Fall of Angels

LVIII

THE TALL MAN smooths his velvet tunic before stepping into the tower room.

“You do honor to receive me, Lady Ellindyja,” offers the tall trader.

Lady Ellindyja steps back from the door and offers a slight head bow. “I do so appreciate your kindness in coming to see one whose time is past.” She slips toward her padded bench, leaving Lygon to follow.

As she turns and sits, she picks up the embroidery hoop, and smiles as she finds the needle with the bright red thread.

“Ah … my lady, you did-”

“Lygon, you are a trader, and you have dealt fairly with Lornth for nearly a score of years.”

“That is true.” Lygon runs his hand through the thinning brown hair before settling into the chair opposite Ellindyja.“I would like to believe I have always been fair. Firm, but fair.” He laughs. “Firm they sometimes take for being harsh, but without a profit, there’s no trading.”

“Just as for lords, without honor, there is no ruling?” asks Ellindyja, her needle still poised above the white fabric of the hoop.

Lygon shifts his weight on the chair. “I would say that both lords and traders need honor.”

“What weight does honor add to a trader’s purse?” asks Ellindyja, her tone almost idle.

“People must believe you will deliver what you promised, that your goods are what you state they are.”

“Do you tell people what to buy?”

Lygon frowns before he answers. “Hardly. You cannot sell what people do not want.”

“I fear that is true in ruling, too,” offers Ellindyja, her eyes dropping to her embroidery as the needle completes a stitch. “The lords of a land have expectations. Surely, you are familiar with this?”

“I am a trader, lady, not a lord.” Lygon shifts his weight.

“I know, and you would like to continue trading in Lornth, would you not?” Ellindyja smiles.

“Lady …” Lygon begins to stand.

“Please be seated, trader Lygon. I am not threatening, for I certainly have no power to threaten. I am not plotting or scheming, for I have my son’s best interests at heart. But, as any mother does, I have concerns, and my concerns deal with honor.” With another bright smile, Ellindyja fixes her eyes on Lygon. “You are an honorable man, and you understand both trade and honor, and I hope to enlist your assistance in allaying my concerns.” She raises the hand with the needle slightly to halt his protestation. “What I seek from you will neither cost you coin nor ill will. I seek your words of wisdom with my son, at such time as may be appropriate. That is all.”

“I am no sage, no magician.” Lygon rubs his forehead.

“I have little use for either,” answers Ellindyja dryly. “As you remarked at the dinner the other night, my son faces a difficult situation. Lord Ildyrom has created some difficultiesto the south, while the demon women have seized part of his patrimony in the Westhorns. These women are said to be alluring, not just to men, but to malcontented women here in Lornth.” She pauses. “And all across the western lands, even in Suthya. Would you want women leaving Suthya to create a land ruled by women? How would you trade with them? Would they not favor traders from, say, Spidlar?”

“I could not say. I have not heard of such.” Lygon licks his thick lips.

“Let us trust that such does not come to pass, then.” The needle flickers through the white fabric. “Yet how can Lord Sillek my son support such a cause merely because it would benefit the traders of Suthya?”

Lygon’s brows furrow. “If you would go on …”

“It is simple, honored trader. My son is concerned that the honor of merely regaining his patrimony is not enough to justify the deaths and the coins spent. His lords are concerned that their daughters and the daughters on their holdings do not find the wild women alluring, but they cannot speak this because they would be seen as weak or unable to control their own women.”

Lygon shakes his head. “What has this to do with trading?”

Ellindyja’s lips tighten ever so slightly before she speaks. “We have few weaponsmiths, and armies require supplies. If the honor of upholding your-and our-way of life is not sufficient for you to speak to my son about the need to uphold his honor, and that of his lords, then perhaps the supplies needed in such an effort will offer some inducement. Except you need not speak of supplies to Lord Sillek. That would be too direct, even for him.”

“My lady … you amaze me. Lord Sillek is fortunate to have a mother such as you.”

“I seek only his best interests, trader. Happily, they coincide with yours.”

“Indeed.” Lygon’s eyes wander toward the door.

Lady Ellindyja rises. “You must have matters to attend to more pressing than listening to an old lady. Still, if youcould see it in your heart to offer your observations about honor and about how you see that lords would not admit their concerns publicly … why, I would be most grateful.”

Lygon stands and bows. “I could scarcely do less for a mother so devoted to her son.”

“I am deeply devoted to his best interests,” Ellindyja reiterates as she escorts the tall trader to the door.

The tower door opens, and Lygon steps into the hallway and strides toward the steps to the lower level, his face impassive, his eyes not catching the blond woman who is descending from the open upper parapets.

As she follows the trader down the steps, Zeldyan’s eyes flick to the door to Lady Ellindyja’s room, and her mouth tightens.