I couldn’t help but grin, even though it made my face hurt. I think the sun will fall into the sea before Kudshayn changes. “Yes, it is, and the more the better. But perhaps we can shock Mrs. Hilleck just a little, and tell her you want steak tartare or a block of unsweetened chocolate for breakfast.” I am not so cruel as to tell her that he adores bean curd or anything else she won’t easily be able to obtain at the market in Lower Stoke.
“I will consider it,” Kudshayn said. Which was perfectly true, I am sure—just as I am sure that after he considers it, his answer will be the same. How could I expect him to be interested in shocking the housekeeper, when there are tablets to be translated?
Very well; no sense in fighting the tide. “When we’re done here,” I said, “I’ll show you what I’ve done so far. You can dig me out of the bog I’m caught in.”
His nostrils flared in query. I sighed and twirled my spoon in my porridge. “The second tablet. I know the general sense of it, I think; in some ways it’s a lot like our Scriptures. How the first few Draconeans chose mates and laid clutches and on through the generations, so-and-so begetting such-and-such—but it’s also trying to explain how certain lineages got founded, I think, and it keeps referencing various places as they move around, all of which I’m sure was very meaningful to your Anevrai foremothers. But there are so many proper names—at least, I assume they’re proper names—and I think some of them refer to the same people or places, but it’s difficult to be sure.”
Kudshayn munched his way through another slice of toast, thinking. Then he said, “Can you identify any of the places?”
“None of the names sound familiar. I can’t even draw etymological connections from them to any current names—well, I can, but they’re all made out of spun sugar. There are descriptions, though, and a geographer might be able to match them to candidates.” Popping the bacon into my mouth, I added, “Then again, maybe it’s all made up. It doesn’t sound much like southern Anthiope to me—not even the climate it used to have.” It’s boggling for me to imagine that Grandpapa’s homeland used to have thick cedar forests and so on, but he promises me it’s true.
It is so odd to think that what we are doing here may have political implications come next winter, with the Falchester Congress. An ancient genealogy is the very stuff of tedium . . . unless that genealogy references people living in an environment that sounds more like central Anthiope than southern, when everyone has always believed that southern Anthiope was the ancient homeland of the Anevrai.
What if this text says otherwise?
It shouldn’t matter. This is an ancient story, a myth, not sober historical fact. None of this really happened, not the way it’s described. But there might be grains of truth buried in it, and even if there aren’t, people will read it that way regardless. Will that mean everyone starts arguing over whether Draconeans should be permitted to re-settle in Vystrana and Tashal instead of Akhia and Haggad? (They’d find the climate there closer to congenial.) Or will it just be one more lever to say they should stay in the Sanctuary, and under human control?
Either Kudshayn wasn’t thinking the same things, or he chose not to share it. He only said, “I would like to see what you have so far. It was somewhat frustrating to me that Lord Gleinleigh would not let you send anything ahead of time.”
And this was Kudshayn saying that. His “somewhat frustrating” is anyone else’s “tearing my hair out.” I think all the equanimity I don’t have got allocated to him in the shell, leaving none for me.
I said, “Of course. I’m only waiting on you to be done with breakfast.”
Which I didn’t mean as a prod, but naturally he took it as one, swallowing the rest of his toast in one bite. Then he wiped his hands off, very fastidiously, and followed me to the library.
I really ought to put away the tablets I’ve finished transcribing. I keep fearing the maids will accidentally knock one of them onto the floor, even though it would take a spectacularly clumsy maid to make that happen. Or Hadamists might break in—I hadn’t thought of that before, but after what happened at the airfield, I’m starting to think we should take more precautions. But today I was glad they were all out, because I wanted Kudshayn to see them in all their glory.
He’s politer than I am, though. When we walked in, Cora was there, and instead of ignoring her to drool over the tablets (not literally; neither of us would risk getting saliva on them), Kudshayn bowed. He is very good about using human gestures, even if his bow looked more Yelangese than Scirling, and his wings didn’t even hit anything when he did it. In Scirling he said, “You must be Miss Fitzarthur.”
“You’re Kudshayn,” she said. “Were you the one arguing with Uncle last night?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No,” she decided. “Your voice is too low, and you have an accent, though it isn’t too strong. I wonder who was here?”
The swelling wasn’t enough to hide my expression when Kudshayn looked to me for clarification. “Audrey?”
“Did you hear what they were arguing about?” I asked Cora.
I was too forceful; she flinched back. “No,” she said. “I only heard the end of it. He told whomever it was that he didn’t want to see him here again—that Uncle didn’t want to see the visitor here again, I mean. I thought it was odd that he would throw an invited guest out the very first night, but now it makes more sense.” Then she paused and thought it over. “Except it doesn’t really, because I still don’t know who was here.”
Kudshayn was still looking at me. “Audrey?”
I pressed one hand to the side of my head, as if that would make the throbbing stop. “I heard them, too, though not what they were saying. The visitor—it was Aaron Mornett.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kudshayn look so angry. He didn’t spread his wings or anything, but the sudden tension through his body made me understand why people can be so frightened of Draconeans. In those moments, it’s easy to remember they are more related to dragons than they are to us . . . and dragons are predators.
Which doesn’t mean that Draconeans are, of course, and Kudshayn is far from being a warrior. But I wouldn’t have blamed Cora if she’d shrieked and run for cover; that’s how most people react, and she’d never met a Draconean before today. Instead she just frowned and said, “Who is Aaron Mornett?”
It is a very good thing she knows only a little of the ancient tongue and none of the modern, because Kudshayn’s reply was foul enough to shock the scales right off her. I said, “He is my nemesis. And I think he was here because your uncle tried to recruit him, or Mornett thought he was going to have a chance to work on the tablets, or—or something. Whatever he was doing, it cannot be good.”
Cora was still confused. “What do you mean, he’s your nemesis? What’s wrong with him?”
“He is not a reputable scholar,” I said. Oh, if only I’d had the sense to listen to Grandmama when I was eighteen. I can’t believe I ever fell for his lies—except I can, because Aaron Mornett could talk the tide into changing direction. Not to mention that I was young and stupid, and believed that I’d found a kindred spirit.