The Dream Spheres - Elaine Cunningham [85]
The gentleman himself showed similar signs of ennui. Rhammas Thann must have been a handsome man once, and he still cut a rather dashing figure. His hair was thick and silver, and his eyes, though rather bleary-whether from an excess of morning ale or a lack of interest in the life he led, Lilly could not say-were a striking shade of silvery gray. She could understand why her mother had spoken so wistfully of this man.
"My mother gave this to me, along with my name. She said to seek you out and tell you both these things if ever I was in dire need. I am that, but you can believe me when I say I never intended to come."
"You said your name was Lilly," he remembered. "I am sorry, but I do not see the significance."
"Do you recall a place called the Dryad's Garden? It was a tavern in the Dock Ward, long since closed. All the girls were given names of flowers. Marigold, Pansy, Rose. My mother's name was Violet. Her hair was of like color to mine, if that helps."
Memory flickered in the man's eyes, and then wide-eyed chagrin. He looked at her closely for the first time. "Violet's child-and mine, I suppose. Yes, of course. The resemblance is there to see."
"So your steward said, as he rushed me out of sight," Lilly said in a wry tone. When she had been presented at the servants' entrance, the steward-an austere fellow who looked as if discretion was the sum and essence of his moral code-took one glance at her face and then hustled her into a private room. He'd tended her injuries, fed her a vile-tasting healing potion, and heard her tale. Next he'd hurried off to arrange the interview, not even asking to see the pendant she offered as proof.
"Good man," the lord murmured absently. He sighed and fixed a troubled gaze upon her. "Now that you are here, what is it that you want?"
A family. A home. A name.
Lilly spoke none of these things. "I'm in a bit of trouble, sir. I don't want to bother you, but it's needful that I leave town as soon as possible."
This idea clearly appealed to him. "Yes, that would be best. I'll have someone see to it. Stop by on your way out and speak to the steward-no. No, that won't do at all," he muttered. "Cassandra keeps the accounts and would mark any unusual sum and not rest until she knew the whole of it. No, that is impossible."
Lilly's heart sank. She rose and dipped into a small, graceless curtsey. "Then I'll be on my way, sir, and it's sorry I am to be bothering you."
His eyes focused on her again, and this time there was a bit of emotion in the gray depths, and a hint of regret. "I won't turn away any child of mine, however begotten. I'll send someone to you who can take care of this."
She bobbed another curtsey and turned to leave.
"One more thing," the lord said. Lilly sent an inquisitive look back. "Your mother. She is well?"
"As well as any dead woman can be, sir. She is long gone, but I'm sure she would appreciate you asking about her."
The words came out as a reproach, though she had not intended to speak them. Rhammas merely nodded, as if he expected-deserved-this jab.
The bleak acceptance in the man's face disconcerted her more than would a cruel denunciation, or accusations of fraud. She had expected both. She had not expected to find this shell of a man, worn down to nothingness by relentless petty concerns and easy luxury.
This was not the father she had imagined or the life she had dreamed of living. Lilly turned and fled back toward the servants' quarters and the discreet rear exit the steward pointed out for her. For the first time since the theft, she did not regret the loss of her coin. If this was the price of wealth, it was too dearly bought.
* * * * *
Elaith strode into the enclosed garden late that afternoon, congratulating himself on his decision to use Greenglade Tower as a meeting place. A group of his mercenary captains awaited him. Some of them had been waiting for hours. It was never wise to have large groups gather