Above His Proper Station

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  There on the doorstep was Tazia Lir—but not quite as he remembered her. She had lost weight; her face was drawn, and her dress, one he remembered, was much the worse for wear, but still, it was unmistakably Tazia. At the sight of him a worried expression vanished, replaced by an adoring smile. “Anrel!”

  That smile, and her unexpected presence, swept away doubts that had troubled Anrel ever since he had seen Tazia’s sister die on the bridge in Beynos. He had thought that his failure to save Reva would have crushed any affection Tazia might have had toward him, that the fury her father had directed toward Anrel for not agreeing to die in Reva’s place might create an insurmountable barrier between them. He had feared that Tazia might not have approved of his rabble-rousing speech, might have been angry that he had not taken a better approach, that he had appealed to the crowd rather than to Lord Allutar or Lord Diosin.

  Her happy face erased any such concern. Anrel’s arms encircled her, and she enthusiastically returned his embrace.

  For a moment no one spoke; the unexpected joy of her presence left Anrel unable to find words, and he felt no need for them in any case. The feel of her warm body against his, the scent of her hair, the sound of her breath were all he wanted and more than he could have asked. The pressure of her hands on his back and her cheek against his own said more than the finest speech anyone had ever given. Any worries about his future or the fate of the empire vanished, at least for that moment.

  Then Derhin said dryly, “I take it you know her, Anrel. By all means, then, let us invite her in.”

  Tazia raised her face from his shoulder and leaned away, looking up to meet his eyes. “Yes, of course,” Anrel said, releasing her. “Come in, come in! Are you hungry? Could I get you something to drink, perhaps?”

  “I don’t … perhaps a little …” She sounded breathless, though Anrel had not held her as tightly as he might have liked.

  “We’ll open another bottle,” Anrel said, taking her hand and leading her over the threshold. “And there’s still some of the cheese.”

  Derhin stepped past them and leaned out the door to give the street outside a careful look, then closed the door securely behind the happy couple and followed them to the drawing room, where Anrel gently guided Tazia into the best chair. When she was seated Anrel remembered enough of his manners to turn to Derhin.

  “Derhin,” he said, “allow me to present Mistress Tazia Lir. Tazia, this is Derhin li-Parsil, delegate to the Grand Council representing the commoners of Naith.” That said, his gaze returned to the face of his beloved, and he stared into her eyes, smiling foolishly.

  Derhin bowed. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, mistress.”

  “Thank you, Master li-Parsil,” Tazia said, bobbing her head, though she was looking at Anrel, and not Derhin, as she spoke.

  “I’ll fetch a fresh bottle, shall I?” Derhin said.

  “Thank you,” Anrel answered.

  As Derhin turned and headed for the kitchen, Anrel tore his gaze away long enough to find himself a chair and settle into it. He turned back to Tazia and asked, “What are you doing in Lume? I thought this was the one place your family wouldn’t go!”

  Tazia gazed at him helplessly. “I scarcely know where to begin,” she said. “We’ve been here half a year, looking for you!”

  “For me?” Anrel made no attempt to conceal his astonishment. “And … ‘we’? You’re all here?”

  “Mother, and Perynis, and I,” Tazia said.

  The omission of her father was obviously significant, but Anrel did not care to guess just what it meant. “Tell me all of it,” he said. “From the day … in Beynos …” He hesitated, unsure how to safely refer to her sister’s death.

  “The day Reva was hanged,” Tazia said, the last trace of her smile vanishing.

  “Yes,” Anrel said, almost choking on the word as he remembered the horror and despair of that morning.

  “We were there,” Tazia said. “We saw you dive off the bridge.”

  “I saw you in the crowd,” Anrel said. “I didn’t … I couldn’t reach you.” The explanation sounded feeble even as he gave it.

  Tazia waved that away. “Of course not. You were busy trying to save Reva, and when that didn’t work you did what you had to to save yourself.”

  “I’m sorry—” he began, but Tazia cut him off.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Anrel,” she said. “That was a brave and gallant thing you did.”

