“My dear Marm, I merely follow orders.” Impi was at his suavest. No sign of Splendance or Great Uncle Igniate, who would be the proper source of such orders.
“You burned the inn down. Lady Splendance should pay the woman,” shouted Eff.
Most of the rest of the mages were in the room, eating the Blessing breakfast of eggs, beefsteak and bacon and watching this performance with the interested air of an audience at a play—except for Great Aunt Glisten, who looked disapproving, and Chatoyant, who was whispering something clearly startling to a wide-eyed Blazeann.
“Come, come, my dear Effulgentia,” sneered Impi. “We all know you are skimming the top off the estate to keep you and Shine in luxury.”
“In luxury?” screamed Eff. “Luxury? We don’t even have wax candles, you...” Her fingers gripped her breakfast plate and I thought she was going to throw it at him. Both Thomas and I stepped forward. The movement must have brought her back to reality, because she stopped, took a deep breath and said in a softer tone—but through gritted teeth, “Forgive my tone, my lord. The foolish innkeeper has upset me. But I do think the bill is down to you. Any court of law would find that the inn is your responsibility.”
“Well, I do not. We were protecting the youth of the village from your son’s vice. You should have brought him up—”
“I shall pay!” cried Blazeann. “Yes!” she continued, standing up and confronting the astonished eyes of everyone in the room. Her voice broke a little under Impi’s outraged glare, but she kept on bravely. “I... I do not agree with your... with my mother’s decision in this, Lord Impavidus. It is neither Aurora’s nor Eff’s responsibility.”
She pulled one of her rings off her finger and held it out to Eff, her hand trembling.
“Yes,” added Chatoyant quickly. Her voice was perfectly calm. “Lady Blazeann rightly feels that if Lady Splendance is determined to shirk responsibility for her consort’s actions, then rather than bring shame on the family, she should pay. Bravo to you, Cousin. At least someone cares about Lucheyart honour.”
She started clapping. Great Aunt Glisten joined her and all rest of the family joined them. Nobody much liked Impi. One or two of the retainers clapped as well, but the rest looked anxious, torn no doubt between offending Impi, who was currently the real power in the family, and offending Blazeann, who might one day be the family’s leader. (Poor sods. It couldn’t be easy.)
Blazeann smiled and nodded at everyone. Eff stood there, mouth open. Thomas nudged me.
“Quick, get the ring,” he hissed. I stepped over, prised the ring out of Blazeann’s hand and went round the table to give it to Auntie Eff. If it was real, it could pay for at least three new inns. Or an inn and four new workers’ cottages. And a new downpipe on the kitchen wall too with any luck. Blazeann probably thought of it as a cheap little ornament.
By then Eff had recovered enough to come back round the table and kiss Blazeann on the hand. I stuck close to her because Lord Impavidus looked ready to explode. So I was able to overhear Chatoyant saying softly to Auntie Eff, “We’ll be wanting a receipt for that, Eff, and a return of the money you don’t use. One must keep a close eye on the pennies.”
She smiled at an approvingly nodding Lady Glisten. Shit-eater.
Impi sucked in a breath. Here came the tirade. Eff and I both took off out of the dining room so fast, we almost knocked over the servants bringing in the hand-washing bowls.
Before Impi could really get into his stride about how much he regretted joining our family and how much of a burden keeping us respectable was, the Blessing ceremony started. A great light burst from the top of the Eyrie, a light so powerful that it spread all the way to the bottom of the tower and down into the passageway to touch even us. The silken canopy had been removed and a glowing figure came floating down the Eyrie’s central well, bringing light with it as it came. A mage in full flight is a true marvel.
“Come, mortals all,” shouted Lady Splendance in a mighty and enhanced voice. “Witness the blessings of the Lady of Light.”
As Auntie Splendance reached the bottom of the tower, trumpets were sounded and the huge door at the front swung open so that she could be framed in the doorway. She was wearing the cloth-of-gold robes of a High Priest. Peering out from behind her, I saw her light and the reflected light from the robes glowing on the faces of the peasants who had been gathering outside the house since dawn.
They let out a loud cheer.
“Blessings on you all,” cried Splendance.
Even with all I knew of her and our family, I still got a lump in my throat. I found myself crossing my hands above my heart and murmuring my thanks for the Lady of Light’s Blessings.
Then Lumina, brushing past me, trod hard on my foot and gave me the nasty grin that told me she’d done it deliberately.
CHAPTER NINE
ACCORDING TO THE legends, before the Light Mages had come, the people of this land had been wandering hunters living hand to mouth in a trackless forest. The Light Mages had brought agriculture and the easier, more civilized life that came with it, interbreeding with the local people and populating the land with contented farms. At least that’s the story. Our priests tend to gloss over the major stumble that was the Crystal War, but lots of folk songs telling of those times get sung around tavern fireplaces.
But the Crystal War had brought Shola’s Pact, which required mages to do something useful with their power. Every Blessing festival, the Matriarch, in her role as High Priest, leads the other noblewomen of the family in reciting the words of Blessing over the sacks of grain and seed potatoes. The sacks rose into the air and glowed as they did so, and—aided by the attendant mages—distributed themselves among the baskets of those waiting to sow them in the earth.
The Matriarch blessed the fields themselves before the crops were sown. The sowers were always the older peasants, those wearing the long hooded robes that indicated they did not wish to take part in the Blessing congress.
Did the Blessing make a difference to the harvest? I’d never heard of anywhere where the crops didn’t get blessed in spring. The peasants swore that unblessed grain came up slower than blessed grain and that unblessed fields were less fertile. While most of the aristocracy regarded peasants as stupid and ignorant, experience made them extremely wise in the ways of nature; I’d learned to respect their knowledge in such matters. Certainly the orchards always blossomed a couple of days after the ritual had been completed. If the harvest was poor, the peasants could always trace it back to some misstep or wrong word of the previous spring’s Blessing ritual.
I always felt hopeful for the future after a Blessing ceremony, and this year I really longed for that feeling. I dreaded yet another year at Willow, even though I knew I mustn’t leave Eff alone. I nodded my head at the respectful bows of the peasants (as well they might bow—they had a very good deal with me and Eff running this estate, as they must know if they took a look at our neighbours) and tried to take pleasure in how well the fields looked. I’d worked hard, chivvying the peasants to till the soil and keep the ditches clear, and the result was good. But I couldn’t quieten that little voice in the back of my mind that said, Like last year and the year before. The same old, same old until the end of your life.