Read Online The King's Blood by Daniel Abraham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Abraham
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ancient violin. Clara paused for a moment in an open square at the edge of the Division to watch a theater company declaim on their small, sad wagon-mounted stage. The actors playing tragic young lovers were decent enough, but the grandeur of the view behind them kept distracting her.
The grandeur of the view, or else some part of her didn’t want to dwell on young love and tragedy. Not today, at least.
At her house, Andrash rol Estalan, their Tralgu door slave, stood at the end of his silver chain. His ears were at high alert. His father had been one of her own father’s huntsmen, and she had a fond spot for him.
“Your son is with Lord Skestinin’s son and daughter, my lady,” he said. “They are in the west garden.”
“Thank you, Andrash. And is my husband at home?”
“No, my lady. I believe he has gone to the Great Bear with Lord Daskellin.”
“Likely that’s for the best,” she said. She took a deep breath. “All right.”
The Tralgu bowed his head. He always could express sympathy gracefully.
The west gardens were mostly rose and lilac, and neither of them yet in bloom. Jorey stood by a low stonework table where a young man and woman sat. The two guests both had hair the color of wheat and round features that looked better on the girl than her brother. In the gentle chill of early spring, all of them wore cloaks, but Jorey’s was wool and waxed cotton where the Skestinin siblings wore black, generously cut leather.
“Mother,” Jorey said, lifting his chin as she drew near. “Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. Next you’ll be grateful that I walk myself to the breakfast table,” Clara said. “And this must be Sabiha. I haven’t seen you in an age. You look lovely. And this cannot be Bynal. Bynal Skestinin is a little boy with a toy sword who took all the roses off Amada Masin’s bushes.”
“Lady Kalliam,” Lord Skestinin’s youngest son said as he stood. “My father would want me to thank you for accepting us in your home.”
The girl nodded, but didn’t look up. Her gaze was cast at the ground, a mask of stoicism and humiliation. In truth, the gratitude offered to Clara was little more than the common form, but that didn’t matter. They all knew what none of them would say. Lord Skestinin and his family looked upon this as pity. House Kalliam was graciously lowering itself by bringing Sabiha through its door. In the opinion of most of the court of Antea, it was. Clara might not like it, but denying it was like trying to ignore away the wind.
Clara chose her words carefully.
“My eldest son has served under Lord Skestinin for years,” she said. “His children are always welcome in this house.”
The boy bowed. He had a dueling scar on the back of his hand. For a moment, Clara was surprised, and then she wasn’t. He was old enough for the dueling yards, and had been for years. He was here now as chaperone of his sister’s honor. Likely he’d crossed steel over it at some point as well.
“Mother,” Jorey said, “I’ve had formal introduction to Sabiha. I’m going to ask Father’s permission tomorrow.”
Clara felt her eyebrows bolt toward her hairline and her gaze flickered over the girl. Even sitting and with the covering of the wide-cut cloak, she wouldn’t be able to hide a belly. Especially not for a second child, and with the amount of time it would have taken to send for a formal letter, receive it, and return from Osterling Fells to Camnipol, pregnancy simply didn’t seem plausible. Sabiha swallowed, her expression utterly empty. Everyone present knew the calculations Clara had just made. Everyone expected them.
“That seems sudden,” Clara said. “Engagements can run a season or two these days.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” the girl said.
The pain in Jorey’s expression was vivid and fresh and angry. This wasn’t the girl’s idea, then. It was her son’s. He wanted to give her the season. He wanted her to go to the dances and
The grandeur of the view, or else some part of her didn’t want to dwell on young love and tragedy. Not today, at least.
At her house, Andrash rol Estalan, their Tralgu door slave, stood at the end of his silver chain. His ears were at high alert. His father had been one of her own father’s huntsmen, and she had a fond spot for him.
“Your son is with Lord Skestinin’s son and daughter, my lady,” he said. “They are in the west garden.”
“Thank you, Andrash. And is my husband at home?”
“No, my lady. I believe he has gone to the Great Bear with Lord Daskellin.”
“Likely that’s for the best,” she said. She took a deep breath. “All right.”
The Tralgu bowed his head. He always could express sympathy gracefully.
The west gardens were mostly rose and lilac, and neither of them yet in bloom. Jorey stood by a low stonework table where a young man and woman sat. The two guests both had hair the color of wheat and round features that looked better on the girl than her brother. In the gentle chill of early spring, all of them wore cloaks, but Jorey’s was wool and waxed cotton where the Skestinin siblings wore black, generously cut leather.
“Mother,” Jorey said, lifting his chin as she drew near. “Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. Next you’ll be grateful that I walk myself to the breakfast table,” Clara said. “And this must be Sabiha. I haven’t seen you in an age. You look lovely. And this cannot be Bynal. Bynal Skestinin is a little boy with a toy sword who took all the roses off Amada Masin’s bushes.”
“Lady Kalliam,” Lord Skestinin’s youngest son said as he stood. “My father would want me to thank you for accepting us in your home.”
The girl nodded, but didn’t look up. Her gaze was cast at the ground, a mask of stoicism and humiliation. In truth, the gratitude offered to Clara was little more than the common form, but that didn’t matter. They all knew what none of them would say. Lord Skestinin and his family looked upon this as pity. House Kalliam was graciously lowering itself by bringing Sabiha through its door. In the opinion of most of the court of Antea, it was. Clara might not like it, but denying it was like trying to ignore away the wind.
Clara chose her words carefully.
“My eldest son has served under Lord Skestinin for years,” she said. “His children are always welcome in this house.”
The boy bowed. He had a dueling scar on the back of his hand. For a moment, Clara was surprised, and then she wasn’t. He was old enough for the dueling yards, and had been for years. He was here now as chaperone of his sister’s honor. Likely he’d crossed steel over it at some point as well.
“Mother,” Jorey said, “I’ve had formal introduction to Sabiha. I’m going to ask Father’s permission tomorrow.”
Clara felt her eyebrows bolt toward her hairline and her gaze flickered over the girl. Even sitting and with the covering of the wide-cut cloak, she wouldn’t be able to hide a belly. Especially not for a second child, and with the amount of time it would have taken to send for a formal letter, receive it, and return from Osterling Fells to Camnipol, pregnancy simply didn’t seem plausible. Sabiha swallowed, her expression utterly empty. Everyone present knew the calculations Clara had just made. Everyone expected them.
“That seems sudden,” Clara said. “Engagements can run a season or two these days.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” the girl said.
The pain in Jorey’s expression was vivid and fresh and angry. This wasn’t the girl’s idea, then. It was her son’s. He wanted to give her the season. He wanted her to go to the dances and
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