it, the Seneschal stopped. “One more chance to turn back.”
No, there were no chances to turn back. Not for Nate. But he did wonder uneasily exactly what the Seneschal had in mind, that he felt the need for such repeated warnings. “Forward,” he said.
The Seneschal nodded and produced a heavy set of keys. Effortlessly, he found the one that fit the keyhole in the wooden door and pushed it open. The room beyond was the grandest Nate had ever been in. The walls were lined with red silk and bookshelves. Inside a glass-fronted cabinet were bottles of what appeared to be Sevedran wine; for the price of just one of those bottles, the entire caravan could have eaten for months, and skipped the hokey, obligatory medicine shows and entertainment. An enormous settee and two armchairs, all of the same rich leather, were arranged before an enormous fireplace, and if the fireplace wasn’t made of Ophenian marble then Nate himself was. The air smelled of expensive tobacco and paper and wine—but it also smelled stale and unused. Under that smell was another, dusty and metallic. Old blood, Nate realized, with some surprise. Derie could smell blood years after it had been spilled. He’d never been able to before.
“This is a beautiful room,” he said, although suddenly the blood was all he could smell and he would have liked to leave. “Your office?”
“Lord Elban’s study,” the Seneschal said. “Generally, nobody is allowed inside when he’s gone, but it’s extremely private.” He did not move to sit down, nor did he offer a seat to Nate. “What I have to tell you is extremely private, as well. If you were anything less than the House Magus, you would have your tongue cut out before you heard it. It involves the foundling, Judah. You’ve seen her. I believe you’ve even spoken with her.”
Nate’s breath caught, but “A time or two,” was all he said, as if it mattered so little he couldn’t quite remember. He considered shrugging, but thought better of it. “I found her pleasant enough.”
The Seneschal’s eyebrows went up. “Pleasant is not exactly the word I’d use. What do you know of her story?”
“I’ve heard all the rumors,” Nate said carefully, “but I wasn’t aware that anybody actually knew her story.”
“Indeed. She was brought in by the midwife who delivered Lady Clorin of Lord Gavin. In her satchel, with the rest of her supplies. When Lady Clorin heard the crying, the old woman said the baby was the result of her earlier night’s work, that the mother had died, and that she had not had time to dispose of the infant before receiving the summons and rushing to the House. Lady Clorin had lost several children by then. She could not bear the thought of the child being thrown into the river, so she begged Lord Elban to let her keep it. He agreed.”
“Because he loved her?” It was a real question. If Arkady had taken a wife, anything was possible.
“Because he didn’t care. He had his heir. Once that heir was proven healthy, I don’t believe he had any intention of seeing Lady Clorin again.” He shook his head. “He has come to think of it as his greatest mistake, taking in the foundling.”
“Why?” This story was one that Nate had heard all his life—but this version was different. Inside-out. He was fascinated.
“There is something unnatural about Judah. He hates her for it, but I don’t believe it’s her fault. I don’t believe there’s anything she can do to change it.”
He was right enough about that, Nate thought.
The Seneschal shook his head. “There is no easy way to say it. What Lord Gavin suffers—illness, injury—Judah does, and vice versa. It has been that way all their lives. We have tested the bond in every way we can think of, and we have not been able to break or even lessen it.”
Nate had practiced for this moment. His mouth fell open. His eyes grew wide. “That’s—”
“Complicated?” The Seneschal nodded. “It is. Lord Elban did try to produce a new heir when the problem was discovered; thus Lord Theron, who I’m afraid was unacceptable even before his illness. I think Lord Elban would have gone against tradition to marry again if any of his other women had fallen pregnant, but none of them ever did. The last plague left some men sterile, and Lord Elban seems to be one of them.” The Seneschal shrugged. “At any rate, he hopes that the Nali chieftains