her instruments 02 - rose point (16 page)

Such old and familiar movements, leather tongue through the buckle, moving the frog over his flank. Hirianthial opened the case, bringing out the sword. “Anything true?”

“No one knows,” Neren said. “But the heir has been little seen of late, and there is concern there. Also, there was a rather significant event with the heir to the Seni involving the induction of a mortal into their family. That was some years ago, but it is still much discussed.”

Hirianthial froze. “For sooth?” he asked.

“Verily, sire,” Neren said. “And a strange beast it was, from all accounts. Four feet and wings and a tail and another half a body at that, and black and white all over.”

“A Glaseah!” Hirianthial exclaimed. Who was the current heir to the Seni? A man, he thought, Jeasa’s eldest son, but he couldn’t remember the name. What courage, though, to do such a thing; he would have to ask Liolesa for the full story, if she was disposed to talk to him. Taking the peace cords from Neren, he bound the sword and sat on the padded bench, acting now on habits so old he no longer remembered their formation; after dressing, one sat to have gemstones braided into one’s hair. A nobleman’s hair should be as long as his years, the saw went, an expression of the family’s wealth and the luxury of displaying it. “I assume that went over poorly.”

“Fortunately, most people gave little credence to the story,” Neren said. “It being so outrageous as to seem unbelievable. Even I had some trouble with it, particularly given the description of the creature.”

“You shall not find it so unbelievable soon,” Hirianthial said. “While I am gone, I would be pleased if you would prepare the house for the receipt of my guests: six, possibly seven, though you will need five bedrooms at most. I am not certain if we will be hosting the Queen’s woman, but if we are, then five.”

“Six guests, sire,” Neren said, opening a small wooden box and sorting through the selection of jewels there. “Very good.”

“They are all aliens,” Hirianthial said. “And one of them…is human.”

Neren’s fingers paused. “Human.”

“Yes, I know,” Hirianthial said. “But the Queen herself has asked for the human, so as a courtesy we are hosting her until Liolesa decides what is to be done with her.”

“I see,” Neren murmured. More distinctly, “It will be done. When shall I expect them, sire?”

“I’ll call before I leave and see,” Hirianthial said. “But within an hour. Best to have them here at night, when people are less likely to notice the activity. Unlike me, they will be arriving by Pad, probably in the main hall.”

“Of course,” Neren said, and then, diffident, “Very unusual times, these, sire.”

“And about to become more so,” Hirianthial said. He dipped his head as Neren lifted a chain of rubies and opals. The lamplight flashed off the metal fittings, and he saw—felt—the hand reaching toward his hair. The flood of panic was so abrupt he inhaled sharply.

Neren paused. “My lord?”

Hirianthial held up a hand, hoping its tremor was not as obvious to the servant as it was to himself. “I shall forgo the ornamentation. It is a private meeting, and my cousin knows how I feel about such displays.”

“Of course.”

Hirianthial struggled with his composure as Neren turned from him to put the chain away. If the man had touched him, would he have lashed out, without thought, without the chance to quell himself? Could he have killed his family’s oldest servant... by accident? Even now his heart was racing and there was sweat chilling his palms, though he hadn’t moved.

Neren was speaking. “...horse brought ‘round the front for you, sire.”

“Ah? Thank you, Neren. That will do nicely.” Hirianthial rose. “Tell my guests I’ll be with them shortly, if they arrive before I do.”

“I shall do so, sire.”

Without allowing himself to look back, Hirianthial left for his meeting with Liolesa. If anything, his errand had become more urgent.

“You all have everything you’ll need for a few days?” Reese asked. “Remember, we’re not going to be able to come back up here until we’re sent back by the Queen, and it’s hard to know when that will be. Plus, this world doesn’t have Pelted, so none of the clothes are going to fit and who knows what they’d use to groom a sapient’s fur.”

“Probably one of those brushes they use on their horses,” Kis’eh’t said, pursing her lips.

“Ugh!” Irine wrinkled her nose. “No thank you.”

“We’re good, Boss,” Sascha said. “Honest. We thought of everything. Did you?”

Reese checked herself. Duffle bag filled with clothes and horse sales materials. Telegem and tablet. Round fuzzy alien, who murmured a sleepy chime in her head in response to her itemization. “No, I’m good.” She glanced at Malia. “Everything arranged on this end?”

