The Sapphire Crescent

CHAPTER THREE

"You're treating me like I'm five!" Emriana shouted at her uncle. She was slumped in one of the ornately carved high-backed suthwood chairs, with its claw-shaped feet and similarly formed arms, that surrounded the huge dining room table where the Matrell family was gathered. The seat was solidly padded, but that made it no more comfortable. The girl wanted more than anything to stand and pace, like her uncle was, but she had been told in no uncertain terms to sit down and remain there until she was permitted otherwise. Emriana looked to her mother for some measure of support, but Ladara Matrell was studiously gazing at her own robe, picking at the ornate fabric as the arguing continued. The mousy woman rarely stood in the way when her brother-in-law took the role of surrogate father over his dead brother's children. Emriana despised those times, and this moment was one of them.

The hour was late, and most members of the Matrell family were already dressed for bed. Only Quindy and Obiron, the eight-year-old twins, were absent. A handful of lanterns sat on the table itself, having been lit by sleepy servants who were roused by Uncle Dregaul when it became clear that a family meeting needed to occur. As such, the full complement of candelabra that hung from chains from the ceiling remained dark, so the spacious chamber was not as brightly cheerful as it might have been during a typical dinner. More than one yawn was carefully hidden behind the palm of a hand.

"Sometimes, you still act like you're five," Uncle Dregaul replied, moving back and forth on the far side of the table from Emriana.

His voice was like ice, and the thinly veiled anger in his countenance said all that needed to be said to the girl. Sneaking out had been bad enough, but as the rest of the story unfolded and it became clear that she had also disobeyed Vambran's instructions to stay in the safety of the carriage, Uncle Dregaul's mien had grown rock-hard. Emriana kept her defiant gaze mostly on her uncle, but she spared a moment or two of scathing glares for her brother, too. His return home for her birthday wasn't turning out to be quite the thrill she had hoped.

Vambran sat in another dark chair, the high arch of its back rising over even his tall frame. He stared at nothing, one leg thrown over the chair arm, pinching his lips together with his thumb and forefinger, oblivious to Emriana and obviously deep in thought. She was furious with him for so readily explaining the events of the evening, rather than holding his tongue about her involvement in the escapades. In fact, he had seemed bent on making a point of it, trying to get Uncle Dregaul to listen to his concerns about the veracity of the guards, even including the fact that Emriana herself believed she had recognized the dead woman. She doubted seriously if the entire household would even be having the conversation had Dregaul been told only that she had snuck out to ride down to the docks, safely in the carriage, with Prandles there to watch over her. But, of course, he was aware of it all and no doubt contemplating what sort of punishment to inflict on her for her insolence. She hoped that neither Prandles nor Jaleene, her personal maid, would get into trouble for their parts in it. Dregaul had never been adverse to firing house staff for similar shortcomings in the past.

"Sneaking out of your chambers after I specifically- specifically! — told you that you were not to ride to the docks with Prandles is bad enough," Dregaul said, interrupting Emriana's thoughts and ticking points off on his fingers. "But then to go and get in the middle of such an obviously dangerous situation in an alley in the middle of Arrabar is just plain brainless. Scuffles in alleys with mysterious figures is exactly the reason-exactly! — why I don't want you roaming around outside the walls. And yet, you don't have enough sense to see how dangerous it is. And you wonder why I treat you like a child. You act like one, Emriana, a very spoiled one.

"And you!" Emriana's uncle said, turning to face her brother. "How could you drag her into the middle of such a situation? You aren't home an hour, and already you're mixing it up with the common folk, playing at soldier. What's the matter with you?"

"I explained to you already," Vambran said, his own voice rising in resentment. "that I heard a scream and went to see who might be in trouble. There was no time to stop and wonder if it was wise to get involved, given that my younger sister was along."

"Naturally. You've never considered the consequences of your actions before, so why start now?" Dregaul sneered.

Emriana felt her eyes bulge as she stared at her uncle in amazement. He had never been a warm person, but that was downright vicious. She looked at Vambran, expecting him to retort angrily. Instead, the lieutenant bowed his head and stared at his hands, as though he had been slapped.

"When someone needs your help, you respond," Vambran said softly.

How can you take that? Emriana thought, hating to see her brother cower before their uncle. That's not like you.

