sting of a negative judgement. Vaelin, however, found himself continually striving to extend his patience in the face of convoluted disagreements that, in his experience, invariably involved three principal ingredients: money, tears and a good deal of shouting.
“Vile seducer!” Mistress Ilneh cried out, her pointed finger stabbing at the young man on the opposite side of the Lord’s Chamber with all the energy of a spear thrust. “Dark-empowered stealer of daughters!”
Standing beside the young man was a girl perhaps eighteen years old, her hands clasped together over a swollen belly. She flinched at the woman’s words, face flushing in embarrassed exasperation.
“No one stole me, you daft old cow!” she yelled at Mistress Ilneh. She seemed about to yell something else but fell to silence as Lord Orven slammed the butt of his staff on the flagstones. The girl flushed and bowed to Vaelin in the Lord’s Chair. “Forgive me, my lord, but I know my own mind.”
“I’m sure,” Vaelin said, shifting his gaze to the young man at her side. “This man does not possess the power to alter a person’s thoughts, not through use of the Dark, at least.” The young man inclined his head in response, offering a grin that disappeared as Vaelin added, “How is your wife these days, Master Lorkan?”
The girl stiffened at this whilst Lorkan merely winced before offering an empty smile. “My wife, as I believe you know, my lord, has made her wishes quite explicit. Consequently, having not set eyes on her in several months, I have no notion of how she is.”
Lorkan’s voice betrayed a clear resentment, however polite his phrasing. Much as Vaelin could barely recognise Nortah, he increasingly found little resemblance in this man to the fearful if ultimately resolute youth who had journeyed with him across the ice. What had once seemed like charm, albeit shot through with a fair amount of guile, now struck him as self-serving manipulation. Lorkan and Cara had appeared so devoted in the aftermath of victory, their union forged in the frozen wastes and the fires of war. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t lasted. Devotion was easy when every day brought new dangers. Then they had each other to cling to. With the security of peace there was less need to cling, and so they hadn’t.
“I understand,” Vaelin went on, “the Council at Nehrin’s Point have banned you from returning there, though they failed to enlighten me as to why. Perhaps you could explain?”
“Families tend to take sides during . . . marital disputes, my lord. Cara always enjoyed closer friendships than I.”
“True,” Vaelin conceded. “But then I never recall her being accused of thievery or fraud.”
Lorkan straightened, forcing an aggrieved sniff. “All blatant lies, fuelled by prejudice against the Gifted.”
“As I understand it, these allegations were made by the Gifted.”
“Hah!” Mistress Ilneh barked, letting out a triumphant laugh as her finger stabbed anew, this time at her daughter. “See, Olna, even his own kind don’t want him.” She moved towards the Lord’s Chair, bowing low. “Please, my lord. I beseech you. Command my daughter to return to the embrace of her family—”
“Embrace?” Olna shouted in return. “When did you ever embrace me, you loveless old hag!”
Another slam from Lord Orven’s staff, louder than before, brought both the girl and her mother to silence. “If I understand the particulars of your petition, Mistress Ilneh,” Vaelin said, glancing through the clumsily inscribed scroll the woman had presented at the start of the audience, “you seek compensation for the grave insult done to your family’s reputation by Master Lorkan Densah and the immediate return to your household of your daughter Olna.”
“I do, my lord.” The woman bowed lower, hands raised in supplication. “By taking up with an adulterer she has shamed us. Bad enough we’ll have to care for his bastard but, as he is still bound by lawful marriage, he will not even pay a customary dowry.”
Tears, shouting and money, Vaelin thought. Always the same. “I see,” he said, keeping the weary note from his voice as he shifted in his seat, turning to his right where Ellese sat. The future Lady Governess of Cumbrael had propped her elbow on the arm of her chair, chin rested on her upraised palm, face and eyes dulled by boredom. She stirred only a little as Vaelin spoke.
“Do you have any counsel to offer here, my lady?”
“Certainly, my lord,” she replied, stifling a yawn as she gave Olna a vapid smile. “In future, keep your legs closed