She sniffs. “Can we at least still go by the Ribbon Market on our way? Mother said we could, to buy ribbons to celebrate your great victory and a banner to decorate the house. Our chaperone will be with us, and Steward Polodos and our maidservant and a groom and a driver. It will be perfectly proper. You promised me a new mask for the Shadow Festival the last time you were home. I thought I would be a cat this year.”
“No. You are going straight home. Wait here until I return with Steward Polodos.”
He departs.
“I never get what I want and it’s all your fault!” Amaya looks ready to spit with anger. “Aren’t you suddenly turned into the flirt! I’ve never seen you go after a boy like that! You should know better than to speak to a lord’s son. It makes Father look bad.”
“He spoke to me first! It would have been rude if I hadn’t answered.”
“You should have moved away from him. But you didn’t. You thought he was handsome. Admit it!”
“Handsome?” I pause, remembering the way he looked atop the victory tower when he pulled off his mask, the perfect representation of a triumphant adversary. “Yes, he is. But that’s not what happened.” I lift my right foot to display the three white smears. “Lord Kalliarkos recognized the chalk marks. He’s the adversary who won my round. He wanted to know why I let him win.”
“What a disaster! What did you tell him?”
When I think back I can’t help but smile even though my cheek still hurts. It is very flattering that he knew I should have won. “I told him I can’t unmask. Then he asked me about Rings. He was remarkably courteous and treated me like an adversary, not a Commoner. He thinks I’m good, Amaya!”
“Oooh! Jes’s heart has been slain by a man complimenting her on her skill in running the Fives!”
“What a relief he wasn’t speaking to me because he found me pretty!”
She grins with the charm that makes her irresistible when she chooses. “That’s not what I meant. But you have to admit it is just like you to care more that he praised your skill than your beautiful eyes. Jes…” She curls a ribbon around a forefinger, suddenly somber. “If he knows your secret, then he can tell Lord Gargaron. Or Father!”
“Hush,” I say, for I hear footsteps.
A servant lifts the entry drape. The painted mask she wears gives her the look of an ancient statue brought to life to serve the highborn. It also hides her expression so I cannot tell what reaction she has as she steps aside to allow Lord Gargaron to walk into the retiring room.
With a look, he measures me from my scuffed leather slippers to my coily hair. His lips sneer as if he is imagining some dire calamity like a great tide of seawater destroying the city or my modest charms seducing his nephew. The frown fades as he examines Amaya with a more luxuriously measuring stare. I grasp Amaya’s hand; she squeezes mine, taking a step away from him.
“Where are the other two?” he asks. “Four daughters and no sons. A man ought to be ashamed.”
“Our sister Bettany is frequently unwell, my lord,” I say, for I do not want him to think he can command Amaya’s attention whenever he wants. “Our eldest sister, Maraya, is studying with the hope of being allowed to take the examinations to be admitted as an Archivist in the Archives.”
Father returns with Junior House Steward Polodos in tow. His surprise on finding Lord Gargaron alone with two innocent girls cannot be disguised.
“My lord,” Father says as he places himself between us.
Lord Gargaron studies us as if we are furnishings. “The Archivists who investigate the workings of the world believe that a woman who has an excess of heat and vigor may give birth preferentially to daughters. As it is the nature of Commoner women to be overburdened with the heated constitutions more appropriate to men, it would explain the unusual numbers of daughters among Commoners. Not like the women of our people, Captain, who are properly cool and reserved.”
Father sucks in a breath so sharp that the lord deigns to notice.
“Had you a comment?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
Father’s anger snaps in his eyes like a storm but his tone remains flat. “It was nothing, my lord.”
“No, no, indeed, I insist you speak.”
Gripping my hand even more tightly, Amaya shuts her eyes. Usually nothing scares Amaya but she is trembling now.
I won’t let such a poisonous man humiliate Father. We have heard this slur before, and I need only repeat words Maraya has said more than once. I know how to speak exactly like a full-blood Patron, each word crisp and clipped short. “In truth, my lord, the unusual numbers of daughters found among Commoners might more easily be explained by them keeping all their girls instead of giving younger-born daughters to the temple in the City of the Dead as Patrons do.”