"No, you respond," Dregaul replied. "The rest of us have enough sense to leave it for the city watch, which, as it turned out, was exactly who was already there, dealing with a problem. They certainly don't need your help to do their jobs."

"I'm far from convinced that the first group was actually men of the watch," Vambran said, looking up again. "I also told you that I specifically didn't call the imposters out, for fear of a fight erupting with Em standing in the middle of it. I-"

"Yes, yes, you've already explained to me your theories. Avoiding a confrontation was probably the smartest thing you did. But you shouldn't have been there in the first place. As usual, you're looking for trouble where there is none to find. Even if what you say is true, the other group arrived, and they'll clean it up. It's bad enough that you've taken to thrice marking yourself. Half the city probably knows by now that a member of the Matrell family-a member! — is dabbling in common arcane magic, rather than leaving it to the house wizards like sensible folk."

Emriana winced at her uncle's scathing comments, knowing how proud Vambran must be about his new talents. She watched as Vambran clenched his jaw and shook his head in denial, obviously fuming at Dregaul's derisive remarks. Off to one side, Evester was nodding in agreement with their uncle, acting as usual like the toady to his mentor. Emriana had half a mind to admit that she had encountered her oldest brother on the roof earlier in the evening, just to watch Dregaul's wrath turn on Evester, but she held her tongue. She doubted the ploy would come off as she expected. Nothing else so far that evening had.

Beside Evester, his wife Marga was trying to hide a gloating smile by turning her head away from the scene. Emriana glared at her, but the red-haired beauty never saw her.

"Uncle Dregaul," Vambran said, his tone deferential, "I already explained to you that bearing three marks does not provoke the same fear and hostility in other parts of the Reach that it does in Chondath, and in fact it offers some benefits. The Rotting War was nearly four hundred years ago. It's only in Arrabar that uneducated fools still fear a return of the magic plague that was unleashed. Everywhere else in the Reach, the people are over it."

"Foolish or not, the fear is real," Dregaul responded. "And it's powerful. Marking yourself is only inviting scorn and suspicion, both upon you personally and upon the House. It's a foolish risk that isn't necessary. But that never stopped you from taking foolish risks before, so I don't know why I would expect any different from you now."

"Don't worry," Vambran said through clenched teeth, "I will certainly not 'disgrace' the family further and raise your ire by continuing to wear the third mark. I certainly wouldn't want the whole city of Arrabar to cringe in fear, thinking I was bringing the plague to one and all."

He threw his hands up helplessly, as if to say he didn't know what else to offer to placate his uncle.

"Fine," Dregaul replied. "And as for this other matter with the guards, leave it alone. Don't drag the Matrell name any farther into it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Vambran said, rising up out of his chair abruptly. He stared hard at Dregaul, a dangerous gleam in his eye that Emriana had never seen before. "I understand exactly what's most important to you. I always have."

The girl realized she had gasped at her brother's reaction, and she wasn't the only one. Her mother was patting her chest in anxiety, obviously feeling the threat of a fainting spell coming on. Even Grandmother Hetta seemed taken aback, and very little got her excited. At the far end of the table, Evester frowned, but he didn't react much beyond that. Emriana was finding it harder and harder to read him.

For his part, Uncle Dregaul stopped pacing and stared right back at his nephew, his hands resting on the back of one of the tall, dark chairs. Emriana could see that his knuckles were white with strain, and she realized he was barely holding his own anger in check.

"You've made it perfectly clear what you think of me," Vambran went on, his voice dangerously soft. "I tried to give something back to the family, to you, as best I could. And when that didn't work, I tried to keep my distance, for both our sakes. But it's never enough to change anything, and I guess it never will be. So I'm through trying. I'm not going to ignore what I think is a murder ostensibly disguised as the city watch 'doing its job'"-Vambran's tone grew sarcastic-"just because it might temporarily put the Matrell family name in an unfavorable light. If you can't abide it, then I'll make sure none of my actions trouble you ever again."

Emriana's eyes widened in amazement. She couldn't believe what her brother was suggesting.

The girl realized her mouth was hanging open, and she snapped it shut again, looking at Dregaul. The man's face turned red as he sputtered, unable to speak. Emriana turned to the rest of the family to see their reactions. At the same time, she was beginning to wish she could be somewhere else right then.

"Vambran!'' Emriana's mother said, looking aghast at her son. "You should not speak to your uncle that way."

