She caught him by surprise and Tier gave a crack of laughter that he had to cover his mouth to suppress.
Smiling her satisfaction in the dark, she thought that the oddest thing about her statement was that it was the truth. That old woman ran her inn and her children and their wives and husbands and they all, every one of them, loved her. She lived in the daylight world, where shadow things wouldn't dare show their faces and the children in her family had no more responsibility than grooming a few horses or cleaning a room could provide.
But the thing that Seraph envied the most was that one winter evening, when Seraph's uncles entertained the boisterous crowd that gathered beneath the great fireplace and told them stories of haunts and shadow-things, that wise old woman shook her head with a laugh and said that she had better things to do than listen to tales of monsters fabricated to keep children up all night.
So it was that she stayed when she should have gone. But a week or a month would make little difference to her duties - a lifetime or two would make little difference as far as she could tell. So she stayed.
"Don't pull that up. That's an iris bulb, trimmed down now that it's bloomed," said Tier's sister several weeks later. "Don't you know how to weed?"
Seraph released the hapless plant unharmed, straightened, and almost groaned at the easing in her back. "No," she said, though she'd told her as much when Alinath had set her to the task. How would she have learned to weed? The herbs and food plants she knew, but she'd no experience with flowers at all.
Tier had stormed off at lunch, beset by both his sister and his mother, who had gotten out of her bed only to try and push him into finding a wife. Since then Alinath had been picking at her as if it had been Seraph who'd sent Tier off to seek peace. Seraph had been set to half a dozen tasks, only to be sent to do something else because of some inadequacy in her work, real or imaginary.
"Well leave off then," said Alinath. "Bandor or I will have to finish it, I suppose. You are utterly useless, girl. Cannot sew, cannot cook, cannot weed. The baking room floor needs cleaning - but mind how you do it. Don't let the dust get into the flour bins."
Seraph stood up and dusted off her skirt; she'd left off wearing her comfortable pants when she'd noticed that none of the Rederni women wore anything except skirts.
"It's a shame," she said finally. "That Tier, who wears courtesy as close as his skin, should have a sister with none at all."
Before Alinath could do more than open her mouth, Seraph turned on her heel and entered the house through the baking room door. She regretted her comment as soon as she'd made it. The womenfolk in the clan were no more courteous in their requests than Alinath was. But they would have never turned their demands upon a Raven.
Moreover, Seraph knew the solsenti well enough to know that Alinath's rudeness to a guest was a deliberate slight. Especially since, except for that first time, she was careful to soften her orders around Tier.
Seraph had done her best to ignore the older woman. She was a guest in Alinath's home. She had no complaint with the work she was asked to do - which was no more work than anyone else did, except for Tier's mother. And, by ignoring Alinath's rudeness, Seraph bothered her more than any other response could have.
There was a more compelling reason to ignore Alinath's trespasses.
Seraph let her fingernails sink into the wood of the broom handle as she swept with careful, slow strokes. A Raven could not afford to lose her temper. She took a deep, calming breath and sought for control.
The door opened and Alinath walked in. When she started to speak her voice was carefully polite.
"I have been rude," she said. "I admit it. I believe that it is time for some plainer speech. My brother thinks you are a child."
Seraph stared at her a moment, bewildered, her broom still in her hands. What did Tier's opinion have to do with anything?
"But I know better," continued Alinath. "I was married at your age."
And I killed the ghouls who killed my teacher when I was ten, thought Seraph. A Raven is never