He banged his empty glass down on the mantelpiece, where it would doubtless sit until some harried slave spotted it in the morning. He was done with his hosting duties. Three more nights left as a free man and he intended to make the most of them. One of the border lords had recently succeeded his father and the estate’s new heir – attending her first ever debate – looked worth checking out. Gavar thought she might enjoy a rigorous induction into the big bad world of politics.
Everyone knew the Jardines were good at that sort of thing.
The girl turned out to be gratifyingly eager for his lessons. But Gavar went back to his own room to sleep, then came down early to breakfast the next morning to avoid crossing paths with her. He’d upheld the family reputation handsomely and repeatedly, but was worried she might get demonstrative. He didn’t want the hawk-eyed harpy he was marrying to notice. The girl wouldn’t be getting up early, Gavar was quite sure of that.
Breakfast, whenever Kyneston was en fête, was held in the Long Gallery. An immense table was laid down the length of it, layered with stiff linen. As Gavar entered the room, he scanned up and down. There was no sign of either his new friend (he’d have to ask Mother her name) or his wife-to-be, which was a relief.
A few heads turned as Gavar sat down. Well, let them stare. One day he’d be lord of this house, and this would be his table. Libby would be beside him in her rightful place, even if she could never be his legitimate heir.
Although was that impossible? Gavar remembered the day, late last year, when he and Daisy had sat by the lake and the boat had drifted towards them.
Not drifted. Been drawn.
He had turned it over in his mind often since then. He had been convinced, at the time, that his daughter had summoned it by Skill. In the following weeks, he had watched her avidly for further Skillful signs, but none had come. Perhaps it really had been just a chance breeze, a snap of the boat’s moorings. Or perhaps it had been Gavar himself, his own Skill working unconsciously to delight his child.
But he wasn’t ready, just yet, to give up the idea that it had been an early, spontaneous showing of ability. Yes, it was unheard of that a child of mixed parentage could be Skilled. But it was also unheard of that a child of Equal parentage could be Skilless, yet look at the walking absurdity that was Jenner.
If Libby was Skilled, she could inherit, illegitimate or not. Though Gavar’s wife-to-be would doubtless have something to say about that.
The thought of Bouda drew him unwillingly back to the present and to the Long Gallery. Some share of the conversation up and down the breakfast table would be gossip about the wedding. But Gavar suspected most of it was speculation about this morning’s opening act, for which almost none of Kyneston’s guests would be present.
The audience for Aunt Euterpe’s awakening – or Silyen’s failure – would be small. Besides family, and Zelston, there were just ten official witnesses. Half of them had known the two sisters when they were girls, and were chosen by Mother. The other half were parliamentarians, invited by Father.
Those picked for the latter group were a puzzling selection. When Gavar had asked why that five in particular, Father had told him to figure it out himself.
Slaves were hovering with trays, dishes and napkin-covered baskets of every conceivable breakfast delicacy. Having loaded up his plate with toast and bacon, Gavar felt equal to solving the puzzle.
The five weren’t Father’s intimates, but they were well disposed towards him and each commanded the loyalty of a number of lesser estate-holders. It struck Gavar that they were people who could be converted from admirers into allies with a sufficiently spectacular demonstration of Jardine family power.
Such as Euterpe Parva’s almost-resurrection.
Gavar frowned and called for more coffee. The slave with the silver pot couldn’t have moved faster if he’d been poked with a fork, but Gavar suspected that Silyen never even had to call. The stuff was scalding, just how Sil liked it. Gavar let it sit there and cool.
Could that really be what Father was scheming? The man had some nerve. And figuring out the plan presumably proved that Gavar was worthy of being in on it. Another test.
Well, Gavar had passed this one.
He left his coffee untouched and headed back to the upper east corridor and the family quarters. Gavar hammered on the largest door and Father opened it a short way, unsmiling. His dressing gown was knotted loosely at the waist and he held a glass in his hand. A faint perfume seeped around the door.
‘Worked it out, then?’ Father said. ‘That’s a relief. I would have disowned you otherwise, and I’m running out of passable sons. We’re all meeting in my study at four this afternoon, after Silyen’s attempt.’
The door closed again. Gavar looked at it in disgust. For a moment he considered kicking it.
But no, he had a better solution these days. He’d go for a run then swing by the slave cottages. Libby would be glad to see him and he’d released Daisy from house duty, despite Jenner’s all-hands-on-deck policy. The pair of them always acted as if a visit from Gavar was the highlight of their day.