“You see—”
“Yes, indeed; I understand. Thus your visit to Narienneh of Cloisonné House. Quite so. Did you then leave a sister in Cloisonné? Yes? Well, there is honor as well as beauty in the keiso life, and there is surely no better keiso House than Cloisonné. I am certain your sister is a flower that will flourish in that rich garden. And Narienneh, discerning woman, sent you on to me.”
“We are sorry to intrude—”
“Not at all,” the mage assured her. “Not at all.” His attention shifted again to Nemienne. “Forgive the familiarity, if you will be so kind, young woman, and permit me to ask your age.”
“Fifteen,” said Nemienne.
“Hmm. And what do you think of my house, eh?”
Ankennes’s tone was casual. But his glance was sharp, and Nemienne understood that this question was one that mattered—perhaps not the last of those that would matter, but the first, and perhaps the most important. She hesitated, afraid of giving a wrong answer. No one else ever saw the slantwise world that always seemed to show itself to her.
But she had to say something. She said hesitantly, “I think… I think your house is not really in Lonne at all. I think really your house is high up, among the peaks. That’s why your windows are blind from the outside: They are looking out on rock and ice and don’t see the city, and so the city can’t see into them, either.”
There was a brief silence. Both Enelle and Ankennes looked surprised, but not in the same way: Where Enelle was merely disconcerted, the mage was clearly pleased. Nemienne ducked her head and looked down into her tea, searching for patterns in the floating flecks of spice. If there were any, she couldn’t find them.
“That is not quite correct,” the mage told her. “But it is wrong in, mmm, an interesting way. Many young people make their ways to the Lane of Shadows, believing they might like to learn magecraft. Some greatly desire to study with me. A few have families willing to pay for the opportunity.”
“But it doesn’t matter what they want,” said Enelle boldly, when Nemienne didn’t answer. “What matters is what you want.”
Ankennes smiled. “True.” He leaned back in his chair, which creaked as it took the weight, and drank his tea, his broad hand almost engulfing the mug.
The cat, its tail curled neatly around its front feet, gazed into the empty air. It was purring, but very quietly, so that the vibration was more felt than heard.
“Narienneh was right to send you along to me,” the mage said eventually. “I should hate to discourage her acuity. Perhaps… I might offer a gift of, shall we say, three hundred hard cash, if young Nemienne here will do me the favor of making a trial of the life of the mage. It is not an easy life, mind,” he added. “But you may return that amount should she prove not to care for it, or I will triple that sum again to compensate her family for her lengthening absence by, say, midwinter, if we should mutually agree that the arrangement has proved satisfactory. Eh?”
It was a gamble, then, but not at all a dangerous one, Nemienne thought. It was indeed all to their advantage, and very generous if she suited the mage well enough for him to keep her. And she was determined that she would suit him, however demanding a master he should prove. Twelve hundred hard cash was a wonderful amount, without doubt more than Enelle had calculated in her sums of loss and hope. Twelve hundred, above the eighteen hundred Cloisonné had given them for Karah, was surely enough that they would be able to forget about selling a third sister.
And she could see that Enelle was comforted by the thought that Nemienne could get out of this apprenticeship if it turned out badly. But it wouldn’t. Nemienne was determined it would not. She was sure of one thing amid the distress and confusion of the past days: She knew she wanted to stay in this house, to explore its strange angles and startling dimensions. To look out of its secretive windows and see the strange views onto which they opened. To find out what that odd glass thing on the table was for. She tried to communicate this to Enelle with a look.
Enelle returned a little sideways tilt of her head, understanding at least what Nemienne meant if not how she felt. She said to the mage, “A generous suggestion, and one I believe my sister welcomes. If she wants this, though we will be distressed to miss her daily company, how can we refuse her desire?”
Mage Ankennes did not trouble with contracts and drafts of credit but simply put out his hand. A heavy pouch fell, clinking, into it from the air. He gave this to Enelle with a little flourish and an air of bland satisfaction that somewhat called to mind the attitude of his cat.