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The melant'i plays that Serana had purchased had proved a valuable resource, giving insight into how the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct might–and might not–be used to one's own advantage.
For instance, the Code stated only that a child of the clan summoned home by the delm may enter the house by the front door, which would seem adamantine.
However, the melant'i plays illustrated the power of may.
May permitted choice, and thus Don Eyr paid off the taxi at the corner, and walked round to the servant's door, where, as a child, he had been accustomed to going and coming, so as not to risk affronting the delm with his presence.
Serana, in her guise as his bodyguard, walked half-a-step behind his left shoulder.
He found the small door in the wall, and pressed his palm against the plate. There came a small click, and he stepped inside, Serana ducking in behind him.
He made certain the door had sealed, then paused to take his bearings.
"The kitchen," he said, looking up at her, "is to the left."
She gave him a smile, and he started forward–and stopped as a woman stepped quickly out of the left-hand hallway.
She was a neat, elderly woman, her grey hair in a knot at the back of her head. She was wearing a house uniform of puce and green–Serat's colors.
"Who–" she began; and stopped, staring.
"Mrs. ban'Teli," he said, showing her his empty hands. "It is Don Eyr."
"So it ever was, Don Eyr," she said, coming forward to put her hands in his. "You look well, but–Child, whatever are you doing here?"
"The delm has called me home," he said, smiling at her.
"Has he?" This seemed to concern her; her fingers tensed on his. "Why?"
"He forgot to put down the reason in his letter," he said lightly, noting that she was trembling slightly, and also that the collar of her uniform was somewhat frayed, and her apron had been carefully mended with thread that did not quite match.
"You are a son of the House," Mrs. ban'Teli said then. "You should come in by the front door."
"Yes, and so I would have done," Don Eyr assured her, "save that I wished to see you first, and also to ask if you will give my poor Serana some tea in the kitchen, while I go to the delm."
He stepped slightly aside, and Serana came forward, offering a very nice bow.
"Madame," she said, gently, in her Letitian-accented Liaden. "I have heard much about you, and am pleased to meet you at last."
Mrs. ban'Teli performed a quick inventory, eyes bright, and bowed in her turn.
She looked back to Don Eyr.
"I will be pleased to bring your companion to the kitchen and see her comfortable," she said, which was also, he thought, a promise to ask many questions. That was expectable; he and Serana had agreed between them that all such questions would be met with truth. The kitchen staff did not bore the delm with the business of the kitchen.
"Come," said Mrs. ban'Teli, "both of you. We will see Lady Serana settled, and for you, sir, we will call Mr. pak'Epron, who will guide you properly to the delm. He is in his study with the papers, so it is likely that he would not have heard the bell in any case."
#
Serat sat behind a desk covered in the racing papers. So much was unchanged from Don Eyr's memories of the delm. He looked up with considerable irritation when Mr. pak'Epron said quietly, "Master Don Eyr, sir."
"Go away," Serat said, and Mr. pak'Epron did so. Despite his inclinations, Don Eyr did not go away, but walked toward the desk and the two chairs set there. One was piled high with even more racing sheets, but the other was –
"Stop there!" snapped Serat. "I have not given you leave to approach!"
Don Eyr stopped, and stood, hands folded neatly before him. He took a deep breath, and waited for further instructions.
"Does your delm merit no bow?"
Ah, yes, thought Don Eyr; he was in violation of courtesy. No wonder the old man was testy.
He produced the required bow–clanmember to delm–and straightened, murmuring, "Serat," in as neutral a tone as he could manage.
The old man glared at him.
"Why are you come?"
Don Eyr felt a tremble along his nerves. Had the old man forgotten? Could he, in fact, have merely ignored that peremptory letter and gone about his life?
Too late now to know the answers to those questions. Don Eyr inclined his head slightly, and said, quietly.
"You sent for me, sir."
There was a sniff.
"And you came. Remarkable. Your mother refused to come home when our delm sent for her. He froze her accounts, but she continued to disobey. Afraid, of course; she had already lost most of the clan's investments." He paused, looking Don Eyr up and down.
