“Not especially. I think the courtiers will, though.”
“Only because it makes me look like I don’t ever have any fun at all, and they don’t think poor people have a right to any fun.” But the somber fabric was thick and well-woven, and Bindy’s eyes shone with satisfaction. “Won’t give them a thing to sneer at, though.”
“I’m sorry if people have been sneering at you,” Nate said softly. “I didn’t think.”
“They’re courtiers. Sneering is what they do. I’d rather they sneer than—anyway, I wouldn’t be one if I could, would you? Not for all their pretty clothes.”
“Not if you paid me. Bindy, how many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Four sisters, two brothers. Counting the one inside. I never met him, but he sends letters.”
“How many are—” He tried to think of a gentle way to say it, but then decided that kind of gentleness probably wasn’t needed, with Bindy. “How many are alive?”
“Those are the ones who are alive,” she said cheerfully. “All the others were just wee little babies. So where am I off to today, Magic Magus?”
* * *
Arkady was ill enough to die. One last, slightly larger dose of poison would push him over the edge. Nate even had the large dose prepared, in a vial in the lab, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to administer it. Which was illogical; it wasn’t any less murder if he drew it out. But somehow there was a difference between giving the old man small doses of poison that would kill him eventually and one large dose of poison that would kill him in an hour. Also, the dose was too large to hide in a cup of tea—there wouldn’t be enough volume to mask the taste—so it would have to go in the soup, and Bindy brought the soup. She bought it from a woman by Harteswell Gate who boiled it down thick. Nate paid for it (well, Arkady did) but it had been Bindy’s idea; the brothmaker was apparently legendary in Marketside, and Bindy’s faith in the restorative powers of the golden liquid was obvious. She was proud that she’d thought to suggest the soup, and even prouder that Nate had taken her advice.
Nate couldn’t bring himself to use Bindy’s soup to kill Arkady. He also hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. The old man was fading fast. Each day, he spoke less and less. On a night when he was feeling talkative, he said, “I hear you downstairs. Treating rabble. And that girl. Courtiers are where the money is. Don’t neglect them. They need to be fussed over. Call on them, if they don’t call on you.” Then, plaintively, “Surely they ask after me.”
“Not really.” Nate shoved a spoonful of broth into Arkady’s mouth. “The old men, sometimes, but the young ones, almost never. And none of the women.” Another spoonful. “The women really seem to hate you.”
The old man made an unpleasant noise. Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh. “They need me. They know it. They resent it. Magus has power, boy. He can give help, or he can withhold it.”
Nate put the spoon down. “What do you mean, withhold help?”
“Little minxes want to play.” Arkady’s eyes glittered. “Don’t necessarily want the get that comes of it, though. So they come to me. Some, I help. Others, maybe not. Maybe it’s the Seneschal’s say-so. Make their life not so easy for a while. Stop a marriage, push a divorce. Or maybe he wants me to give them something different, so they’ll never catch—a family getting a little too powerful, say. Or maybe they’re just brats who deserve to be dropped down a peg.” Arkady drew in a long, wheezing breath. “They get desperate, you know. Desperate can be very interesting in a lady courtier. So they hate me. So what. Doesn’t stop them begging when they need my help. Good for them to beg. Keeps them in their places.”
Nate picked up the spoon again. “You’re a terrible person,” he said, and slid more broth into the old man’s mouth.
Arkady swallowed most of it. A dribble ran down his chin. “Disapprove all you like, but when the Seneschal comes, you do as he says. Lord Elban might choose the road, but it’s the Seneschal at the reins. When I’m up and well again—”
“You’re not going to be up and well again,” Nate said. “You’re dying.”
“Bah.”
Nate stood up. The bowl was still half-full but he was suddenly sick of the room,