"I'm sorry, Mother," Vambran replied, "but he's left me no choice. I can't continue to live under his baleful stare any longer. I'll make my own way in the world, on my own terms, if it means living in peace and without his scorn and scathing remarks."

The lieutenant opened his mouth to say something else, but Dregaul slammed his fist on the table.

"You insolent, selfish whelp! I will not be spoken to in that manner. If it weren't for me, and for… you'd be… "

He stopped, seemingly unwilling to finish his line of thought.

Emriana's heart was pounding. She had never seen either her uncle or her brother behave that way, and she hated watching it. She wanted to sneak out of the room and get far enough away that she wouldn't be able to hear any more. She eyed the open, arched doorway that led away from the dining hall and into the wing of the house where everyone's bedrooms were, wondering if she could slip through it unnoticed.

"That's enough," came the quiet but commanding voice of Grandmother Hetta, seated off to one side. Everyone in the room grew quiet and turned respectfully toward her. The woman's face seemed tired and full of sorrow as she looked from Vambran to Dregaul and back again. "I'm too old to watch you two fight like this."

Dregaul nodded and said, "Of course, Mother. You speak with the wisdom of many years. I only intended to-"

"Dregaul, my son," Hetta interrupted, bringing up one wrinkled finger and wagging it at him in a gentle but stern way, "don't patronize me. You've never hidden your dislike of Vambran, and it disappoints me. I know you're feelings about-'' Hetta paused, took a breath, and continued in a different direction. "I think it's time you let it go."

Emriana noticed her Uncle Dregaul's shoulders tense up, but the man said nothing.

What is she talking about? the girl wondered.

"And Vambran," the matriarch said, "I will hear no more talk of you leaving this family."

Vambran turned his gaze toward his grandmother and nodded, regret washing over his face.

The woman's voice softened, and she continued sorrowfully, "I've lost a husband and three children, and I will not sit by and watch what remains of my family tear itself apart like this.

"Now" Hetta said, her tone businesslike as she reached out her hand for Emriana's mother to help her to her feet. Ladara was there instantly, taking hold of her mother-in-law and providing support as the older woman rose up out of the chair. "It's late, and we're all tired and angry. I don't want to hear any more about this tonight. I want you two"-and she looked at Vambran and Dregaul, who still stood facing one another across the table-"to agree to put this aside for tonight and speak of it after a good night's sleep, perhaps tomorrow after breakfast. Your feud has gone on long enough. Resolve it."

She stood there, waiting.

Emriana turned, as did everyone else, to see how the two would react. Dregaul's jaw worked, clenching and unclenching, as though the man were struggling with complying with his mother's instructions.

Vambran, though, merely nodded.

"I'm sorry," Emriana's brother said, looking at his uncle. "I always have been."

Emriana blinked, confused by his words.

Sorry for what? she thought

Dregaul eyed his nephew for a heartbeat, then shrugged and said, "I know. We'll talk about it in the morning."

He turned and left the room, heading for his own chambers, leaving everyone to stare at his back as he departed.

Emriana watched her uncle go, feeling a great sorrow emanating from him. It made her throat thicken in sympathy. As the rest of the family began to file out, Emriana turned to Vambran, wanting to ask him what he had meant about always having been sorry, but he was nowhere to be found. Frowning, the girl padded off to her room, dismayed that his homecoming had turned into such a disaster.

Breakfast turned out to be little better than the night before, though at least Vambran and his uncle had remained civil during the discussion. Still, the older man refused to recognize the evidence the lieutenant presented concerning the events of the previous evening. About the only thing they had agreed on was that Emriana should be kept out of it when it came time to discuss those events with the captain down at watch headquarters. Vambran had seen everything Emriana had, and from a better vantage point, and dragging her into it would only complicate things, especially given that she never could remember where she thought she had seen the woman prior to her death.

So it was that Vambran found himself headed toward the district headquarters alone, a little before seven bells. He had chosen to walk, seeing no need to take a carriage on such a fine morning. He preferred the stroll, anyway, enjoying the quiet avenues of the merchant district and the salty air, which was still cool enough at that time of the day not to soak him through in sweat after only ten steps.

