no, but a refusal to respond. “How was the grand dinner last night?”
“Grand.” She blinked away the image of the sweaty Wilmerian and focused, instead, on the bridle in her hand. “Dinnery. Did the Wilmerians notice that they got their horses back in better shape than they left them?”
He shook his head again. Staff members didn’t get to decide where they worked, and some ended up in jobs they hated. But Darid loved horses—all horses—and he’d worked hard to bring the Wilmerian beasts back to something approaching health. Not that it would make a difference. Not that the Wilmerians would treat them any better on the long return to the guildhall than they had on the journey from it. But to speak ill of Elban’s guests would be dangerous for staff and he wouldn’t do it, even in front of her. Instead, he nodded at the bridle and said, “You’re doing a good job.”
She didn’t press. “Thanks. What do the factories in the city make?” Questions about the city were her third-favorite kind to ask him, after those about his family and those about horses. As if someday he would mention some detail about life in the city and it would tug free an ancient memory of the people she’d come from. A child’s fancy, she knew. But she still asked.
Gazing toward the ceiling—most of the ceilings in the stable were just the bottom of the hayloft above, but the tack room was lined in stucco so the leather would stay dry if the roof leaked—Darid said, “Different things. Iron goods. Paper. Toys and dolls and sewing needles, for all I know. I haven’t been outside in—how old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Then that’s how long it’s been. I came inside the year you and Lord Gavin were born. So I don’t know much about the city these days.”
Out of the sun, his sandy hair could almost pass for brown and his eyes were a warm blue, almost green. “Was the Seneschal here, then?”
“Younger. He’d only been Seneschal a few years.”
“I don’t believe it. I think he’s been here since they laid the foundations. They finished the gaslights in the House, by the way.”
“What are they like?” he asked with interest.
“Purplish. Weird. Bright.” She remembered the drunken Wilmerian and didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She’d asked about the factories because the fires were pretty, from far away. Like stars fallen to earth, twinkling on the horizon. “We can see the city from some of the terraces. It’s beautiful from here.”
“I suppose it would be.”
“I guess it’s not, up close.”
“I suppose not.” His voice was neutral.
“Do you miss living there? Do you miss being outside?”
It was a dangerous question. “It was a long time ago. Another life,” Darid said, and they continued to work.
Chapter Two
On her way back up to the parlor, a muscle in her left thigh seized. The bloom of pain sent thorns bristling down the length of her leg and instantly, she froze. There was a wall close enough to touch but she didn’t reach out to steady herself. Instead, she forced herself to examine the tapestry that hung there: a woman and a lion. The woman wore a stupid gauzy dress even though she was in the forest. A stupid thing to do. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Pain coursed through her leg. A dress like that would snag and rip and get in the way. She wished she were in the wilderness. She wished she could meet a lion.
In a few minutes, the pain faded enough for her to walk, and she did. Slowly, so she wouldn’t limp. She had missed lunch but when she finally made it to the parlor, leftovers from last night’s dinner sat on the table: slices of meat, bread, a pot of peppered cheese. If she spread the cheese thick, the bread wouldn’t seem so dry. There was also an unopened bottle of wine. Characteristically, the Seneschal had not forgotten that he wanted Elly to build her tolerance. Characteristically, she had quietly ignored him.
Judah took the bottle and some bread and cheese with her to the sofa, where she hoisted her hurt leg onto the cushion with both hands, and began to eat.
The wine was decent. By the time Gavin showed up, limping worse than she had, Judah felt pleasantly warm. He gave her a sheepish grin; she scowled, and threw the wine cork at him. It hit him in the chest and bounced away harmlessly. “Be better at sword fighting,” she said.