“Follow,” she said.
Again, rude. At the very least, she should have observed the basic courtesy. They were on edge, which meant that I had guessed right. All was not well, and that would be to my advantage.
I followed her into the courtyard.
The house was two stories tall, built with dark gray stone and crowned with a steep blue roof that looked a little like a witch’s hat. Smaller structures flanked it on both sides, with their own steep roofs, forming a U-shaped courtyard, which we had just entered.
“You wait here,” the sentry said and turned to leave.
Three strikes. That was my limit.
“It seems Clan Harzi is so poor that they no longer offer resting stools to their visitors.”
She glared at me, and I glared right back.
“Should I have brought my own?”
The woman stomped into the house and returned with a small, embroidered quilted pad, which she placed on the stone tiles in front of the door. Just the rug. No stool to go with it.
Fine.
I knelt on the pad, resting my weight on my bent legs. Lute tried to catch me, but I waved him off.
The woman stared at me.
“Please let theorsiknow that I’m here.”
The sentry disappeared into the house and shut the door behind her.
“What are you doing?” Lute murmured.
“Showing them courtesy,” I said. “Just because they are rude to me doesn’t mean I will be rude to them.”
“You shouldn’t be kneeling in front of them,” Lute said under his breath.
“This is their custom.”
Sometimes stools weren’t available, and the Okula sat straight on the pads, but this usually happened when they were traveling. They should’ve brought a stool. Not offering one was rude.
“I’m not kneeling,” he told me.
“Nor should you. Your job is to look menacing and glower at everyone who approaches. Maybe do that thing where you put your hand on your sword.”
Lute widened his stance and put his arms behind him in a textbook parade rest.
“Perfect,” I told him.
“How long are we going to wait?” he murmured.
“Until they see me.” I put some volume into my voice. “I’m not Harzi, but I’ve done everything the right way. They do prize ceremony and hospitality, so they won’t throw me out. They will delay, hoping I leave.”
“Should you lower your voice?” he asked.
“No. They are listening to us right now. Now they know that I know and also that I know that they know.”
Lute blinked a couple of times, shook his head, and fell silent.
After ten minutes, kneeling was not comfortable in the slightest.