The streets were perhaps a little emptier that morning, given the lateness that Spheres went the previous night, though there were still plenty of folks out and about, mostly the laborers rushing to their jobs and servants of the wealthy doing the daily shopping. Scraps of shattered glass globes turned soft as parchment were scattered along the streets or wafting in the lazy breezes that blew in from the harbor. Gulls screamed and dived for bits of breakfast as they circled high overhead, shining in the morning sun and set off against the crisp blue sky. It was turning into an exquisite day, though with plenty of sunshine, it would be a muggy afternoon for certain.

At last, Vambran arrived at the city watch headquarters in that part of the city. Like the rest of the neighborhood, it was a nice building, a small compound surrounded by a low wall that served more as a decoration than as a deterrent to trespassing. Certainly, it was considered a choice assignment to work the rich side of town, where the accommodations were in keeping with the estates.

Vambran made his way through the front gates, passing inside the low wall and almost immediately into an open plaza, a tiled courtyard filled along its edges with fruit trees, thick hedges, bamboo, and climbing vines bursting to overflowing with brightly colored blossoms. A fountain gurgled in the center of the courtyard, a natural formation of rock with a series of tiny cataracts that cascaded down to a large pool filled with more lush vegetation. Swimming among the fronds and broad green leaves were schools of large orange, yellow, and blue fish.

On the opposite side of the plaza was a desk shaded by a gold and white awning. A civil servant wearing a simple gold and white tunic with the Arrabar crest stitched onto the left breast was seated there. The scribe was busy separating a stack of parchment forms into several piles and did not look up for quite a long time, even after Vambran approached and stood quietly.

Finally, the official glanced briefly at the lieutenant, and upon seeing Vambran's ornate breastplate, complete with the emblem of the Sapphire Crescent upon it, raised his eyebrows in mild surprise and scooted his chair back a bit.

"How can I help you?" the man asked, emphasizing the last word slightly as though wondering what a mercenary officer would need from the city watch.

Vambran smiled and removed his gauntlets, reaching out to offer a hand to shake.

"I am reporting here as ordered by Captain Leguay. I am to give a statement concerning a pair of killings from last night. My name is Vambran Matrell."

"Eh?" the scribe said, tilting his head to one side. "Matrell, eh? I don't think I have a record of your appointment," he added, looking down and thumbing through a series of pages in front of him. "Let's see," he muttered absently, licking his thumb as he lifted the pages up by a corner one after another. "Nay," the man said at last. "Nothing on my docket about you. Are you sure you're in the right place?"

Vambran shrugged helplessly and withdrew his proffered hand, wondering what the confusion was.

"Well, yes," the man continued, half to himself. "Obviously you came to the right station headquarters, since you mentioned Captain Leguay. I don't understand."

He flipped through the pages a second time, and when he reached the end, the official scratched his head.

"Let me check inside," he said, gesturing toward a bench to one side of the desk. "Have a seat, and I'll be back in a moment."

Vambran nodded his thanks and took a seat as the scribe hurried inside through an archway on the other side of his desk. As the lieutenant reclined on the rather uncomfortable wooden bench, studying the garden and listening to the gurgling of the fountain, he frowned, wondering if he had somehow been mistaken. It was possible that he misheard the captain, he reasoned, since he had focused so much of his attention on the sergeant's thoughts. But that seemed unlikely. Maybe the paperwork had just not made it through to the front desk, yet. With Spheres winding down, it was possible that there was a backlog, the mercenary officer told himself.

A pair of city watchmen entered the garden and headed straight toward the inside, giving Vambran a cursory if thorough look. He nodded and smiled at them, but they gave him only a slight nod in reply and were soon gone. Outside, beyond the low wall, he could see that the hustle and bustle of the city was beginning to pick up a bit more as the day got well underway.

A moment later, the scribe returned, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," he said as he approached Vambran, "but there is no hearing for you this morning. You're free to go."

"What?" Vambran asked, standing. "But I'm sure I was supposed to-"

"Oh, you got your information correct enough, young man, but there won't be a debriefing. Captain Leguay said to tell you that you were free to go, and that the case was closed."

"Closed?" Vambran replied, growing exasperated. "But what about the two bodies? Aren't we going to commune with them this morning, find out their side of the story?"

"Isn't possible,'' the scribe said, adopting a more officious tone that implied he would brook little more of Vambran's arguing. "The bodies were destroyed last night. Burned. Carried the magic plague, apparently."

Vambran felt his face fall.

"I see," he said, trying to remain polite, but his mind was awhirl with the implications.

