Season notes: violence, death, attempted murder
Later, when Jahlene tried to pinpoint the start of the trouble, Mattin remembered the windows.
A few days after the first bad storm of spring, Mattin had fetched some records from the archives in the attic. On the way back, he heard Housekeeper’s raised voice.
“Of all the lack-wit, lazy, thoughtlessness I have seen in all my years here, this is the worst. The whole room is ruined—ruined! We’ll be weeks cleaning, plus the work of the laundry and the damage to the floors!”
Peeking his head around a door, he saw Elose standing before the Housekeeper. She hunched in on herself, fingers twisting together and red-rimmed eyes glimmering in the light.
Mattin tapped on the door and Housekeeper’s glare turned on him. “Excuse me, Housekeeper, but I overheard. Is this something the lady should be aware of?”
Housekeeper hesitated a long moment then shook her head. “Nothing that requires her attention. I can deal with it well enough. Just a window was left open, and the room damaged from the storm. I’ll make sure a listing of the damage is in the monthly reports.”
Mattin nodded and backed out. Sometimes a minor mistake had large consequences, but it was not the sort of mistake that happened in Manor n’Erida. It stuck in his memory.
One month after their return from court, Mattin was helping Jahlene prepare to visit one of her towns. Jahlene made these trips once or month or so, to hold court. Most of the petitions she heard were minor matters, but they helped her understand her people and earned her their respect.
This trip, the first one since their return, would be more of a headache than most. As part of the preparation, Jahlene had Mattin digging through the cabinet where she kept some of her older paperwork. To Mattin’s surprise, nestled among the deeds and contracts and tax notices he found a rough-forged knife made from a strange black metal.
“Lady?”
“Hm?”
“Should this… be here?”
Jahlene left her desk to peer over his shoulder. “Oh. That’s where that got to.”
She reached in and picked up the knife, careful to not touch the blade. After examining it a moment, she held it out to Mattin. He took it, equally carefully. “This is made of starmetal. It disrupts fae magic. Anyone who holds it cannot be controlled by glamour.”
Startled, Mattin looked up and met her eyes. “Lady, why…”
“It was a gift of trust, from someone very special. I think they would not mind if you held it.”
“Oh.” Mattin’s grip tightened on the hilt of the knife for a moment. Then he pulled a linen kerchief from his pocket and carefully wrapped the knife before placing it back in the cabinet. “If Oeloff ever comes to visit, I know where to find it.”
“Mattin…”
The mistress didn’t seem to know what to say. Well… neither did Mattin. With a smile, he bowed to her and returned to his work.
The next day, an urgent message pulled Jahlene and Mattin from their beds. Jahlene had allies on the Emperor’s council and one of them had sent a warning. The Emperor had approved a new and high tariff on wheat traded within the empire. A hard blow to Jahlene’s county of miners and foresters.
Jahlene was furious. She paced around her office as Mattin tried to focus on his note-taking. “…I want full reports of all grain reserves for the city and major towns. And once we’re done here, send someone down to the pantry to check out our own stocks. How did they slip this past us? And where, by Dannu, is Parlen?!”
Jahlene whirled around as the door opened and Parlen slipped in. Her hair was disarrayed and her clothing was not quite in place. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen and red. The late-night summons had obviously pulled her out of someone else’s bed.
“Parlen, I want a broadsheet drafted for the county. Any farmer who manages…”
With Jahlene focused on her instructions to Parlen, Mattin used the bell pull to summon a page or maid. To his surprise, it was Marta who came hurrying down the hall a few minutes later.
“Marta! I thought you were… in bed.”
“I was, but I… couldn’t sleep so I asked Housekeeper if I could do anything. “
Mattin snorted. “Right. Well, please go down to the kitchen and ask Cook how much flour and grain we have on hand.”
Eyes wide, Marta nodded and hurried down the hall.
Mattin went back to Jahlene’s office and opened the door to the records room. The lady would want up-to-date information as soon as possible, but the quarterly reports on grain reserves would give them a starting place.
Cook’s hands were buried in bread dough when Marta entered the kitchen. “Not for love or money, miss!” he declared, “You turn right around and come back when I’m done with the baking.”
“I’m sorry to come at a bad time,” she said. “The lady got word of some trouble with the wheat shipments. Mattin asked me to check how much flour we have for her.”
Cook stared at her a moment, then hmphed. Mattin and Parlen had been relying on Marta more and more as things got rough. Cook didn’t blame them, exactly, but… well, his glamour was weaker than Jahlene’s, and if the countess didn’t have any concerns he was probably seeing things that weren’t there.