"You might have dressed to the delm's honor, but I suppose this is the best an impecunious student might do. Also, your accent is deplorable, which I suppose is expectable. However! I will have the proper mode from you, sirrah! That, at least, you will produce correctly. Abra is a stickler for such things and you will not give him insult! Am I plain?"
"No, sir," said Don Eyr, perhaps unwisely.
Papers crinkled as the old man's fingers closed on the sheets layering his desk.
"Are you defying me?"
"I do not see how I might do so, sir. Surely defiance may only follow comprehension," Don Eyr answered, keeping the mode in mind.
"Stupid, too," said Serat, and Don Eyr took a breath, thinking of Serana in the kitchen, sharing tea with Mrs. ban'Teli.
It was not, he told himself, unjust. He had been stupid, and Serana had been correct: He need not have come.
He thought then of the portions of the house he had seen on his way from the kitchens. It seemed that everything was shabby–worn, and that in at least one room there were signs that a rather large painting had been removed from the wall, and a piece of furniture, as well.
Serat needs this marriage, he thought then, not for alliance, but for money.
"What is it that I am required to do for the clan?" he asked, rather as if he were addressing a recalcitrant student than the delm of Serat.
The old man across the desk stared him up and down.
"You are required to go to Abra's house in the city and place yourself at his service. You are to say that you stand the payment of Serat's debt, which is now cleared."
"Am I to be married, then?" Don Eyr asked, his recent perusal of the Code having given him the very distinct notion that there were proprieties to be followed, papers to be filed. . .
"Married? No. Go away."
Serat was bent over his papers again; Don Eyr was already forgotten. Or perhaps not.
He bowed to the delm's honor, turned and let himself out of the study, closing the door quietly behind him.
He closed his eyes, took three deep breaths, opened his eyes and saw a figure hovering discreetly near the archway into the main hall.
"Mr. pak'Epron."
"Yes, Master Don Eyr."
"Is my cousin Vyk Tor in the house?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good," said Don Eyr. "Please take me to him."
#
"Cousin Don Eyr."
Like his uncle, his cousin Vyk Tor was also found behind a desk smothered in paper–though these seemed to be business documents, and files, some on the letterhead of Mr. dea'Bon's office.
"May I give you a glass of wine?" his cousin asked, rising.
Don Eyr sighed.
"Thank you, a glass of wine would be most welcome," he said.
"You've been to see Father, then," said Vyk Tor, crossing the room to the wine table.
Don Eyr considered the small office, finding the same signs of shabbiness and deferred maintenance that were apparent elsewhere in the house.
His cousin turned from the table, glasses in hand, and moved toward the table and chairs set before the large window.
"Let us sit here," he said. "The prospect is slightly more pleasing than my desk."
Don Eyr joined him, took the offered glass, and sipped, automatically judging the vintage, and finding it–surprisingly–mundane.
He frowned slightly. His memory was that Serat had demanded expensive wines at table. A vintage such as this. . .
"The wine offends?"
He gave his cousin a frank look, remembering too late that to stare boldly into a man's face was to be rude.
"The wine–surprises," he said, and sank into the chair. His cousin stiffened, then relaxed and took his own chair.
"Understand," Don Eyr said, "I have spent the last dozen Standards learning wines and foods, in a culture that values wine and food. . .very much."
Vyk Tor tipped his head.
"I thought we had sent you to be a baker."
"That, too," Don Eyr said composedly. "One must certify for three specialties before one is permitted to graduate."
"I had not known the curriculum was so. . .rigorous," said his cousin, drinking deeply.
"The Lutetia École de Cuisine is a premier school. Their graduates go on to become chefs in the houses of queens, and in the great restaurants of the universe. Or," he raised his glass, "they found great restaurants."
"And you, have you founded your restaurant?"
