Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [107]
This damage was not confined to Lord Samuels’s garden alone. All of Merilon was in an uproar and, for a few quaking moments that morning, several of the Sif-Hanar envisioned themselves languishing in the dungeons of the Duuk-tsarith, It finally came out that the fault lay with two of them, each of whom had assumed the other was going to regulate the temperature of the dome in the night. Neither did. The wintry weather outside caused the weather inside to turn from spring to fail in an instant, and all of Merilon was drooping, wilting, brown and dying.
Lord Samuels went to work in a foul temper. The day passed in gloom, and evening did nothing to improve anyone’s spirits, for Lord Samuels returned home in a darker mood than before. Saying little to anyone, he went out to the garden to survey the damage. On his return, he sat down to dinner with his guests and family as usual, but he was silent and thoughtful during the meal, his gaze resting on Joram, much to that young man’s consternation.
Gwendolyn, noticing her father’s subdued spirits, immedately lost her appetite. To ask what was bothering him would be an unpardonable breach of etiquette — the only conversations considered suitable for the dinner table were lighthearted recounts of the day’s activities.
Lady Rosamund, too, noticed her husband’s dark mood and wondered fearfully what had happened. It was obvious that this was more than worry over the garden. There Was nothing she could do, however, but try to cover for it as best she could and entertain their guests. Lady Rosamund chatted about this and that, therefore, with a semblance of cheerfulness that only made the meal more gloomy.
Young Master Samuels had learned to fly up out of his crib that morning, she reported, but, scaring himself by this feat, he had apparently lost his sense of magic and tumbled down to the floor, frightening everyone for a few moments until the lump on his head was examined by Marie and pronounced not serious.
No word had been received from Simkin, who had that morning — unaccountably and without saying anything to anyone — disappeared. But a high-placed friend of a high-placed friend of a lower-placed friend of milady’s informed her that he had been seen at court, in company with the Empress. This same friend of a friend of a friend reported that the Empress was in low spirits, but that this was only natural, considering the anniversary that was coming up.
“What a dreadful time that was,” recalled Lady Rosamund, shuddering delicately, nibbling at an iced strawberry. “That day when the Prince was declared Dead. We had the most splendid party planned, to celebrate his birth, and we had to cancel it. Do you remember, Marie? All the food we conjured up …” She sighed. “I believe we sent it down to the cousins, so that it wouldn’t go to waste.”
“I remember,” Marie said gravely, trying to keep the conversation going. “We — Why, Father Dunstable, are you all right?”
“He’s swallowed something the wrong way,” said Lady Rosamund solicitously. “Bring him a glass of water.” She motioned to a servant.
“Thank you,” murmured Saryon. Choking, he thankfully hid his face in the goblet of water one of the House Magi sent floating his direction. So shaken was the catalyst that he was forced to clasp it in his trembling hand and drink it in this awkward fashion instead of using his magic to keep the goblet suspended near his lips.
Shortly after this, Lord Samuels rose abruptly from his chair.
“Joram, Father Dunstable, will you take your brandy in my library?” he said.
“But — dessert?” said Lady Rosamund.
“None for me, thank you,” Lord Samuels replied coldly, and left the room after casting Joram a meaningful glance. No one else said a word. Gwen sat huddled in her chair, looking very much like one of her