“Very good, madam.” He didn’t let on if it wasn’t, precisely, but his expression went tellingly blank. At a guess, the man was some thirty years younger than his employer, but unescorted travelers were still not the norm, particularly those from as far off as Criwath.
Branwyn followed him into a hall full of radiance, despite the dark walls: magical lights reflected off of tall mirrors every few feet. The floor was bare wood, relatively unpolished, which she thought was likely another concession to Rognozi’s age.
“What a lovely house,” she said, and earned a smile from the footman or butler or whoever he was.
“My lord’s family was fortunate enough to save much of what they had before the storms,” he said, “and he and my lady spared no effort or expense in restoring much of the rest.”
“A noble endeavor,” said Branwyn. “A friend of mine has made quite a study of life before, particularly of the art and comforts of that era.” Darya mostly did that by dragging jeweled goblets and gold candlesticks out of ruined cities, but there was no need to go into detail. “Now that you mention Lady Rognozi, should I make my presence known to her?”
“There’s no need. My lord and lady will meet you at dinner, but that won’t be for a few hours yet.”
He wasn’t trying to condescend, but Branwyn heard the unspokenof coursesprinkled liberally through his speech. She couldn’t really object. Chances were good that she’d have ended up sounding the same, had he asked her to explain half her duties. Besides, she was too relieved that she’d have an hour or two to herself, with no need to try to remember the manners she’d learned in the far past and brushed up on in extreme haste. The meeting, and speaking to Zelen, had given her information. She wanted a chance to consider it and put it into what order she could manage.
She thought she’d gotten the councillors connected to the names Olwin had provided. Rognozi and Verengir had distinguished themselves. Yansyak was the red-haired woman, Starovna wore spectacles, Kolovat had the mustache, and Marton dressed plainly for reasons that Branwyn wasn’t certain she understood yet. There was a great deal that she wasn’t sure she understood.
The Order had sent her because of her gifts, because of all those who’d seen Thyran face-to-face, she was the easiest to spare, and because she was calmer and a touch more polished than many other Sentinels.
Branwyn still thought she made a poor diplomat and an even worse spy.
* * *
“You give the impression of being less desperate to reach sanctuary than usual,” said Altiensarn, the upper four of his copper-furred tentacles lifting and lowering in a polite greeting. “Did the meeting go so well, or has healing lost its charm?”
“I wouldn’t say well, exactly. Interestingly. The world might be ending.” Zelen hung his cloak on a peg by his office door, where it looked amusingly ornate against the plain gray stone. As was usual when he arrived after a council meeting, he suspected that he did too.
Altiensarn blinked, third eyelids sliding smoothly back and forth over gold eyes. “More so than usual?”
“That sounds dangerously philosophical.” Zelen ran his hand through his hair, mentally lifting off the weight of the circlet. “The rumors are true. Thyran’s back.”
Over the years, Zelen had gotten to know his partner in healing decently well and had developed more of a sense for waterfolk moods than the average human. Altiensarn didn’t obviously panic, whether that was natural or a habit learned by being a large furred being with a tentacled face among humans who tended to misinterpret sudden movements. All of his tentacles went still, though, and beneath them his voice, deeper than the usual chirping rumble, clicked out a series of sounds that Zelen would’ve wagered were prayer or profanity.
“More or less, yes,” he said. “There was a woman—military envoy from Criwath. She didn’t get much chance to describe the situation, but it sounds as though things there are in a damned bad state.”
“As would only be natural,” said Altien. The outer two of his tentacles waved slowly, and then he said, “But you and I can only tend our own sections of the reef. Does this news put different tasks in front of us?”
“No.” Zelen gave his partner a nod of acknowledgment as he sank into his chair and started taking off his doublet. “How has the afternoon been?”
“Relatively calm. We had one elderly man with a cut leg, three pregnancies to inspect and one to end—”
“Ourselves, or did we have to send them to the Mourners?”
“The woman wasn’t far advanced. Herbs and supervision sufficed.”
“Thank the gods.” Letar’s power could stop growth in the womb, but, as when it stopped any other growth, it was difficult for the host to endure—and ending a pregnancy so far gone was usually an emotional affair. That day, of all days, Zelen didn’t want to make the journey to the Threadcutter’s Temple to check on a patient. “Sorry, please continue.”
“A young man had a stomach illness that might easily have been bad meat or good wine, and there’s a child with a fractured arm in the chamber of rest. She came in perhaps ten minutes ago. I gave her dragon-eye syrup and was waiting on you, as you know my opinion regarding human bones.”
“Ludicrous unbendy mysteries, yes.” Zelen undid the final button of his doublet and pulled on a plain linen smock to match Altien’s, the thick fabric blessedly warm. He did what he could for the clinic, with fires and the help of an elderly wizard who could be bribed with court gossip, but it was always colder than the palace, which said much.
“I believe ‘inflexible’ was my term.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll take better notes next time,” said Zelen. Passing his partner, who’d poured his entire seven feet into a too-small chair, he took the left door out of their shared study.
The little room he entered was the warmest in the building, and he shut the door hastily behind him so it would stay that way. Inside, a narrow cot in front of a fire held a girl nine or ten years old, one arm in a neat sling. Despite his protests, Altien could manage some basic principles of human skeletons. She opened glassy hazel eyes at the sound of the door, but didn’t move.
“You,” said Zelen, “look like you’ve had a damnable time of it.”
She giggled, a good sign. It was hard to laugh when you were in overwhelming pain, and if she sounded a bit less than fully present, it meant the syrup was doing its work. “Mitri dared me to walk the roof,” she said, and wrinkled her nose. “And I can’t even get him back for it proper.”