"I was on my way to found a boulangerie on Ezhelt'i when Serat called me home. Now that I am here, I am bewildered. It seems I am not to marry for the advantage of the clan, but what I am meant to do eludes me."
Vyk Tor sighed.
"You must forgive Father," he began, and stopped at Don Eyr's sharp movement.
"No," he said, taking a deep breath against the growing anger; "I am not required to forgive Serat. Indeed, I begin to question whether I am required to obey him."
"Surely you are required to obey him!" his cousin said sharply. "He is the delm! The clan has brought you into adulthood; and seen you educated, and nourished!"
"So it has," said Don Eyr, dryly, and decided upon a change of topic.
"I missed a painting in the withdrawing room, when Mr. pak'Epron guided me to the delm; and it seemed also a divan had been removed. Is the house being remodeled?"
"The House," his cousin said, on the sharp edge of a sigh, "is foundering. I found by going through the clan's past finances that Father has always gambled. In fact, he lost his private fortune some years ago. That was when he began gambling with Serat's fortune."
Don Eyr stared at him.
"The qe'andra did not prevent him?"
"The qe'andra are in the clan's employ. Mr. dea'Bon withdrew himself, when it became apparent that Father would not abstain, but his heir. . .did not. We are not quite run off our legs, but we have had to embrace–" He raised his wine glass–"economies, as well as selling off certain items of value."
He drank, finishing the glass, and put it on the table.
"Thank the gods, we have not yet been required to sell our business interests."
Don Eyr put his glass on the table.
"Can you not curb him?"
His cousin looked at him with interest.
"How would you suggest I do that?"
This was familiar ground; many of the plays he and Serana had watched turned on points of honor between delm and na'delm.
"You are the na'delm. Surely, if the delm is not able–or endangers the clan. . ."
He stopped because his cousin was laughing.
"I have been able to move some of the businesses, and some of our stocks, into the na'delm's honor. I made a bolder throw, for all of our finances, and Father felt it necessary to tell me that he would declare me dead if I continued in my grasping ways."
He moved a hand–wearily, thought Don Eyr.
"Dead, I can do nothing. If I remain, at least I can do. . .something."
There was for the moment, silence. Don Eyr looked at his half-empty wine glass. Did not pick it up.
"In any case, that is where you come in, Cousin. Our funding is insufficient to pay off Arba's amount, but he agrees to accept one of Clan Serat to do such errands as might be assigned, at the compensation rate for unskilled labor, minus the costs of food and lodging, until such time as the debt has been balanced."
Don Eyr sat, feeling the blood roar in his ears, thinking of the house on Ezhel'ti; the clan of his father, which had been willing to acknowledge him.
Of Serana.
Gods, Serana.
"The delm has sold me to pay off his gambling debts," he said, his voice flat, and without mode.
"In a word," his cousin said; "yes."
* * *
They were taken in to Mr. dea'Bon without delay; the butler announcing them in soft, respectful tones.
"Lord Don Eyr fer'Gasta Clan Serat. Captain Serena Benoit."
The old man rose from behind his desk and bowed, to Serena's eye, with proper respect for her small one.
"Your Lordship," he said, and there was respect in the soft voice, too; a certain fondness in the gaze that she might have missed, had she not seen the melant'i plays.
Don Eyr raised a hand.
"Certainly, I am no lordship," he began, and the old gentleman raised a hand in turn.
"Certainly, you are; and I am delighted to be at your service. You're looking well, sir."
He might have argued, save his temper was already fully engaged, and the old gentlemen was in no way its target. Serena was informed; she had not previously been privileged to see Don Eyr angry. To know that he was not only capable of righteous rage, but remained its master–those things were good to know.
So, no argument, but a bow, less deep than the one he had received, because, so Serana deduced, the old gentleman would have it that way.
"I am pleased to see you again, sir; I only wish it might be under happier circumstances."
"Ah." The old gentleman looked wise. "You come to me from Serat."
He glanced at the butler, who remained in the doorway.
"Wine and a tray, if you will, Mr. ben'Darble. Lord Don Eyr and Captain Benoit are doubtless in need of refreshment after a trying afternoon."