The bodies had been destroyed, so there would be no chance to commune with their spirits. But the plague? That seemed ridiculous. There had been no evidence of the magic plague inside the walls of Arrabar in several decades.

"Well, thank you," Vambran said at last, turning to go.

"If you want to find out more," the scribe said, his tone a little kinder again, "I suggest you go talk to your own people. It was a couple of Waukeenar priests who cleansed the bodies and everyone who came into contact with them. They actually showed up unannounced and informed Captain Leguay about the magical plague. "We were all mighty thankful they did, too."

He gave Vambran a hopeful smile.

Vambran stared at the official for a moment, unsure what to make of that revelation. Priests of the temple of Waukeen, insisting the corpses bore the magic plague? How would they know before even examining the bodies? He meant to find out.

"Look," he said to the scribe, trying to sound both deferential and urgent at the same time. "Do you think Captain Leguay could see me for a few moments anyway? I really think she needs to hear what I have to say."

The official pursed his lips, staring at Vambran uncertainly.

Finally, he sighed and said, "I'll speak to her and see if she has a few moments to spare."

Vambran nodded in thanks and returned to the bench to wait once more. After a few more minutes, the official returned and motioned for Vambran to follow him.

"Make it quick," he warned as he turned and led the way inside.

The lieutenant nodded again and followed the scribe, thankful for the coolness of the interior and struggling to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. He followed the man into a hallway that passed several smaller offices near the back. The scribe stopped before one and gestured for Vambran to enter, then departed again almost immediately.

Captain Leguay was seated on a stiff-looking wooden chair with the traditional Chondathan high back, though it was very workmanlike in appearance, with none of the piercing, chasing, and bas relief Vambran was used to in more affluent decor. He stood and waited for a moment while the captain finished reading a scroll open in front of her. She clicked her tongue in exasperation once and took up a quill, scribbling some notes in the margin of the scroll, then she released it and let it furl up again. Slipping the quill back in its proper spot, she looked up at Vambran.

"Ah, yes. My mercenary from last night." she said. "I thought I made it clear you were no longer needed for questioning. Why are you still here?"

"1 think you should hear what I have to say."

"I've got to go on patrol in another few minutes. Make it quick."

Vambran said, "I think there might have been more to last night's events than initially meets the eye. I think those other watchmen were imposters."

"That wouldn't surprise me in the least," Captain Leguay replied. "They somehow managed to slip off into the night while we were transporting the bodies back here, and I have put in a few inquiries this morning to try to find out who they were, with no luck."

Vambran was surprised that the soldier was agreeing so readily with him.

"Then are you tracking them down?" he asked, wondering if she would accept his help.

"I've got a couple of watchmen on it, but I doubt they'll find anything out."

Vambran tried to suppress his shock and asked, "Is that it?"

"Look, Master Matrell, I'm not sure what your concern is. Did you know the victims? Was there something stolen from you? What is it you want me to do?"

Vambran scowled. "I was hoping you might try to bring them to justice. They committed two murders, after all."

"We don't know that," Captain Leguay snapped. "Those two were thrice marked, and as best as I can tell, they had absolutely no arcane ability to speak of. You, I can easily accept. Them, no."

"But how can you be sure, when you let priests burn the bodies before performing a divination of any sort on them?" Vambran asked, his tone verging on sarcasm. "Did you happen to get the priests' names before you let them destroy evidence?"

"Master Matrell, they were a couple of common laborers. What difference does it make?"

"Beggar or king, we're talking about a possible murder. You should be out there, trying to find those imposters. I can help you track them, if you'll give me a chance."

"Are you presuming to tell me how to do my job?"

"No, I'm just asking you to do it properly!" Vambran could not believe how callous the captain was being toward the whole investigation.

"It's time for you to go, Master Matrell. I'm a busy woman, and I've got no time for pampered boys with delusions of grandeur."

"You're unbelievable!"

"Leave now, or I will have you arrested," she said, and her visage made it clear she wasn't kidding.

Vambran was so stunned he couldn't even retort. He simply glared for a full two heartbeats then, shaking his head, he stormed out of the station house.