  Anrel stared at her, not comprehending how she could forgive him. “But I failed,” he said. “Your sister—Reva died, despite all I could do. Lord Allutar had enchanted her. Or Lord Diosin, I don’t really know which, but I assume it was Allutar.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tazia said, reaching out to take his hand again. “You tried. You did all you could. We understood that.” She grimaced. “Well, Mother and Perynis and I understood it. Father … Father did not. He said you had deserted us in our hour of need, and that you could have saved Reva if you had gone along with his scheme to trade your life for hers.”

  “I don’t—” Anrel began.

  Tazia put a finger to his lips, silencing him.

  “You couldn’t,” she said. “I know that. Lord Allutar had no intention of letting her live, no matter what you did, not when she had had the effrontery to try to cast a spell on him.”

  “What happened?” he asked when she took her finger away. “After I dove from the bridge, I mean.”

  “There was a riot,” she said. “You probably knew that.”

  “I heard,” Anrel acknowledged as Derhin reappeared with wine and cheese.

  “The burgrave’s home, and Lord Allutar’s house on Bridge Street Hill, were burned, and a few other buildings,” she said as Derhin set the plate of cheese on a handy table.

  “Burned?” Anrel said, stunned.

  “Was this in Beynos?” Derhin asked. “Or Alzur?”

  Startled, Anrel glanced at him as Tazia replied, “Beynos.”

  Derhin nodded, and pulled a corkscrew from his pocket.

  “We were frightened, but we were angry, too,” Tazia said. “Mother was weeping, grieving for Reva, and wanted no part of any more violence, but Father was furious, so Perynis and I made our way out of the crowd and took Mother back to the inn, while Father joined the mob rampaging up Bridge Street. He didn’t come back to the Boar’s Head for a day and a half, and when he did he was stinking drunk.” Her tone made it plain that she did not approve.

  “He had just lost his eldest daughter,” Anrel said.

  “Yes,” Tazia said. “But it meant that for a day and a half the three of us were huddled in that room above the stables, lonely and terrified, with no idea whether he was dead or alive, no knowledge of whether you were dead or alive, no way to know what had become of Reva’s body, whether we would be able to give her a proper burial and commend her soul to the Mother. It was unspeakable. If you ever committed any offense against my family, Anrel, it was then, in doing nothing to let us know what had become of you.”

  “I couldn’t,” Anrel protested. “To return to Beynos—I would have been arrested and hanged. And I thought you would hate me for not saving your sister; I could not imagine you would be generous enough to forgive me that failure.”

  “I know,” Tazia said, her expression softening. “I know. But at the time, even while I knew there was nothing you could safely do, I hated you for not doing it anyway, for deserting us there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anrel said, his heart aching in his chest. “I am so very sorry.”

  “Of course you are, but you have no reason to be,” she said, reaching over to caress his cheek.

  “What happened then?” Derhin asked as he poured wine.

  “Father did come back eventually,” Tazia said. “Mother wanted to know what had become of Reva’s body, but all he wanted to know was where Reva’s money was. We all knew she had been saving up to go out on her own, perhaps find a husband—she had chafed under Father’s rule for y
ears, and had been hoarding every penny, and now that she was gone, he said that money was his, and he wanted it.

  “Mother tried to say that was the wine talking, that the money wasn’t important, but he would not speak of anything else. So she said that the money should be split between Perynis and myself, to dower us, that Reva would have wanted that, and Father bellowed at her …”

  Tazia swallowed, and fell silent for a moment. Neither man spoke; Derhin stopped pouring, and they waited for her to continue.

  “Father had shouted at us all often enough,” Tazia said at last, her voice a trifle unsteady. “For as long as I can remember, we all lived in fear of his temper, when he would shout at us and insult us, and perhaps slap us if we provoked him. Mother had always protected us from the worst of it. She had always been able to soothe him, but after that day and a half alone at the inn, grieving for Reva, she could not restrain herself. She shouted back, and called him a monster, a callous beast, a miser, a whoremonger, treating us all as if we were nothing more than slaves, or less than slaves. She said he would never have Reva’s money while any of the rest of us still lived.”