“Looks like it,” Malia said, double-checking the coordinates between Pad and tablet. “You should show up in the lobby, and the people there are expecting you.” She looked up, ears perked. “And I’ll take good care of the
Earthrise
for you while you’re gone. Anything starts making you nervous, just tell me and I’ll set her down at the royal landing field.”

“Thanks,” Reese said.

“You sure you want to stay here babysitting by yourself?” Irine asked, ears sagging.

Malia smiled. “I’ll be fine...it’s not like there’s not company in-system if I get lonely. To be honest, it’ll be nice to be by myself for a while. And I like the view. It never gets old.”

Reese drew in a deep breath. The prospect of leaving the ship with a stranger made her anxious, but the Queen of the Eldritch had sent Malia as her representative, and the foxine had guided them here as promised; no one on her crew could have set that course, or rescued the ship had Malia failed them. For better or worse, Reese had committed to this network of contacts and trust. And besides—she was about to see the Eldritch homeworld with her own eyes! How many people could say that? How could she miss it!

“All right,” she said. “Let’s do this thing.”

“You first, Boss,” Sascha said. “And remember to move out of the way or it won’t let us pass.”

“Right,” Reese said. She resettled her bag’s strap and hugged Allacazam against her midriff. “Here we go,” she murmured, and stepped over the Pad into a dim space that seemed to go on forever into shadows and the suggestion of ornate railings and furniture. She stumbled a little further to give the Pad room to emit its next passenger and found herself staring at an Eldritch, and he was not Hirianthial.

“Oh, no,” she blurted. “I don’t speak the language!”

“Never fear, madam,” the man said. “I speak yours.” He touched a palm to his breast and bowed. “I am Neren Fasith, castellan of the Jisiensire estate, in service to the Sarel family. My lord asked me to make you welcome.”

It was such a smooth delivery that she almost didn’t notice the shiver of his wrist... but his skin—gloves? Were white and his livery was wine-red, and that made the tremor visible. “Ah... thank you. I’m Reese—Theresa Eddings, captain of the TMS
Earthrise
...”

Sascha appeared with the silhouette-limning flash of a Pad transfer, and behind him almost on his tail, Irine. Kis’eh’t and Bryer followed in short order. “And... ah, these are my crew. Irine and Sascha, those are the cats. Kis’eh’t is over there and the tall one is Bryer.”

The man’s pause was brief but Reese saw it anyway; she’d gotten too used to scrutinizing Hirianthial for similar minimalist cues. “Welcome to the Jisiensire townhouse. I have rooms prepared for you all, and there are refreshments upstairs in the solar. If you will follow me?”

Her people didn’t say anything, but the look Sascha flashed her was just visible in the low light, and she could tell his brows were lifted. She shrugged and shifted Allacazam to the other arm before starting after the man. The dark was strange: she’d never been in a place where nightfall meant the insides of buildings were dark too. Was there some custom against using artificial lights? Or... did they not have any? Crazy idea. Who didn’t have artificial lights? And the smell... the smell was overwhelming and alien. Not bad, but she was accustomed to the odorlessness of enclosed environments. When the
Earthrise’s
air started to smell, good or bad, it was because some filter somewhere needed changing.

The man leading them picked up a lamp at the top of the stairs. It had glass panes set in some sort of metal, and there was a candle in it. A
candle
. Reese had only enough time to give it a look of utter incredulity before their guide brought them to a tall and ornately painted door, which he pushed open for them onto a parlor lit by several more candles, and a fire in a fireplace. The furniture looked like museum pieces, with carved wooden finials and upholstery with embroidered scenes of people riding on horses or sitting on picnic blankets in the countryside. There were tapestries and paintings on the wall, rugs on the wooden floors, and in the corner, an honest-to-bleeding-soil harp as tall as Reese, its strings glittering in the flickering light: firelight really did flicker. Who knew? She hadn’t.

As they stared into the room, the man said, “The lord should return within an hour. If you will permit me to have your bags taken to your rooms? You need only set them here against the outside wall. Just so, thank you. If you need anything, use the bell-pull.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving them in the chamber with each other. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Sascha said, “Uh, Boss... I’m afraid to sit.”

“I bet they don’t like animals on their furniture,” Irine muttered, which made them all glance at her. “What? Don’t you get a feel about this?”

“From that man?” Kis’eh’t said, surprised. “Absolutely nothing. Did you?”