"Sir." The butler bowed and was gone, closing the door silently behind him.
"I am remiss," her small one said then, and extended a hand to bring her forward. "This is Serana Benoit. You may speak to her as to myself."
It was a phrase from the plays. They had supposed, between them, that it had signaled a trust that went beyond mere clan connections, and thus seldom found favor with the delms of drama. Certainly, it meant something more than mere words to the old gentleman.
He was not so unsubtle as to raise even an eyebrow, but he considered her now with interest, rather than merely courtesy. She bowed, as would a Watch Captain to solid citizen.
"Sir."
"Captain Benoit; I am honored," he said, returning her bow precisely.
Straightening, he spoke again to Don Eyr.
"By your goodness, my lord–Captain–sit; take your ease. I know something of why you have come, I think. Be assured that my service is to you; not Serat, nor the na'delm. You may speak frankly to me. Everything you say will remain in this room, in the memory of we three; and recorded in my personal client files, which I share with no one, except on those same terms of confidentiality."
Don Eyr sighed; moved toward the chair at the right side of the old gentleman's desk, and paused to look to her.
She gave him a smile and a nod.
"I am well, here," she said, sliding into the too-small chair, and folding her legs expertly under her.
He smiled, faintly, and seated himself, whereupon the tray arrived and was disposed. The butler, assured that they could, indeed, look after themselves, left them, closing the door silently behind. The old gentleman poured wine; they sipped, Serana noting Don Eyr's shoulders softening somewhat as he tasted the vintage.
His glass set to one side, the old gentleman leaned back in his chair, looked to Don Eyr, and said, simply, "Tell me."
#
Don Eyr wilted somewhat in his chair, weary with the telling. The old gentleman steepled his fingers, his gaze abstracted. Serana, not wishing to disturb a genius at his work, but unwilling to see her petit in need, rose, refreshed all three glasses, and placed two of the delicate sandwiches on the plate at Don Eyr's hand.
He smiled up at her.
"Thank you," he murmured in Lutetian.
"It is nothing; do not exhaust yourself before the battle."
She laid a hand on his shoulder, pressing for a moment before returning to her own chair and meeting the old gentleman's eyes.
He inclined his head gravely and turned to Don Eyr.
"Serat's actions are by Code. They are deplorable, but the Code does not disallow. The resources of the clan are for the delm to dispense. I will mention that this is the precise paragraph which Serat quotes. . .often. . .to justify his use of the clan's funds."
The old gentleman reached for his wine glass.
"Therefore, there is nothing for either the qe'andra nor the Council to take up."
Serana felt her own anger, well-banked against the hour when it would be useful to her–and to him–flicker and flare. In his chair, Don Eyr drew a breath, but said nothing.
The old gentleman inclined his head.
"We do, yes, have hope that the contract may be broken–not by you, but by Arba."
"You think that Delm Arba will not accept my service?" Don Eyr said, the accent of home gilding his mode. "I will be delighted to present myself in the worst possible light."
The old man smiled.
"Indeed, you must present yourself as you are–a lord in the delm's line, second only to the na'delm of Serat. You are an honorable man."
He sipped his wine, and set the glass side.
"Abra, I fear, is not an honorable man. For proof, we have the record of his many fines paid to the Council for violations of Code. You must be vigilant. When he breaks with the Code, as he will do, you must relay this breach to me, so that I may act on your behalf."
"Is it so certain that he will violate the Code?" Don Eyr asked, brows drawn.
The old gentleman smiled.
"With Abra, it is as if the Code is an enemy he must strike at again and again. He is no more able to help himself than Serat can refrain from placing wagers. All you need do is wait, and be vigilant."
Serana stirred. Don Eyr and Mr. dea'Bon turned to her.
"Is he dangerous, this man?" she asked.
