less about money and more about finding out if Charles was still at her manor, glomming onto her youngest daughter and taking those vile drops. He sent Bindy over once a week or so to check. Lady Maryle, whose fortune was waning, was flattered by the attention, and Bindy—as always—managed to come home with exactly the information Nate needed. In her new clothes, with her hair neatly braided and a little coaching from Nate to smooth out the Marketside edges in her speech, she’d become a bit of a pet to some of the courtiers. More of a pet than she liked, sometimes, and he quickly learned to tell from her bearing which courtiers he should keep her away from.
The tonic for Lady Maryle had used the last of his opium syrup, so he was in the lab preparing more when someone pounded on the front door. It was the House messenger. His face was grim. “Nathaniel Magus,” he said. “You’re needed. The phaeton is coming.”
And come it did, bare seconds after Nate had managed to grab his coat and satchel. The usual driver was at the reins, but his forehead was damp with sweat and he, too, looked unhappy. “What’s happened?” Nate said, climbing in.
“Lord Gavin is unconscious,” the driver said, and then they were rattling over the cobbles and it was too loud to speak.
Inside, the Seneschal awaited him in the young people’s parlor. Lord Theron stood by the window, and Lady Eleanor—pale and beautiful, wearing an unreadable mask of cordiality, as always—stood with him. Both bedroom doors were closed and a guard stood by each. Their badges were white. City guards, then. He had never seen guards in the parlor before.
Elban and the Seneschal had kept the bond a secret, Derie had told him, so he wasn’t supposed to know—but if the boy was unconscious, so was the girl. He wanted to see her, but knew he couldn’t ask, so he said, “Where is he?” If a note of impatience colored his voice, he assumed the Seneschal would ascribe it to the emergency, and nothing else.
“In the bedroom.” The Seneschal opened the door himself. Nate followed him inside, where the young lord lay still and pale on the bed.
“What happened?” he said as he peeled back the boy’s eyelids.
“A training accident. His head hit a rock,” the Seneschal said.
Nate didn’t care. He cared about the girl. He choked back his impatience and felt for Elban’s son’s pulse, checked his reflexes, listened to his breathing. He was not examining the boy; he was examining her, through the boy. No broken ribs. A nasty contusion on the back of the head. He noticed a bizarre scar on the inside of each of the boy’s arms: delicate, almost graceful curlicues, perfectly matched mirror images of each other in smooth raised flesh. They looked like very old burns, on their way to vanishing. Probably some ridiculous House fashion. He disliked touching the boy. Elban’s flesh, Elban’s blood. In the caravans, Nate would have done a quick Work to make sure the boy’s mind was intact, but he was revolted at the very idea. There was no way the boy was anything other than corrupt inside.
Finally, he sat back. “He’s lucky. His skull isn’t broken. If he’d hit it a few inches lower, his neck would be. If he doesn’t awaken within the day, I’ll give him a stimulant, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
The Seneschal nodded, but didn’t move. “I hear you’re doing well in the city. The courtiers speak highly of you.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“We need to speak frankly,” the Seneschal said.
If Elban’s son was fine, the girl would be. The Seneschal must know that, after all these years, so this was something else. Internally, Nate was jumping with nerves. Calmly, he snapped his satchel closed. “About what?”
If Nate thought himself cool, the Seneschal was a block of ice. “The House Magus is an honored and illustrious position. In Elban’s father’s day, the holder of that title spent his entire life inside the Wall. Arkady was the first to live in the city.”
“Why the change?”
“By the time he was called to the post, he had a wife and child. Lord Elban found them annoying.”
Nate felt a bit queasy. “Arkady never mentioned a family.”
“They died,” the Seneschal said dismissively. “My point is this: it is time for me to officially offer you the position of House Magus, and for you to officially accept it. You have served us