  Anrel saw tears welling in Tazia’s eyes. He leaned in his chair and reached for her, dreading what she was about to say.

  “He beat her bloody,” Tazia said, pulling her hair back from her face with both hands. “I tried to stop him, and he knocked me aside as if I was nothing. Perynis did not try to help us; she was smarter than that. She ran for help, while Mother and I kept him from following her. I don’t know what she told the men downstairs, but they came running in, with Master Kabrig in the lead with a club in his hand, and they took Father down, and dragged him from the room. He was still shouting drunken threats.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped her hands. “We wanted to flee immediately, to get away before he could return, but Mother’s arm was broken and she was dazed from the blows to her head, so we stayed long enough to heal her—well, to help her heal herself, she was always the best of us at healing magic.”

  “Magic?” Derhin threw Anrel a glance.

  “Witchcraft,” Anrel told him.

  “It took most of a day, and that was long enough for Father to sober up,” Tazia said. “Master Kabrig came to tell us that Father had been turned away from the inn, and that he had said he would be back with the City Watch to claim what was his. We could stay there no longer. There was no telling whose side the watchmen might take, especially if Father told them we were witches. So Master Kabrig saw us safe to the city gate, and we set out for Kolizand, thinking we would find friends there.”

  “Your customers,” Anrel said. “The people you had healed of the fever.”

  “Yes. But they had heard that rioters had destroyed half of Beynos at the behest of a witch, and they gave us no welcome. We tried to explain the truth, but they would have none of it.”

  “Of course not,” Anrel said bitterly.

  “What’s more, we worried that we had left a trail in the snow and mud that Father could follow—there were few on the road at that time of year. So we did not stay in Kolizand. We turned toward Lume, just as you had, to hide among the throngs here. And we had hopes of finding you, if you still lived. We asked in the courts where you told us you had lived as a student, so we knew you had reached Lume alive, but we could hear no word of where you had gone when your old neighbors turned you away.”

  “By my second night in the capital I had taken refuge in the Pensioners’ Quarter,” Anrel said.

  Tazia nodded. “We thought perhaps you might be there, but we did not dare come looking for you in that lawless place, and we had no idea what name you might be using. Instead we rented a room in Catseye at first, and then found work as domestics.”

  “Domestics? Servants?”

  She nodded again. “What other skills did we have that we dared to use? To find even that work we used witchery to persuade our new employers to hire us, rather than more experienced or more compliant women.”

  “Compliant?” Then Anrel realized what she meant; wealthy men often found serving wenches convenient for more than cooking and cleaning. “Oh.”

  “We have been living quietly here in Lume ever since,” Tazia said. “We have taken no part in any of the politics, any of the riots—well, Perynis was caught up in the crowd that looted a bakery, but nothing else. We wanted nothing but to stay out of trouble and out of sight. But then today we heard that Alvos the orator had been made a member of the Grand Council, and we knew it must be you—no, we hoped it was you, but feared it was some imposter. I asked after you, and encouraged cooperation with a few gentle spells, and … and here I am, and it is you, and I am so, so very glad to see you!”

  And with that she flung herself from her chair into Anrel’s arms, weeping with joy.

  25

  In Which Anrel Receives Unhappy News

  Tazia’s visit lasted for roughly another hour, in which she provided more details of her family’s misfortunes, and listened avidly to Anrel’s and even Derhin’s accounts of what they had done. At last, though, she rose. “It’s getting dark,” she said. “I should go.”

  “The streets are not safe for a woman alone,” Derhin agreed. “Which is a disgrace to the empire.”

  “I would be happy to accompany you, to see you safe to your family’s bosom,” Anrel said. “Or perhaps …” He glanced at Derhin.

  “Perhaps what?” Derhin asked.