"One of the fines Abra paid was to the Guild of Qe'andra, for the death of an apprentice. The child had found a second set of books, and was, as required by the protocols of his house and those of the Guild, in the process of documenting the incident. Abra ordered him to stop; the child stated that he was not able to do so. Abra struck him. . ."
There was a small pause; the old gentleman extended a hand to toy with his glass.
". . .and killed him. Abra paid the life-price without protest, which I think is telling in itself."
"Yes," said Serana. "I have known such men. Thank you."
"Of course."
Don Eyr had gathered himself once more, sitting alert in his chair.
"Thank you, sir. I am grateful for your time and insights. I ask."
"By all means, sir. I will answer to the best of my ability."
"I am long away from the Code, alas, but it is my understanding that I may become dead to the clan. I wish this to occur as speedily as possible."
"Ah."
The old gentleman's smile was edged with regret.
"The only person who may declare a clan member dead is the delm. In this case, I think we may agree that Serat will do no such thing. Also, having obeyed the summons to return, you are now in the position of having accepted the Delm's Word. If you should simply leave, after having been instructed in your duty by the delm, you will be pursued, arrested, and brought back."
He paused, and spread his palms.
"The Council has much precedent for this, I fear."
Silence, before Don Eyr bowed his head and gathered himself to rise. Serana ached to hold him; the busy mind had produced the best solution for this absurd situation–and it had been checked and blocked. Don Eyr was not accustomed to losing, Serana realized abruptly. The relative modesty of his goals had kept this aspect of his nature hidden, until now.
"I think your lordship was not given his suite at Serat's clanhouse for the night?" said Mr. dea'Bon delicately.
Don Eyr tipped his head to one side.
"I was not. Apparently, Abra is to provide all things for me."
"Yet, as little as Abra values virtue, he does value courtesy, though neither so much as his own comfort. If you will allow me to advise you once more, I would suggest that you send a note around by one of my house's staff, stating that you will wait upon Delm Abra tomorrow in the early afternoon. This will insure he is not wakened too early in the day, which may lead to bad temper. Also, if you wish, you and Captain Benoit may partake of the hospitality of this House, where you may rest easy tonight."
Don Eyr bowed, abruptly. Serana thought it might have been done to hide an excess of emotion.
"You are far too good to us, sir."
"That would be difficult. Now, if you please, I will call Mr. ben'Darble to show the way to your. . ."
He paused, delicately, and Don Eyr murmured.
"Room, if you please, sir."
"Indeed. Mr. ben'Darble will show you to your suite. I very much hope that you will join us for the prime meal, but if you prefer, it will be brought to you."
He stood and bowed.
"Please," he said, and Serana felt tears prick her eyelids. "Be welcome in our House."
* * *
If Abra's house was too fine for the street it graced, Abra was too fine for the house. Or, Serana thought darkly, so he wished to appear. Certainly, he dressed well, with many small jewels glittering about his person, and rings on his fingers. His hair was pale brown, as if he had left it too long in the sun; extravagantly curled, and perfumed. His face was long, his mouth cruel, and his chin weak. At the moment, he was. . .amused; coolly so. It must seem to him, Serana thought, that Don Eyr was the merest sweet morsel, which he must be careful not to consume too quickly.
"Now, it seems to me that Serat and I had agreed that I would accept the service of Telma fer'Gasta's by-blow in payment for his debt. I do not recall mention of a. . .pet, and I can assure you that I will neither feed it nor pay it."
Don Eyr remained calm in the face of these insults, which were of course meant to touch him and try him. It was well, Serana thought, that he did so, though it would only mean that Abra would strike harder, next time.
"Sir," she said, stepping forward, and speaking as if she had much less of the language than she did. "I am Serana Benoit. I am Lord Don Eyr's bodyguard, and I have been paid, sir, with the money upfront, for a contract of seven years. There are yet five years remaining on this contract, and so I am here."
He stared at her, the cruel mouth thin with distaste. Serana returned his regard, mildly, until at last, he turned away and spoke to Don Eyr.
"A bodyguard?"
Don Eyr bowed.
