The Keeper of the Mist by Rachel Neumeier

actually thought that part would be the worst thing, and now she only wished it were, because after that she had to deal with the Bear soldiers and figure out what had gone wrong with the boundaries of Nimmira and how to fix them. And convince everyone that she really was the Lady of Nimmira, despite the failure of the boundary mist.
    She was willing to bet that this was all going to take longer than an hour. Unfortunately.
    She said, striving to sound matter-of-fact and finding herself falling right into her mother’s most prosaic what’s-the-problem-again? tone, “They are my guests. They will not, however, stay in the House, so the staff here need not be concerned. The Timekeeper will deal with them.”
    The young man seemed almost disappointed at this assurance. He said he was a footman. Keri was not quite sure what a footman was or what one did, but he was willing to show her to her own personal apartment while one of the girls slipped off unobtrusively. Keri had no doubt the footman would take her by some longer path while the girl ran the short way to tell everyone what had happened. That was probably just as well.
    There was supposed to be a head of staff. The Timekeeper had promised her a head of staff. Mem, that was the woman’s name. Keri hoped the woman would be waiting. She had no idea whether she’d be able to keep to whatever schedule she was supposed to, but she thought she had better try to act like a proper Lady. At least until the Bear soldiers got in the way.
    The House was a blur of dark polished wood and red tiles. Red curtains framed glass windows flanked by ornately framed portraits as they turned a corner and went down a long gallery. There was a plush red carpet all up and down the stairs that the young footman led them up to the second floor. And, yes, red cushions on the heavy, carved chairs and couches when they passed at last into what Keri guessed, in some horror, must be the Lord’s own apartment.
Her
personal apartment now. Polished walnut wood everywhere, and red, red, red. Open doors gave them glimpses of a wide bed with sheer crimson muslin draped over carved walnut posts and matching satin coverlet; of huge wardrobes with dark red tiles set into their faces; of a fireplace with a hearth of the same red tiles and bright red candles on the mantel; of books bound in soft red leather arranged in a walnut bookcase. Red glass prisms hung in front of the windows, casting glints of pink light across the dark wood paneling.
    “What were you saying about blood magic?” she muttered to Tassel. “Never mind that man’s earring; it looks like every single thing in here was made by blood magic.”
    “Jokes of that sort are in poor taste,” Cort reproved her. But then he looked around the room and added, “Possibly fitting, in this setting.”
    Keri blinked, trying to decide if that had been a joke.
    “Well,” Tassel said sedately. “I certainly know what to give you for a moving gift, Keri. In fact, I can think of any number of excellent items just offhand.”
    Keri bit her lip hard, not certain whether she was fighting laughter or howls of dismay. She did not dare give voice to either, because the staff of which the Timekeeper had warned her was also present: three girls barely more than Keri’s age, two older women, and an elderly man.
    “Tamman,” the footman said, nodding toward the man. “Your castellan, Lady.”
    The man offered a slight bow in return. “Lady. We had—that is, we had heard.”
    “Castellan,” Keri said, relieved despite his hesitant tone. She wasn’t sure what a castellan was, but it sounded very official. She said, “No doubt you are fully aware of my proper schedule for today. I believe I am supposed to meet my half brothers.”
    “Indeed, indeed,” murmured the man, rubbing his hands nervously together. He glanced sidelong at Keri and away again. Then he repeated, “Indeed, yes, in hardly an hour. I will escort you—no?” as the oldest of the women