  “I am not certain I should suggest this,” Anrel said. “I am not at all sure of the finances or the proprieties; if either of you feels it inappropriate, do not hesitate to say so. It occurs to me, though, that perhaps we could employ a housekeeper here. Or even a staff of three.”

  “I don’t … I …” Derhin blinked, and did not finish his sentence.

  Seeing his discomfort, Anrel said, “Well, let us not be hasty, in any case.” He dismissed the matter with a wave. “I will walk Mistress Lir home, and if she and her mother and sister would care to consider working here, we can discuss it another day.”

  “I think we will give it every consideration,” Tazia said, smiling. “Though you do understand, I trust, that we are not as compliant as some hired women.”

  “I would hardly think otherwise!” Anrel replied, smiling back.

  He did indeed escort her back to her home in Catseye, where she shared a shabby attic room with her younger sister. Tazia informed Anrel that their mother Nivain was employed in a somewhat better household, and had a room there, but the two sisters worked for the manager of a row of tenements, and their accommodations were far from luxurious.

  When Tazia opened the door at the top of the stairs Anrel was standing behind her, and Perynis, looking up from where she sat at her sister’s return, spotted him immediately. She let out a squeal and sat bolt upright.

  “You found him! It’s really him!”

  “Yes,” Tazia said, and Anrel thought she blushed, though it was hard to be sure in the orange glow of the single lamp above the steps.

  “Come in, come in!” Perynis called, beckoning

  “We aren’t allowed to have men in our room …” Tazia’s voice trailed off uncertainly.

  “Oh, but he’s a delegate to the Grand Council!” Perynis said, getting to her feet. “Surely, that exempts him from ordinary rules!”

  Tazia looked helplessly at Anrel.

  “I’m afraid I cannot stay,” he said, sparing her any temptation to impropriety, “but you are both most welcome to come visit me tomorrow—or perhaps more than visit.”

  “More?” Perynis looked from Anrel to Tazia and back.

  “I’ll let Tazia explain,” Anrel said. Then with a wave, he turned and hurried back down the stairs before he could change his mind, his heart filled almost to bursting with a fiery stew of emotion. He was overcome with delight at seeing Tazia again, frustrated that he must part from her even briefly, pleased to see Perynis alive and well, furious at Tazia’s account of their father’s actions, distraught that they were reduced to near povert
y, relieved that neither woman seemed to hold any ill will toward him despite his failure to save poor Reva, and wildly eager with anticipation of seeing Tazia again, and perhaps pursuing the courtship he had long thought impossible.

  He could scarcely think, his mind awhirl as he trotted through the streets.

  Back at the town house on Lourn Street he found himself barraged with questions—very politely—by Derhin. Anrel gradually explained to him the entire tale of how he had fallen in with the Lir family, and what had become of their eldest daughter.

  “This is why I was so certain that Lord Allutar was responsible for Amanir’s death,” he explained. “I had seen him hang someone before.”

  “Ghastly!” Derhin said with a shudder. “That poor girl!”

  Between them they finished another bottle of wine, and then retired for the night.

  In the morning they returned to the Aldian Baths for Anrel’s second day as a member of the Grand Council. The speaker of the day was not as good at the job as his immediate predecessor, and several discussions wandered off topic or descended into shouting matches. By midday everyone was obviously weary of it, so the afternoon was dedicated to committee meetings, rather than continuing the general assembly.

  The Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery met once again in the old heated pool, where Delegates Savar, Guirdosia, and Essarnyn reported on their initial contacts with the emperor’s staff. The first meeting, the previous evening, had gone well; they were awaiting word on an audience with the emperor himself, and were optimistic about their prospects. His Imperial Majesty had met with the Committee on Imperial Finance several times over the past season, so there was certainly precedent in their favor. Whether an audience would be granted for just the three of them, or for the entire committee, remained unclear—if an audience happened at all.

  In other business, the committee began compiling a list of sorcerers who should be investigated; almost every one of the thirty members had a name to put forth. Anrel did not mention anyone; his only complaints were against Lord Allutar, who headed the list by unanimous agreement.