"All high-ranking Lutetian persons employ a bodyguard."
"I was told you were a baker."
Don Eyr said nothing.
"I repeat that I will not feed it," Abra said after a moment.
"You need not feed me, sir," said Serana. "I account my expenses, and my lord pays them. It is in the contract. Perhaps sir would like to see it?"
Abra drew a hard breath, but did not turn his head. Once more, he addressed Don Eyr. "You will instruct it not to speak to me."
Don Eyr bowed, briefly, and Serana thought she saw the flicker of a knife in that gesture.
"Serana," he said, turning to face her, and speaking in the mode known as Comrade. "You are relieved of the burden of his lordship's conversation. Please do not speak to him directly, as it agitates his melant'i."
He turned back to Abra, and met his eyes.
"His lordship will naturally refrain from addressing you," he continued, "as I am certain that doing so must also distress him extremely."
Abra's eyes were cold, his beringed fingers were tight on the arm of his chair. He inclined his head gracefully, however.
"We come now to the matter of your domestic arrangements. As you are my servant, a room has been set aside for you in the servant's wing."
He paused, perhaps to savor an anticipated protest, as this was, Serana saw, yet another insult.
Don Eyr inclined his head slightly, face attentive.
"You will take your meals with the servants," Abra continued after a moment, his cruel mouth tight.
"As I am your servant," Don Eyr murmured. "Exactly so."
That was perhaps an error, to have shown so much spirit. Abra's eyes gleamed, and he gave a curt nod.
"You are dismissed. I will be going out this evening you will wait upon me. I will summon you when I am ready to leave."
With that, he turned his back on them, pretending to busy himself at his screen.
Don Eyr bowed, turned and let them out, closing the door very quietly behind them.
"Now the question becomes," he said softly in Lutetian, "which is more amusing, to have us caught as thieves in his house, or showing all the world his new possession?"
"Surely," Serana answered, "he will go for the long game, that man."
"Indeed. Now–ah."
He stepped quickly to a small side hall, and looked inside. The woman who had let them in stood there, impassive, but clearly interested.
"Good day to you," Don Eyr said easily in Comrade. "I am new in his lordship's employ. He has graciously granted me and my household a room in the servant's wing. Will you teach me how to arrive there?"
The butler stirred slightly, and Serana saw her weighing which course would anger her master more–to aid the newcomer or to allow him to wander the house. Commonsense decided the day, or a realization of proper duty. In any case, she offered a small nod.
"I will show you," she said.
* * *
It was a small room, though not nearly as rude as he had prepared himself to entertain. It was not, however, kind to Serana's proportions.
"Well," she said, good-naturedly, "at least here I may lose myself entirely in passion."
He considered her.
"How so?"
"Why, I will not have to constantly be aware of the eaves, and their proximity to my head. Only think how we may soar, now that my attention will not be divided."
"Of course," he said, politely. "But, consider, Serana, the size of this room, not only of the bed. It is not a hovel, but I would not see you here. We shall ask Mr. dea'Bon to find you a more fitting apartment. . ."
"If this place fits you, it fits me," Serana interrupted him. She leaned forward and touched his cheek. "Little one, accept that I will not leave you alone in that man's hand. He does not want a servant; he wants a whipping boy. It will please him to taunt you. Already he insults your birth."
"No," said Don Eyr; "he is nothing more than factual. I was not born from a proper contract, nor was I caught at Festival. I am the product of an affair of pleasure, whom my mother decided to regularize."
"In fact, you were born of love," said Serana.
He smiled.
"In fact, you are a woman of Lutetia," he answered her. "And, indeed–it is Abra's error, that he attempts to diminish my melant'i. As the plays teach us–we each know the value of our own melant'i."
He took a breath.
"I am not, however, certain of my answer, the next time he insults you."
"But he will not insult me again! I have been instructed not to speak to him, and he has been instructed not to speak to me."
