bath, thinking as he did so that his Mother was almost as remarkable in her way as his Grandfather had been. The more he learned about running this estate, the more amazing it was to him that nothing had gone wrong. Thanks to Tenebrinth and Pelenal, who studied the demands of the other estates and the resources of their own with the fierce dedication of a warrior for his craft, Kyrtian's estate was so prosperous that even his worst enemies would never dream of forcing a confrontation with him.
He closed his eyes and fragrant steam rose up and filled the room further with scented fog. No one Lord would ever dare challenge me, he thought contentedly. And probably not two or three together. Not that they 're likely to, since I don't meddle in politics, but they still wouldn't dare. Not when these lands feed and clothe a third of them. Not when the fruits of our labors are served up on their tables, when our wines are the choicest, our silks the fairest.
Granted, an Elvenlord with powerful magic could transform water and ashes into the finest wine and choicest meals—but it was still water and ashes, and wouldn't nourish any better. It took a great deal of magic to create such illusions, magic which could be put to better use. Illusory gold had no commercial worth—but the gold in Kyrtian's treasury was real enough.
No, no one is ever going to try any political games with us, he told himself, as the heat of the bath warmed and soothed all of his tired, strained muscles. They wouldn't dare. Pelenal wouldn 't sell to them, and then where would they be ? Half the stuff that goes to feed their slaves comes from here; most of them don't bother growing grain anymore, or raising sheep for wool and flax for linen.
As often as he asked Tenebrinth if there was anything the Seneschal wanted as a reward for all his good service, Tene¬brinth had never asked for anything but the most trivial of fa¬vors. Lord Tenebrinth often seemed to Kyrtian the most contented of beings; he had a wife who adored him, and the freedom to manage the estate as he saw fit. Tenebrinth's chief pleasure outside of his family came from trying out little theo-
ries of management. Over the decades, he had weeded out all the ones that didn't work at all, or didn't work well, and now he was in the process of fine-tuning and balancing everything. The one thing that Tenebrinth would have wanted that Kyrtian couldn't give him was a child.
And if I could, I would. I think we pay for our long lives in our lack of children. It was sad, really, for if there was ever an Elven lady born to be a mother, it was Tenebrinth's wife, Lady Seryana.
And of course, it would be so much easier on all of us if they just had a daughter. It wouldn't have mattered how young the girl was; Kyrtian would be more than willing to wait for her to grow up. After all, he had all the time in the world before him; Elves did age and die eventually, but "eventually" was several centuries away.
Maybe what he ought to do would be to investigate those ru¬mors that some Elvenlords had discovered ways to enhance their fertility with magic. If that were true, and he could find a way to purchase the services of such a magician—
That would solve everyone's problem, wouldn't it?
It was an easy solution on the surface, but like deep water, such a "solution" could cover more than was immediately ap¬parent.
The favor might cost more than I'm willing to give. What if the mage wanted slaves? How could I send off any of my peo¬ple into real slavery? What if he wanted some of my fighters? What if he wanted Gel?
Even if that difficulty never came up, there was the imagi¬nary girl to consider. She might not like me. She might like me, but not enough. She might fall in love with someone else—even Pelenal. He winced away from the idea of forcing a maiden to wed because she'd been betrothed to him in her cradle. How could any good come out of such a bad bargain?
Gel is right. I should leave it up to
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