Vambran was halfway back to the estate before he'd calmed down enough to take a deep breath. It was pretty common knowledge that the city watch functioned well inside the circle of intrigue of the city, just like every other major power player of Arrabar, especially given that they ultimately answered directly to the Shining Lord of Arrabar himself. Still, he would have thought it in Eles Wianar's best interests to see that some law enforcement remained consistent within the city, if for no other reason than to maintain stability for trade's sake. And of course, it was. So either the captain was simply a callous woman who cared little for the lower classes of people-which also wouldn't have been surprising, given her jurisdiction and the type of citizen she was charged with protecting-or there must be some other motivations influencing events. Most likely, Captain Leguay just didn't care enough to try to figure out what was going on.

But Vambran did. Seeing those two bodies the previous evening brought back uncomfortable memories for him, memories and guilt. He couldn't just let the crime go. If the watch wasn't going to do anything about it, then he would track the imposters down himself. But first, he wanted some advice. Nodding to himself as the seeds of conviction grew into certainty, he hurried down the cobblestoned road toward the Temple of Waukeen.

In his haste, Vambran completely failed to notice the pair of figures watching him from a corner, well back in the shade of an alley.

"Up, now!" Jaleene insisted, throwing back the screens to all of Emriana's windows and letting in the light. "You've lazed around in your bed long enough," the handmaiden said, and her tone made it clear she was in no mood to listen to Emriana complain about the early hour.

Emriana didn't care.

"Stop it, and go away!" she snarled, grabbing at the sheet and pulling it tighter around her head, then burrowing beneath the pillows to escape the intrusive brightness. "It's too early,'' she groaned.

"Too bad," Jaleene replied, yanking the covers away from Emriana and grabbing her by the arm.

The girl did not fail to notice the lack of honorifics on the handmaiden's part that morning.

She must definitely be in a foul mood, Emriana realized.

Opening one eye, she looked at her personal servant and saw the tight expression on the other woman's face. Emriana groaned again.

"Did Uncle Dregaul yell at you?" she asked somewhat timidly, sitting up when Jaleene pulled her by her hand.

The woman's expression tightened further, wordlessly confirming the girl's question.

"You have a full day ahead, including a visit to House Pharaboldi," Jaleene said briskly, ignoring the issue of her own guilt in the previous night's escapades. "Mistress Hetta instructed me explicitly to make sure you were up and ready to go by eight bells."

Emriana groaned again. She had completely forgotten the tea that afternoon with Denrick. Sitting around in the Pharaboldis' parlor in an uncomfortable dress, sipping tea and nibbling daintily on tiny cakes while Denrick clumsily courted her was the last thing Emriana wanted to do that day. She flopped backward onto the bed again, sighing heavily.

Jaleene simply grabbed her by both arms and hauled her completely to her feet, then guided her toward her bathroom.

"I've already gotten a bath ready for you, Mistress Emriana. Get started while I prepare your outfit for the tea. When we're finished, you are to go straight down to breakfast. Your grandmother wishes to speak with you before you depart for House Pharaboldi."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Emriana asked, already stumbling toward her private bath, stripping off her chemise as she did so and leaving it in a pile on the tiled floor.

Jaleene sighed as she followed the girl, picking up the garment.

"No," she replied, and the strain in her voice made Emriana pause and turn back. "I must have an extended conversation with Master Dregaul today," she explained. "My duties at the house, indeed my very future, are being called into question. I've already been warned that your presentation and timely appearance at breakfast this morning will be used to gauge my usefulness to the household."

Emriana's eyes bulged at the notion that her own personal attendant, who had been taking care of her since before she could remember, might be let go.

"Jaleene, no!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "He can't blame you for last night. You didn't even know."

"It's my responsibility to know," the other woman replied softly, the look in her eyes pained.

Emriana felt the weight of guilt press down upon her, but she shook it off.

It's not right, she silently fumed. Uncle Dregaul cannot hold her responsible for my actions. I'm not a little girl anymore, and she can't be expected to keep up with me day and night.

"He's not going to do that to you. I won't let him. I'm going to go talk to Grandmother right now," she said, turning to find something to wear.

"Please," Jaleene replied, shaking her head, "just get to your bath and get ready. If you really want to help me, don't anger your uncle any further."

Her words were filled with desperation, and Emriana felt pity and sorrow welling up in her. She wordlessly nodded and headed back toward the bath.

For the rest of the morning, Emriana remained somber and quiet, conversing little with Jaleene. She dutifully got ready for her visit, bathing and dressing without any fuss at all. Once she was finished in her rooms, she gave her handmaiden one quick hug and a meaningful look, then went downstairs to meet with her grandmother.

