Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [83]
Shortly after his daughter’s disappearance, Lord Samuels had taken to haunting the deserted sands of the Borderland searching for her. Every day, following his work at the Guild, he traveled through the Corridor to that desolate, barren place, roaming up and down the beach crying out her name until it became too dark to see. Then, exhausted and despairing, he would return to his home.
His sleep was restless, sometimes he woke up and insisted on returning to the Border in the middle of the night, saying he had heard Gwen calling to him. He ate little or nothing. His health began to suffer. The Theldara—the same blunt woman who had tended Father Saryon—told Lady Rosamund that her husband was in a dangerous state of body disharmony that could cause his death.
At this juncture Lady Rosamund had received a visit from Emperor Xavier. The Emperor was all kindness and understanding. He had heard that Lord Samuels was behaving in a most peculiar manner, a manner that was—the Emperor sought to phrase this delicately—causing renewed public attention over a deeply regrettable incident. No one felt for the grief of the bereft father and mother more than Xavier. But it was time Lord Samuels viewed this tragic incident in its proper perspective. It had happened, nothing could change that The Almin works in mysterious ways. Lord Samuels must have faith.
Xavier said this last with a grave voice, his hand patting Lady Rosamund’s. Why it should have filled her with terror was unknown to her. Perhaps it had been the expression of the cold, flat eyes. Removing her hand from the Emperor’s disturbing touch, she pressed it against her palpitating heart and murmured distractedly that the Theldara had recommended a change … a change of scene.
Excellent idea the Emperor had remarked. Precisely what he’d had in mind. It was in his power to bestow a small estate upon some fortunate man. Lord Samuels would be conferring the greatest favor upon the Emperor if he would accept this trifling gift. The estate consisted of a small Field Magi village, a castle in an outlying district, and a house in the city. It was falling to rack and ruin since the death of its owner—a Count Devon—who had left no heirs. It behooved Lord Samuels, as a loyal subject of the crown, to take it over and make the estate properous once more. There was a small matter of back taxes, but a man in Lord Samuels’s position.
Lady Rosamund had managed to stammer out that she was certain this was exactly what her husband needed to take his mind off his grief. She thanked the Emperor most profusely. Xavier had accepted her thanks with a gracious inclination of the head and had said, as he rose to leave, that he presumed her husband would henceforth be much too busy to make those nightly journeys to the Borderlands. He had further added that he trusted her husbands new duties would provide him with more cheerful subjects to discuss other than whatever it was he might have heard or witnessed concerning the young man called Joram.
Xavier left Lady Rosamund with a little homily: A man who walks backward, staring into the past, is likely to trip and hurt himself.
That night Lord Samuels’s visits to the Border ceased. The following week, he and his family journeyed to Devon Castle, returning to the Devon townhouse in Merilon only for holidays and during the winter season as was customary with the rich and the beautiful. They had everything they had ever wanted: wealth, position, acceptance by their betters, who were now their peers.
Gwendolyn was spoken of no more. Her things were given to her cousins, but these simple girls could never look at the pretty dresses and jewelry without weeping, and soon put them away. The little brother and sister were taught