Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [6]
The master accepted her silent reply with a nod, probably not even seeing the anger that was starting to smolder inside her. His hps parted, as if he were about to add something more, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a knock at the study door.
"Yes?" he asked.
The door opened, and Erevis Cale stepped into the study with a bow.
"Master Drakkar has departed Stormweather Towers," he announced. "I'll ensure that the driver of his carriage gets a good tip."
"Very good, Cale."
Larajin had heard master and butler use this code in the past, and understood what it meant. Cale had just assured the master that Drakkar's movements would be noted and reported. The master's suspicions about the wizard would do her little good. She could hardly tell him about Drakkar attacking her in the Hunting Garden without bringing up her wild elf heritage and with it, Thamalon Uskevren's indiscretion. After his stern warning never to even allude to this secret, she could hardly turn to him for help.
She would have to seek help elsewhere. Now that Drakkar knew who she was, Stormweather Towers was no longer a safe haven. She had to leave Selgaunt, and as soon as possible.
She dropped her eyes to the carpet as Cale folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her.
"Now then, Larajin," he began. "There is the matter of the fire atop the stove-a fire that could have spread to the rest of the kitchen, had it not been spotted-and the disciplinary action to be taken." He turned to the master, and added, "In light of the gravity of the error, I would suggest, Master Thamalon, that-"
The master sighed, and once again held up his hand. Cale fell into an obedient silence.
"I think we'll keep her away from the kitchen for the next little while," the master said. "Perhaps getting her out from underfoot will give you some relief. Assign her to serve in young Thamalon's tallhouse for the next month, and see how she fares there. As her punishment for causing a fire that could have burned Stormweather Towers to the ground, had it spread beyond the stove, Larajin is to immediately undertake the task of cleaning the mess in the kitchen. She is not to stop nor rest until the stove is returned to full working order and the pots are gleaming. She must do this alone, without assistance from any of the staff."
This last was directed at Larajin, who was meant to quail under the imagined enormity of the task, but her mind was on more pressing concerns-like whether the
Hulorn's men would arrest her the next time she ventured out onto the streets.
"Master Thamalon, I must protest," Cale sputtered. "The punishment is not severe enough. I would suggest-"
"Erevis Cale," the master said. "I am not interested in hearing your suggestions."
Larajin blinked in surprise. In all her years at Stormweather Towers, she had never heard the master use that tone with Cale. For the first time in memory, he was speaking to his butler as a servant.
Cale's face flushed, but he held his tongue. "As you wish, Master."
His eyes, however, spoke volumes as he turned to Larajin.
"Kitchen," he spat. "Now!"
** * *
Larajin studied her reflection in the mirror in Mistress Thazienne's bedroom. The emerald-green gown she wore was stiff with gold embroidery and seed pearls, its sleeves tight to the elbow and flaring with slashes of white from elbow to shoulder. The bodice was high and thrusting, the hemline low.
The gown was Thazienne's, the color designed to complement her sea-green eyes. It was a little long on Larajin-a good thing, since it hid the serviceable leather boots she was wearing-and a little loose in the bodice. With a bit of padding, it fit her well enough.
She'd tucked her hair up into a bun, and covered it with an elaborate cap hung with lace and trailing peacock feathers. Looking in the mirror, the only thing that