House of Shadows(53)
“It was a noble’s house, before the Laodd was built,” the girl explained when he asked her. “That was ever so long ago!” When she saw he was genuinely interested, she went on, “It was Mage Lord Meredde Rette Danoros Uruddun who built this house. He built lots of houses, all over Lonne, but this was his best. They say he had island blood, but they don’t mean Samenne when they say that! They mean Anaddon. The invisible island, you know, the island in the west, beyond the sunset. It’s a way,” the girl confided, “of saying he was a kind of mage without just saying so, because when Lord Meredde built Cloisonné House, mages weren’t really respectable the way they are now.”
Taudde wasn’t surprised that a mage had built this house. He was more surprised that this detail was still remembered. The era to which the girl referred was more than two hundred years ago. A long time, by the energetic standards of Lirionne.
From what he could see, the residents had reason enough to be proud of their House, whoever had built it. The entry hall, spacious and serene, held no echo of the strangeness he had felt before he entered. It was decorated with little tables that each held a single pretty object. Taudde admired a little finger harp with silver strings and a frame of bone; the string he touched gave back an ethereal note, and he smiled.
The banquet chamber was intimate, meant for a small party. Decorative screens of fine wood and sea ivory closed off the balcony against the chill of the evening, but the room was well lit by a dozen ornate porcelain lamps hanging from the ceiling. A fire burned cheerfully within a broad fireplace.
In the banquet chamber, the girl turned Taudde over to a grave-faced young woman with remote storm-gray eyes and robes of subdued slate blue. The woman’s hair was so dark it was almost black, her nose small and straight, and her mouth stronger than the rigid standards of Lonne preferred—though certainly by Kalchesene standards she was beautiful enough. From the plainness of her robes, she must not be a keiso—a little surprising, given her beauty. Well, despite the pretty picture of keiso life Nala had drawn for him, no doubt many women preferred a less, well, flamboyant life. But there was something else about this woman… something…
The woman offered Taudde a small, formal bow, interrupting his puzzlement. “I am Leilis,” she informed him, almost as though this was a title rather than her name. Her voice was low and a little husky. It was a good voice: attractive and compelling. Taudde thought she would sing alto, probably base alto. But there was something else in her voice, as there was something odd about her physical presence… some unexpected undertone he couldn’t quite understand.
“I have prepared lists of the courses that will be served and the keiso who will attend,” the woman continued, unaware of Taudde’s curiosity. “Please inspect these lists. If my lord does not approve of any dish, I will be happy to suggest substitutions.”
Taudde noticed that the woman didn’t offer substitutions if he didn’t care for one or another of the keiso. He smiled and shook his head at the lists. “I’ve no doubt everything provided by Cloisonné House will be perfectly suitable and of the highest quality.”
Leilis inclined her head in graceful appreciation of the compliment. “We have arranged for Bluefountain, our premier instrumentalist, and Rue, the finest dancer in the whole of the flower world, to attend your banquet. And we shall send in the youngest of our keiso. It will be her first banquet. She is a sweet child. I am certain she will please my lord’s guests.”
Taudde inclined his head in acknowledgment, though he couldn’t concentrate on the woman’s words. He was thinking instead of his… guests. The thought of approaching vengeance should have been satisfying, but in fact tension made him feel slightly ill. And the need to conceal everything he felt made the tension worse. He touched the small, heavy packet he carried in an interior pocket of his robe, wishing he found the weight of it reassuring. He only wanted to be rid of it.
“As I believe my lord is not from Lonne—” Leilis added, and paused for him to return his attention to her.
Taudde, glad to be interrupted from thoughts tending darker and darker, looked up, met her eyes, and made himself smile. “I would certainly welcome any advice you might offer.”
The woman gave him a calm nod. “It is the custom in Lonne for the host of a gathering such as this to present each of his guests with a small gift. If my lord should not have provided himself with suitable items, Cloisonné House would be honored to supply appropriate, tasteful gifts for the occasion.”