Maral a’Tarina, Diplomat of Destin and Voice of the Luminary.”
Curtis rose from his bow with a smile, his gaze fastening on Catherine. “And who is the lovely young woman?”
“My daughter, Mistress Catherine.” Lord Evan’s voice was as stiff as his spine.
“And my honored guest for the week,” Lord Harold added, the warning clear in his tone.
Curtis slanted a glance at Lord Harold before smiling at Catherine. “You must be despondent about coming out to the sticks for Allgoday instead of celebrating in the capitol.”
Catherine ducked her head. “I’m sure the celebration here will be lovely.”
Lord Evan flashed an indulgent smile at his daughter. “And much more suitable for the sensibilities of a young woman.”
“Our celebrations have their own charm,” Jonathan assured her.
“I quite enjoy the bonfire,” Em added.
Curtis smirked. “Come with me after sunset and I’ll show you the most charming thing Trimble has to offer.”
Catherine’s brow wrinkled. Lord Evan puffed himself up and Lord Harold’s hands twitched as if he yearned to strangle Jonathan’s friend.
“Isabel is preparing some burning sticks to make a most impressive display in the bonfire.” Em bared her teeth at Curtis in a smile. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy those much more than whatever entertainments Curtis might have in mind.”
“Hoping to keep my charms to yourself?” Innuendo oozed through his words, as sweet and sticky as warm honey.
Fighting the urge to gag, she curled her lip. “I’m hoping you’ll keep your clothes on until you are out o
f sight of myself and all other decent women.”
He pretended to yawn. “Decent women are so boring.”
Jonathan started to laugh, choking it into a cough at his father’s glare.
Lord Evan harrumphed. “You would probably enjoy some of the wilder parties at the capitol.”
“I’ve been longing to celebrate Allgoday at the capitol for years.”
Lord Harold raised his eyebrows. “Pity your father doesn’t have the connections to get you an invitation.”
Curtis straightened, the bored amusement washed from his face.
“Have you tried one of Cook’s cakes?” Jonathan snatched one of the nut cakes off Em’s platter. He shoved the crunchy sweet at his friend. “I don’t know what she puts in them. They are the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Curtis took a grudging bite, his eyes narrow slits of irritation.
Em held out the tray to Lord Evan and Catherine. “You should try one. They’re quite satisfying after a long, hot journey.”
Lord Evan’s face relaxed as he took the offered treat. “You’re a good girl, you are.”
Em tried to keep her thoughts from her face as she wondered if he expected her to wag her tail and bark after his condescending compliment. Despair clawed at her throat as she remembered Lucy urging her to wed.
When her options were the patronizing friends of her father, or insulting charmers like Curtis, the prospect of marrying was grim indeed.
Chapter 14
Quintin had waited until Em’s shadow had disappeared into the trees, before closing the door to his chamber. Echoing laughter from the main room of the cottage had indicated where his mother and Terin prepared trays of food. Quintin had joined them without comment.
As they’d carried the trays outside to eat, he felt an itch between his shoulder blades as if someone watched him. He glanced at Terin and the feeling intensified. His air gifted year-mate wanted to talk mind-to-mind. Quintin shook his head and then jerked his chin at his mother.
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 10