Hetta Matrell was seated at the head of the same large table where the heated debate had raged the night before. When she saw her granddaughter enter, she dabbed at her napkin and gave Emriana a warm smile, then patted at the place setting next to her. Emriana came to her grandmother and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then sat down. Instantly, one of the serving women came out of the kitchen carrying a platter of eggs, scrambled and mixed with cheese and a sauce made of lemon and wine. The serving woman scooped a spoonful of the eggs onto Emriana's plate while another platter arrived with a baked fish stuffed with sausages and potatoes. Then came a fresh loaf of crusty bread already torn into chunks, and jars of apple butter, fruit compote, and even fresh cream so chilled and thick it literally mounded onto the hunk of bread that Emriana grabbed. A goblet of freshly chilled fruit juice mixed with just a hint of wine was set beside her, and another pair of hands slipped her napkin into her lap.

Once her plate was piled high with food and Emriana began to eat, her grandmother cleared her throat.

"Sweetheart, I want to discuss last night."

The girl stifled a groan around a hearty swig of the spiced juice and avoided rolling her eyes. She knew it was coming, and in many ways, it was worse hearing about it from her grandmother, whom she loved dearly, than from Uncle Dregaul, whom she didn't mind annoying in the least.

"All right," Emriana said at last, trying to put on a happy smile for her grandmother's sake.

"Oh, don't pretend you want to do this," Hetta said, chuckling. "I know you better than that, my dear."

It was true. Hetta had a way about her, an ability to read people and know exactly what they were thinking or planning, and precisely how they were likely to react in any given situation. It was how she and her husband, the first Obiron, had been so successful in business. Even though he had been the spokesperson during their business negotiations, it had been Hetta who had the shrewd business acumen and always advised the right course of action.

"I'm sorry, Grandma, but I'm not a little girl anymore. It's time to let me out of my cage, and Uncle Dregaul just doesn't seem to see that."

"You're absolutely right, Em. You're not a little girl anymore, and it is time you were able to make more of your own decisions. But child, getting caught sneaking out at night is not the way to prove that." It was funny to Emriana how her grandmother could tell her she was all grown up and still call her "child" in the same sentence. Somehow, it didn't sound wrong, either. "If you want Dregaul to respect your opinions and your adulthood, then you must first show him that you are capable of being smart, of making good decisions."

Emriana sighed.

"I know," she said quietly, "but I'm not so sure he has any better an idea of what's best for me than I do. He's always thinking about what's best for the family, and not the family members. I can't be someone I'm not, Grandma."

"Em, do you remember your Aunt Xaphira?"

The girl nodded and said, "A little bit."

"Your Aunt Xaphira was my youngest daughter. She was also the scamp in the family, and she drove everyone, your grandfather most of all, absolutely crazy."

"Why?"

"Because she was just like you. She wouldn't be tied down, wouldn't be sensible, like Obiron or even her older brothers wanted her to be. She had initiative, and ambition, and she went off and joined the Order of the Sapphire Crescent rather than allow the family to dictate what she did with her life."

"I understand," Emriana said. "I'll try to behave better."

"You're not listening to me, child," Hetta said, leaning in close. "Xaphira was, in some ways, the child I was closest to. I saw a lot of myself in her, just as I see a lot of her in you. You share that same spirit. Your future is not a game. I expect larger things from you, you know that."

Emriana actually blushed.

"Thank you, Grandma," she said. "What happened to Aunt Xaphira? No one ever talks about her."

"There was an accident," Hetta said softly, leaning in close to Emriana. "A man was killed, a very powerful man."

"Killed? What happened?"

Hetta sighed, obviously pained by recalling the memories of her revelation.

Her voice even lower, she said, "It's not really my tale to tell, child. Until the person involved is ready, I think it best that you keep this to yourself. But my point is, the blame on our family would have been a terrible tragedy that would have affected the whole household. Your aunt sacrificed herself to make sure that didn't come to pass. She did something selfless so that House Matrell would remain unscathed.

"Do not ever mention this again, though. It's a tale that must never come to light in front of the wrong people, for it could still cause problems, even today. Keep it to yourself, and eventually, you'll hear the whole of it."

Emriana nodded, the sense of conspiracy genuinely frightening her. She was beginning to think that growing up wasn't just about getting to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Turning sixteen suddenly didn't seem quite as perfect and carefree as she'd once thought.