“Beloved,” he says.
He passes the whip to the Senior House Steward who dogs his heels, then strides across the expensive marble pavement to Mother. Taking her hands, he examines her face as if to assure himself that she is well and healthy or maybe just to drink in her remarkable beauty. His gaze drops to the vast swell of her belly and he nods, acknowledging the obvious.
She says, “Welcome home, my lord.”
Her tone is as unruffled as the sea on a windless day. She is the ocean, too deep to fathom.
Father releases her hands as he turns to address the Senior House Steward. “I require a bath, after which the Doma and I will dine in our private rooms.”
Then, of course, he walks back to the entrance and sweeps the curtain aside to go in.
Mother says, “My lord, your daughters await your greeting and your blessing.”
He blinks, as if he has just remembered that we exist. After a moment’s consideration, he walks over to us. We line up in order of age.
He kisses Maraya on the brow. “Maraya, you are well?”
“Yes, Father. I have memorized the fifth set of Precepts for the Archives exam. Do you think the Archivists will allow me to sit for it? Can it be arranged?”
He glances down at her feet. His eyes almost close as he fights off a frown.
Of all of us girls, Maraya resembles Father most in looks except for the one accursed flaw: every other Patron man would have smothered at birth an infant born with a clubfoot. When he is not home she wears only a light linen sock over the splint.
“I always wear my boots when I go out. No one will know as long as I hide the foot in public.” I admire Maraya for the way she reminds him of her deformity to make him uncomfortable enough to actually listen to her. She never shows the least sign of resentment. “No suitable man can offer to marry me. A position as an Archivist at the Royal Archives would be both respectable and secure.”
“True enough. You have studied diligently, Maraya. I will think about it.”
With that, she wins the first round.
He moves a step on to kiss me, his lips dry against my forehead. “Jessamy, you are well?”
“Yes, Father.”
He pauses, waiting for me to say something more.
Of course I am glad he is safe and alive, but I cannot believe the ill fortune that has brought him home early.
“No questions about the campaign?” he asks with the faint half-smile that is the closest a somber man like him ever comes to affectionate teasing. “I had to devise a new formation using the infantry right there on the battlefield because of the peculiar nature of the enemy tactics.”
What am I going to do? I have never tried to sneak out while Father is at home. His entourage of keen-eyed, suspicious, and rigidly disciplined servants runs the household like an army camp, in a way quite unlike Mother’s relaxed administration.
“Jessamy?” He raises an eyebrow in expectation of my response.
“Yes, Father.”
Realizing I have no more to say, he frowns at the empty space where Bettany should be standing next to me.
“Bettany is ill,” says Mother.
“Has the doctor been called?” He sounds puzzled.
“It is her usual affliction,” she answers, her voice as placid as ever. “Do not concern yourself, my lord.”
He glances again at me. When I say nothing, he kisses Amaya’s brow and takes one of her hands in his. “Well, kitten, you are looking well.”
“I have missed you so dreadfully, Father. You cannot know!”
He chuckles in that way he has when one of us has pleased him. “I have a special treat for you, something I know you have been hoping for.”
She glances past him as if expecting one of the servants to walk in with a suitable bridegroom whose status will vault her into a better class of acquaintance. “Whatever could it be, Father? For you must know that your return is what I have been hoping for most!”
I glance at Maraya, thinking to share an eye-roll, but she stares steadfastly ahead into the middle distance. Probably she is running Precepts through her head and isn’t listening anymore.
“Better than all that, I promise you.” He releases Amaya to look toward Mother, for it is obvious that the “treat” is an offering he places at Mother’s feet. “Our army has won a crucial victory at a village called Maldine. I have received a commendation and will be honored with a place in the victory procession tomorrow morning.”
“Esladas!” She forgets herself enough to use his name in front of others. “At last your courage and service are recognized as they ought to be!”
