36

By the time Quaeryt had finished discussing matters with Zhelan, then asked the Pharsi imagers to listen to everything they could, and returned to the building that had likely been the compound commandant’s quarters, Vaelora had washed and changed. He did the same, and they repaired to the parlor, graced by matching wall hangings on the interior facing walls, one showing an empty courtyard garden in spring and another depicting the same garden in fall. They had barely seated themselves in armchairs before the serving maid appeared and spoke.

“I think we’re being called to dinner,” said Vaelora.

They rose and followed the maid across the narrow center corridor into the dining room.

Colored hangings were centered on the end walls, finished in an off-white plaster, as was the bedchamber. The table and chairs had been crafted from the same honey-colored wood as the bedstead in the main bedchamber. Into the back of each chair was carved a tree, a different variety, Quaeryt thought, from a quick glance. Two places were set, across from each other at the end of table farthest from the curtained archway to the kitchen.

The serving maid gestured to the seats, ambiguously, and Quaeryt guided Vaelora to the one facing toward the windows, although he could not have said why, seating her before he seated himself.

The serving maid half filled the two heavy goblets with a clear liquid from a pitcher, beginning with Vaelora. Then, setting the pitcher on the table, she slipped through the curtained archway to the kitchen, returning in moments with two bowls, placing one first before Vaelora, and then the other before Quaeryt. When she finished, she inclined her head to Vaelora. After the slightest hesitation, Vaelora nodded in return, and the server retreated behind the curtain, although Quaeryt had no doubt that she was still observing them.

“You’re positioning me as the superior,” Vaelora said quietly. “Why?”

“I can’t explain, not in a logical way. It’s just a feeling.”

“Like why it’s better that I don’t eat with the officers and men?” asked Vaelora. “I’ve been doing that all the time. No one said anything in Sovahl, and I was the only woman there. No one in my family ever mentioned anything about that. I’ve never heard of either Eherelani or Erlani. Not before now, I mean.”

“Neither have I.”

“You still haven’t said why you’re deferring so obviously to me.”

“As I said … a feeling … and because your great-grandmere was likely an imager with the farsight who had enough power to sleep alone.”

“That’s not the same.” Vaelora sipped the clear liquid in her goblet. “This is good.”

“Better than the beer in Sovahl?”

“Much better. I can’t say what it is, but it’s strong.” She set the goblet down.

Quaeryt sipped from his goblet. “I’d guess that it’s a white ice wine of some sort.”

“Are these Eherelani the same as the Eleni that Arion mentioned?”

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to him in the morning before we meet with Calkoran.” He looked down at orangish liquid in the bowl. “Do you want to try the soup? I think it’s soup.”

“The spoons are thin … too thin for soup. These look like the bowls … you’re supposed to use the bowls like cups and sip it right from them.”

“Something you remember?”

Vaelora nodded, then lifted the bowl.

Quaeryt followed her example. The soup tasted like a combination of apricot and squash, a mixture that was almost too sweet for him.

Vaelora, on the other hand, was smiling when she finished her bowl. “That was good. It tastes familiar, but I can’t remember…” She shook her head.

“Something from when you were a child?”

“Probably.”

Although Quaeryt had not finished the soup, and did not intend to, as soon as she was through, the server returned and removed the bowls, then appeared with two platters, again serving Vaelora first. On the platter were parchment-thin slices of dark meat, interspersed with equally thin slices of what appeared to be cheese of some sort, both covered with a light orange-colored glaze.

After his experience with the soup, Quaeryt looked at his platter closely. Vaelora had no such trepidation, taking the angular knife and equally angular two-tined fork in hand, cutting off a section, and eating it. “You should try this, dearest. The meat is some kind of fowl, I think, a little strong, but the mixture with the cheese and the apricot glaze is quite good.”

Quaeryt took a much smaller morsel than she had. While he would not have been quite so enthusiastic as his wife, he did have to admit that the combination was in fact rather tasty, and better than the goat stew of the night before. “What kind of fowl, would you think?”

“Something not too tame. The meat’s rather dark.”

Quaeryt took another sip of the clear ice wine, if that indeed were what it happened to be, and found that it cleared the taste of the main dish. He took another bite, and it tasted better than the first … or he was getting used to it. “What do you think of the house?”

“It’s much better than most of the quarters we’ve had. The furnishings show good crafting and taste, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s a little … cold … as if … well … as if no one really lived here.”

“That could be because it’s been used as guest quarters. Still, that raises another question. This dwelling has been kept up. Why? For whom? Especially if Kharst was ruling all of Khel.”

“It would have to have been as quarters for guests of the High Council, then,” replied Vaelora.

“That would mean that Kharst never really controlled more than the larger towns and cities, then, and there has been a shadow Pharsi government here for years, most likely for the entire time Kharst claimed Khel.”

“Wouldn’t that make sense?” asked Vaelora.

“It would, but it’s going to make our job harder. Much harder. Unless we can get the High Council to agree to a unified system of government, Bhayar will have even more problems than Kharst did.”

“Because he can’t seem to be weak, but doesn’t operate through fear and terror?”

Quaeryt nodded.

When Vaelora had finished eating, the server appeared and removed both platters, reappearing immediately with smaller plates. On each was a small pastry, with a flaky crust, garnished with mint leaves that had been marinated in some liquid. The dessert turned out to be honeyed pastry folded around a nut-apricot filling, and drizzled with a sweet mint syrup.

“The cook has gone to great lengths on this dinner,” Quaeryt said, “as has the server.”

“They don’t want to offend us.”

“Or you,” he added.

“How much do you think they worry about what Bhayar might do?”

“They do worry, I’d guess, but they’ll try to avoid committing to anything without creating more reasons for Bhayar to attack. At the very least, they’ll want time to rebuild Khel.”

“Once Bhayar’s made a decision, he’s not likely to change his mind.”

“No.” Quaeryt shook his head slowly. “That’s something we both know.”

After they finished eating, Quaeryt stood, moved to the other side of the table, and eased back Vaelora’s chair as she rose. “I’d like to look at each room before we retire.”

“What are you looking for?”

“If I knew,” he replied, “I wouldn’t have to look.”

She laughed gently as they moved from the dining room back to the front sitting room, sparsely furnished with an upholstered settee, two armchairs, two side tables, and a narrow sideboard before the window. The honey-colored wood had been used for all the furniture, and for the interior window shutters. As in Sovahl, there were no curtains or hangings flanking the windows. On the single interior wall without a window or a door was another hanging, this one displaying a vineyard in harvest, with golden grapes, some in baskets, some still on the vines, but without a single person.

The front study also featured the same honey-wood furniture, but the single interior wall was comprised of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, although there were only a few dozen volumes. Quaeryt removed several and opened them. One was written in Bovarian, the others presumably in Pharsi.

Later, as he lay in the darkness beside a sleeping Vaelora, his thoughts circled back, time and time again, to the same question.

What are you missing?

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