"He takes my instruction exactly so much as you do," he said, sounding bitter in his own ears. "Serana, this. . .this gallimaufry is nothing of yours. I would not see you waste your life. You are made for–for bold ventures, and fair. This is. . .drab and dreary, and–wholly unworthy of you."
She smiled at him, and he knew he would not win this argument. Oh, he could send her away. All he needed do was tell her that he did not want her and she would remove herself immediately. The words settled on the edge of his tongue. He would tell her–Serana, I do not want you. She would leave him to pursue her own life, free of this stupid circumstance he had brought her to. . .
And, yet. . .he could not bring the lie to his lips.
"Come," she said cheerfully, "let us find the kitchen, and see what arrangements might be made."
"Arrangements?" he asked, his heart aching.
"Indeed. You have not had your luncheon, and if that man is feeding you, he can begin now."
#
The kitchen they found easily enough by following their noses. Don Eyr paused on the threshold, Serana at his back, and surveyed the area, pleased to find it clean and well-appointed, with proper stations, staffed appropriately.
He felt some of the tension leave him, soothed by this display of orderly busyness.
"May I help you. . .sir?"
The grizzled over-chef was approaching, wiping his hands on a towel, looking from him to Serana. Plainly, he had not been told about the new servant and his bodyguard, Don Eyr thought. And, plainly, it suited the master's whim to make the assimilation of the new servant into his household as difficult as possible.
"I am Don Eyr fer'Gasta," he said, bowing to the chef's honor; "newly arrived to serve Delm Abra. This is my companion, Serana Benoit. One was told that the house would feed me, and I have come to speak with you regarding the necessities of the kitchen, so that I do not impede your work."
The over-chef was. . .puzzled, but gracious.
"I had not been informed of your arrival," he said. "The house is sometimes not so forthcoming with the kitchen as one would wish. We are preparing Prime, but surely there is food at the staff table. I will show you. My name is Mae Nir vas'Urbil."
"It was Abra's word," Serana said as they crossed the busy kitchen toward a window at the back, "that he will not feed me, as I am not employed by the house, but am here on Don Eyr's account."
Chef vas'Urbil frowned.
"I recall now," he said, looking closely at Don Eyr's face. "You're the lad Serat lost at cards."
Don Eyr bowed gently, not slackening his pace.
"Here. We keep this area stocked for staff; you may eat at any hour that duty does not claim you." He glanced at Serana. "Both of you. Abra has not given me any instructions regarding new servants in the house, and this kitchen can feed two more as easily as one."
"You are kind," Don Eyr murmured.
Chef vas'Urbil moved a hand.
"I am efficient, and I keep within budget. That is what Abra cares about. Now –"
A lamentation rose from a far corner of the kitchen.
"The bread!" cried a voice. "Ah, the bread!"
Don Eyr was moving before he recalled that this was not his kitchen to oversee, and by then, he had arrived at the ovens, and the lamenting under-baker there.
"What is the difficulty?" asked the chef, who had arrived at Don Eyr's shoulder.
"The bread, sir; it did not rise. And there is no time to begin again. I –"
"When is Prime?" asked Don Eyr.
"In two hours," said Chef vas'Urbil.
"May I assist?" Don Eyr asked. "I do not wish to disorder your kitchen. This, however, is is my work; I am trained in bread."
"Who trained you?"
"I have graduated from Ècole de Cuisine at Lutetia."
Chef vas'Urbil blinked.
Then, he waved a hand.
"If you know what to do, Baker, by all means, do it. I have a kitchen to oversee."
"Yes," said Don Eyr and turned to the weeping under-baker, feeling very much in his element, even to the point of calming an overwrought student.
"What we shall do is make petit pain," he told her. She stared at him.
"Sir?"
"Small breads," he said briskly. "They rise once, and bake quickly. We have time enough; and they will arrive pleasingly hot at the table."
"I do not –"
"I will demonstrate," he told her moving around the station, and plucking an apron from a hook.
"What is your name?"
"Zelli, sir."
"Well, Zelli, my name is Don Eyr. I have done this many times before, and can assure you that we are in no danger of failing. Is the mixer clean and ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now attend me. . ."
