How could her father betray her this way? Dishonor the memory of her mother? She believed the love between her parents pure and true; thought he’d never remarried or seriously courted another woman because his love for Kariny was singular and infinite. It seemed, however, he’d been buying his pleasure elsewhere. Here. How could he…how could he consort with whores? Had his life with Kariny been a lie?
Suddenly, her father was a stranger to her.
To her disgust, tears flowed down her cheeks. She swiped them away. Everything good she thought her father stood for was false.
Silva watched her with a placid expression on her face. “Never doubt your father, dear. No matter what you may be thinking of him right now, he is a good man and I owe him much. I don’t allow just anyone into my house, either, you know; it’s very exclusive, and not all the entertainment my guests partake in is what you’re thinking.” When Karigan said nothing, she continued, “I know of your father’s life, of how he tried to raise you in the absence of Kariny—”
“Do not invoke my mother’s name,” Karigan said in a hoarse whisper. “Not in this place.”
“As you wish,” Silva said, “but I do want you to know that I hold your father in high esteem. He helped me in the past, so this house is always open to him when he is in town, and to his kin, as well.” With that, Silva set aside her cup and stood. She walked across the kitchen to leave, but paused by the door. “It saddens me that Stevic’s daughter would think less of him for wanting to seek comfort on a rare occasion even though his wife has been gone all these years. Do not think less of him, Karigan, for he never forgets your mother, and he grieves for her still.” And she left.
Karigan could only stare at her plate with blurry eyes, yellow egg yokes bleeding into the ham steak.
“A great lady, that,” said Cetchum. “Aye, she keeps a goodly house, taking in girls who have lived through the five hells and worse, an’ teachin’ them their letters and figures. They don’ have to stay, and a lot have off and married good gents. And only the most worthy gents come here.” And now he whispered, “Why I’ve seen a lord-governor or two come here. Aye, fair lady Silva is good to all under her roof, including my Rona and me, and especially to the girls who provide the gents with companionship.”
Companionship. Trading in flesh. An even worse thought occurred to Karigan: there were brothels in almost every major city and town in Sacoridia, and Rhovanny, too. At how many of these was her father a favored “patron”?
Karigan wanted to fling something across the room. Instead, she would seek lodging elsewhere right this moment, someplace where decent folk stayed, and she would pen her father a letter about all this. She stood hastily, and the blood drained from her head. The world went gray and fuzzy.
Next thing she knew, she was on her back on the floor, staring up at the concerned faces of Cetchum, Rona, and Silva.
“Tsk, tsk,” Rona said. “You should’ve et your breakfast, dearie. Still weak from your dunking in the river, too.”
Sweat slithered down the sides of Karigan’s face. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.
“Get Zem and help her back to her room,” Silva ordered Rona, “and make sure she stays abed and eats this time.”
Trapped, Karigan thought. She was trapped in a brothel.
MIRWELL PROVINCE
Beryl Spencer stepped out into the corridor, the door to Lord Mirwell’s library closing soundly behind her. She stood there fuming for several moments, feeling thwarted, annoyed, and perhaps worst of all, betrayed.
More maneuvers? He was sending her out on more exercises with the troops? She had just returned from the last set this week past and barely had time to brush the dust off her boots. One field camp blurred into another.
As she stood there in the corridor, she could not erase the image of that pompous son of a goat, Colonel Birch, standing there next to Timas, handing her her new orders. Somehow he had courted favor with Timas, had insinuated himself into the role that should have been hers, of close confidant and aide, first in Timas’ affections; he had outmaneuvered her and she couldn’t figure out how. Now she had become just another military officer with no special standing in the lord-governor’s eyes.
Beryl tried everything to gain Timas’ confidence, from deference, authority, efficiency, and hard work, even to using her femininity, all of which had worked so well on his father. She drew on all the power of her brooch to enhance her special ability to assume a role and convince others she was someone whom she was not, to win him over, but to no avail.
Which naturally made her suspicious.
She struck off down the corridor. Timas didn’t appear to be hiding anything; nothing obvious at least, and he was governing the province well despite his inexperience and difficulties compounded by the failure of crops over the summer, and rather odd magical occurrences, like the fire-breathing snapping turtle they’d found in the keep’s ornamental pond. Yet he kept sending her away.
Getting me out of the way. Why?
She turned a corner of the keep’s corridor, brightly lit for the evening hours. Her stride was crisp, even, and purposeful. Anyone noting her passage would see only the officer, all her medals, buttons, and insignia gleaming on her scarlet shortcoat, her hair severely tied back, and her boot heels sharp on the floor.
Everything about her appearance and carriage was impeccable—it was an image she’d worked hard to cultivate. Most viewed her, as she intended, as a cold, calculating soldier dedicated to the province and its lord-governor. Many of the keep’s denizens and members of Mirwell’s court feared her, as well they should. During old Lord Mirwell’s reign she had been not only his most trusted aide, but his chief interrogator. In the course of her duties, she employed many methods to force confessions of anyone he deemed worthy of his suspicions.