“Not from him,” Irine said. She waved a hand at the room. “From this. I mean, it’s beautiful and I really want to enjoy it but we know they’re xenophobes. We know Hirianthial never talks about his past. What more do we need to get the picture? We’re not wanted here.”

“I was maybe less worried about them hating us and more worried about putting my posterior down on a chair we could sell for a year’s worth of fuel,” Sascha admitted.

“That’s the other thing,” Irine muttered. “He didn’t tell us he was rich!”

“We could have guessed that part, though.” Kis’eh’t padded toward the fireplace and stopped short of the raised flagstones of the hearth. “That feels really nice to be so dangerous and inconvenient.”

“Don’t set yourself on fire, please,” Reese said, nervous.

“I won’t. It smells good though, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what that is?” Reese asked, and stepped a little closer herself. She hugged Allacazam tighter as sadly inadequate protection against his neural fur catching on fire, a possibility he found unworthy of worry from the soothing green colors he kept painting in the back of her mind. With him working on her she allowed herself to inhale the rich scent of hot sap and burning wood. And it was warm, which made her notice that it had been cold in the hall, very cold. “It is nice, isn’t it.”

“You’re ignoring me!” Irine said, exasperated.

“I think maybe you’re reading too much into one room,” Reese replied, but she felt a hint of unease herself. She had assumed Hirianthial had good reasons not to discuss his home. She’d also assumed he hadn’t wanted for money either, but the size of this place, even disguised by the dark, implied a level of wealth she wasn’t prepared to accept. She glanced up at the ceiling and found instead a peaked roof formed of glass panels, and beyond their silhouetted panes, the high vault of a night sky with alien constellations. What would this place look like during the day? And would she be ready for it?

“I guess these are our refreshments,” Sascha said from the side of the room. He gingerly took the pitcher from the candle-warmed cradle and sniffed the inside. “Wine, maybe? With cinnamon?”

“Food,” Bryer observed, and took one of the fruit slices, popping it in his mouth. “Apples.”

“Apples?” Kis’eh’t looked up sharply, then went to the sideboard to investigate. She frowned at the tray, then tried one. “Aksivaht’h. Apples!”

“They’re particularly good?” Reese asked, puzzled at the Glaseah’s fixation.

“They have apples,” Kis’eh’t said to her. “Why? Do they grow them here?”

“Maybe they’re imports,” Sascha said.

“On a xenophobic world?” Kis’eh’t shook her head. “So they don’t talk to outworlders, they only trade with them? That doesn’t make sense.”

Reese sat on the edge of the hearth, holding Allacazam against her stomach. “Why are we so upset about this? We should be happy, right? Someone we like has invited us home with him, offered to let us stay at his place, and we see that it’s a nice place and it’s very comfortable. Why are we picking at it?”

“First of all, he didn’t invite us,” Sascha said, ears flipping back. “We pushed him into letting us do this.”

“And he ran away from this place. If it’s so nice, why?” Irine asked. “I mean, really. He’s got a nice house, it’s gorgeous and he’s even got servants. So what made him leave it behind?”

“And why do they have Terran apples when they hate outworlders?” Kis’eh’t said.

Reese stared at them, wide-eyed, then looked up at Bryer. “What about you?”

The Phoenix swept the room with his strange whiteless eyes, then shrugged, a motion that rippled through his metallic wings. “Here now. Deal with what is, when it becomes necessary.”

“Of course,” Reese said and sighed. She petted Allacazam, who sent a query through her mind, like the rising flight of a bird. “I don’t know,” she said to him. “But I guess for now... we wait.”

Sascha poured a glass of the wine and brought it to her. “You don’t have any questions of your own?”

Reese took the glass, fingers stinging from the unexpected heat. Who warmed wine? She glanced at it, then up again at the ceiling. Finally she said, “All I want to know is... why are there no lights?”

Painfully inbred and weak in both constitution and temperament, Eldritch horses were already prone to skittishness, and Hirianthial’s unease made his mount painfully fractious. By the time he was waved through Ontine’s gates he was ready to be quit of both the ride and his own thoughts, tense and cruel with the fear of what might have been, and what might yet be if he did not learn to control a talent for which there was no curriculum. A groom took his mount and left him to mount the palace’s stone steps to the entrance, a cold wind off the nearby ocean stinging his cheeks and working on his joints. His court coat and cloak were little protection, and his gloves even less so; the stiffness of his fingers was new, though. When he’d been younger, the season hadn’t seemed so cruel.