* * *
Serana started up from the chair where she had been reading.
"Tell me he did not do this."
Don Eyr sat on the edge of the bed. His face hurt, and his pride, though he had not been struck in public. He was not accustomed to being struck. Worse, it had taken every ounce of his will, not to strike back.
"Of course, he did it," he said now to Serana. "It is his right, is it not? The Code and the plays teach us that a delm may do what the delm pleases to all members of the clan, including taking their lives. My delm gave me into Abra's care."
"He will not live to strike you again," Serana said calmly.
He looked up sharply.
"Go," he said, his voice harsh. "Leave me now."
Shock etched her face.
"Don Eyr–"
He held up a hand.
"I will not be the instrument of your ruin! I will not see you tarnish yourself. I will not–"
His voice broke, and to his own horror, he began to cry.
Serana turned abruptly, and left the room, the door closing behind her.
Don Eyr gasped.
"Good," he said raggedly, and bent over until his forehead rested on his knees. He tried to regulate his breathing, to master the tears, to –
Serana was gone. He was alone. It was well; he ought to send to Mr. dea'Bon, to be certain that she had passage wherever she wished to go. The house on Ezhel'ti was hers, he would make it so, if she wished to establish herself there, or to –
The door cycled. Gentle hands were on his shoulders.
"Sit up, petit; allow me to examine this bruise. Here. Here is ice, and I have also some salve which is recommended to me by the night cook. A tray will be brought, wine, cheese, and fruits. We shall make a merry feast, eh?"
He jerked under the soft pressure of her fingers.
"He did not withhold himself, I see. First, the ice, then the salve. . ."
The cold stung, then numbed.
"Serana–you must go."
"Indeed, little one; I must not. You have the right of it; to kill this man would not be at all clever. I give you my word that I will not kill him. May I remain?"
He reached out, half-blind with weeping, and touched her lips.
"I am weak. Yes, Serana. Please stay."
* * *
For the first relumma of service, Abra was content to take Don Eyr on his evening rounds of pleasure, explaining to everyone he met who his servant was and how he had come into Abra's service. This generated much gossip, which Abra was certain would discommode his new toy, especially the betting pool regarding the exact day and time when Serat crumbled under the weight of its own debts and was written out of the Book of Clans, and the rumors regarding Don Eyr's mother.
After that sport had worn thin, Don Eyr was given various menial tasks that took him to the borders of Low and Mid-Port, Abra having ownership of many of the most disreputable houses on that border. He was always glad to have Serana with him, but especially so on these errands, where he felt her long, competent presence was everything that prevented him being robbed.
There were periods when he was "on-call"–constrained to remain in the house and await the master's word. These might have lain heavier on him had there not be the kitchen, and the beginning of a friendship between himself and Mae Nir vas'Urbil. He was welcome in the kitchen at any time, to teach, or to create whatever pleased him. Those creations went to the staff room, and thus he won the goodwill, if not the friendship, of staff.
On the occasions when they both had an hour free, Don Eyr and Mae Nir would sit at study, the over-chef having produced a book of recipes from the Lutetia École de Cuisine, translated to Liaden from Lutetian. Serana gathered that the translation was inadequate to the utmost, and Don Eyr spent much time explaining–and occasionally demonstrating–certain techniques which had not translated at all.
For her part, Serana taught those of the staff who wished to learn disengages, and feints. It seemed Abra's guests were not always of impeccable melant'i, and sometimes went so far as to touch that which was not theirs. It would not do to provide lasting harm to Abra's guests, so Serana told her students; however, no one could possibly object to receiving a small lesson.
In this manner, two relumma passed, and Abra had not yet, in their sight, done one bit of violence to the Code.
On the morning of the first day of his third relumma of service, Abra called Don Eyr to his office.
"I have acquired a piece of land in Low Port, at the corner of Offal Court and Pudding Lane. Before it can be put to use, it needs to be cleared of debris. See to it."