The King's Blood

mouth pressed thin and two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. Clara raised her eyebrows and leaned forward, inviting comment or reproof. It was the same pose she’d taken before Elisia since her daughter had been a child in diapers, and long training had its power.
    “Excuse me a moment,” Elisia said. “I think Corl called for me.”
    “I’m sure he did, dear,” Clara said. “I’ll wait here.”
    Clara took up her cup. The tea had grown cold, but she drank it anyway. Children were difficult because they became their own people. There had been a time when Elisia had run to Clara with every scrape and hurt feeling, but that girl was gone, and this young woman had taken her place, and Clara would never say aloud that she wasn’t sure of the exchange.
    Clara watched the footman trot out from the house. He was a new boy. Messin or Mertin or something along that line. She would have to find out discreetly. He wore his uniform well, though, and his voice was gentle.
    “My lady, there’s a gentleman here to see you. Sir Curtin Issandrian.”
    “Really?” Clara said. “How very brave of him.”
    “Shall I show him out, my lady?”
    “Out to the garden or out to the street, do you mean?” Clara said, then waved the question away. “Take him to my husband’s library. I’ll speak with him there. God knows what he’d hear if we brought him out among these women.”
    “Yes, my lady,” the boy—Meanan, that was it—said. Clara sat a minute longer to give the servants time to guide Issandrian to the right place, then stood, straightened her dress, and sailed into the house. Elisia wouldn’t be speaking to her again until she’d calmed down, and Sabiha was likely off crying somewhere private. Clara guessed a half hour’s audience wouldn’t leave too much opportunity for more unpleasantness.
    Curtin Issandrian looked older with his hair cut short. Or perhaps it was that the last years bore down on him more heavily. There were lines around his mouth and eyes that hadn’t been there the last time he’d come to her house. A different world, that had been.
    “Lord Issandrian,” she said, stepping into the room.
    “Baroness Osterling,” he said, making a formal bow.
    “I hope you weren’t coming to meet with my husband,” Clara said. “He’s off leading the army at the moment.”
    “I think everyone’s aware of your good husband’s successes in the field,” Issandrian said. “No, I came to speak with you. To ask you to intercede.”
    Clara sat on her divan, and Issandrian sat across from her, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked desperately tired.
    “I know your husband and I have been at odds on several occasions,” he said. “But I have never doubted that he was an honorable man, and loyal to crown and kingdom.”
    “Very much so,” Clara said.
    “And your sons are some of the most promising young men at court. Vicarian is a model student and well spoken of. Barriath and Jorey now are both allied with Lord Skestinin. And, of course, Jorey is considered by many to be the regent’s most trusted friend.”
    Issandrian swallowed. Clara folded her hands together.
    “Is this about what happened to Feldin Maas?” she asked. “No one has accused you of treason, my lord. You aren’t accused as he was, and really, the court isn’t such a large place. We are all connected to one another somehow. Poor Phelia was my own cousin, and certainly no one thinks that we were involved in Maas’s treachery.”
    “All respect,” Issandrian said. “You and Phelia Maas were instrumental in stopping Maas. And Lord Regent Palliako. I didn’t have the good fortune to be part of those events.”
    “I’m not entirely sure that watching one’s cousin cut down by her husband qualifies as good fortune,” Clara said coolly.
    “I apologize. That came out poorly. I only meant that your loyalty to the crown was demonstrated. Unquestionable. I didn’t know of the depths of Maas’s plot until after the fact. And a loyalist and traitor say all the same words at that point.”
    It was a fair analysis, but not one that asked Clara to do or say anything in particular, so she kept silent and waited. The moment stretched.
    “Sir Alan Klin was another of my compatriots at that time,” Issandrian said. “He serves under your lord husband now. I haven’t been asked to serve. I was wondering… I was wondering if you might enquire on my behalf why that is.”
    “This is a very convenient time