“If the lad sent you, I guess it’s alright. Pantry key is on my belt, bring it back when you’re done.”
“Oh, thank you!” She stepped closer and grabbed the key, jumping back out of Cook’s reach as soon as she had it in hand.
“I don’t bite, girl. Not unless you ask, anyway.”
She nodded and swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
He hmphed again, “No sir, missy. You do a good job of hiding that fear, time to be getting over it. Oeloff and his ilk aren’t welcome here.”
She kept her eyes down and apologized.
“Just check the flour and bring me my key back. Time and passed time we got a proper pantler about here.”
Marta bowed herself out and went to check the pantry.
As promised, she returned the key a short time later, and Cook thought no more of it.
The next month, Mattin rode with Jahlene, Parlen, and two of the guards into Portton. News of the new grain tariff had reached the county through official channels. The Mistress would have her work cut out for her reassuring the townsfolk. So Mattin was surprised when she pulled him aside shortly after their arrival.
“Yes, Lady?”
She pulled a strand of hair out of her bun and twisted it around her fingers. “Mattin, I do not understand human families and I have not wanted to intrude.”
“Lady, I-” She held up a hand.
“Since you first arrived you have never spoken of your father.”
It was the last thing he expected. For over six months, he had pushed aside every thought of Bren Innkeeper. He had made the choice to save Marta. He made the right choice…but Bren had been a broken man before Oeloff took Marta; Mattin’s disappearance would have destroyed him. He’d abandoned his father as surely as he had saved Marta…
“I thought that might be it.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into the comfort she offered.
“If I thought of him, of what I did to him…”
She nodded and pulled him to her shoulder. The understanding, the support, nearly undid him. With an effort, he forced himself back under control. Pushed the pain aside for now—but only for now.
“I didn’t bring this up to hurt you, Mattin, but there is something you need to know.” He focused on her words. “You didn’t hear me when I told Marta your father is in Erida.”
“What?”
She grinned at him, “You think I went to all the trouble of getting your sister out of Oeloff’s hands just so he could grab another member of your family to blackmail you with?” The grin faded, and she shook her head. “I should have said something sooner, but you never talked about him. I didn’t realize something was wrong until I tasted your strange reaction when I spoke to Marta. Of course, then other things distracted me.”
“Lady, I can’t… thank you, thank you for thinking of him, thank you for telling me, but… why now?”
She laughed, not the full laughter that made the world light up, but a gentle chuckle that shivered through him. “Why else? He’s here, Mattin. In Portton, at the Riverman’s Rest. And you are going to get your distracting arse out of my court and go visit him.”
He couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed Jahlene’s cheek before running out the door. Her laughter followed him.
He’d left the building before the first thought came to him—my arse is distracting?
And was a full block away when he realized he didn’t know how to find the inn.
He found the Riverman’s Rest not far from the docks. It had been a good inn, once: study wood and mortar construction, a solid door, and a well-made sign told its history. But little signs of disrepair were apparent. The sign needed a new coat of paint, and the door hinges were rusty. Plus, the door wasn’t open, though it was near luncheon. Not knowing what else to do, he banged on the door.
“We’re closed!” The woman’s voice was familiar, one Mattin had never expected to hear again.
“Mistress Pors? Mistress Pors, open the door! It’s Mattin!”
A moment later, the door flew open. The old chandler gasped and pulled Mattin into a huge hug. Then she stepped back and boxed his ears. “Do you have any idea what you did to your father? I should put you over my knee until you can’t stand!” Tears poured down her face.
“I’m sorry. I was an idiot, a self-absorbed fool. Where… where is Pop? She said he would be here.”
Mistress Pors pulled a handkerchief and blew her nose. “He is, or he should be. He went out this morning and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. Oh, he’ll be so glad to see you. He’ll—” She broke off and stared. With a shaking hand, she reached out and touched his collar. A dozen thoughts flashed across her face, but she only said, “You’re not here to stay, are you?” Her voice shook, and her hand trembled.
“No.” He shook his head. “We’re only in Portton today. And with all the problems, I doubt I’ll be able to come back before the next court day, if then.”
“Well, then.” She sniffed and patted his cheek. “Well, then… best you be sitting down and taking the time you have. You look well, God and Mare be praised, so I guess we were told that much truth, at least. I’ll put a kettle on and send an urchin to find your father. Oh, and you might as well start calling me ‘Ma’.”
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