prison right alongside him!” She did not shake her finger at him, as Calder had somewhat imagined mothers would do, but remained seated. Her back stayed straight as a poker, even as she stared down at her son with disapproving eyes.
His mother, Alsa Grayweather, was everything Rojric pretended to be. She could trace her family line back to the dawn of the Empire, she wore only the latest in Imperial fashion, and she owned her own three-story home in one of the Capital’s wealthier districts.
In Calder’s mind, she needed more flaws. She was too perfect; like an Elderspawn stuffed into human skin. And, of all the Imperial Guilds, she had to work for the worst one.
The family line was mostly confidential, the Imperial records of her family sealed for security purposes. Her high-fashion dresses came in only one color—tar-black—and her home was stocked with more curios and deadly artifacts than a museum.
A curving tusk sat on a rack next to a pair of dueling sabers, all of them polished and oiled for immediate use. When he had first asked her about the tusk, she’d seemed shocked.
“If a Whispering Gaunt finds its way in my back door, how do you expect me to defend myself? With a sword?”
And, worst of all, that crest she had embroidered into her dress, woven into a tapestry, and displayed in the stained glass of her sitting-room window: a squirming mass of tentacles with six eyes overlaid.
The Elder’s Eyes, symbol of the Blackwatch.
“He needed me,” Calder insisted. “Only I can tell him what’s fake and what’s worth taking.”
“Worth taking! You have too much talent to waste on someone like your father. You’ll be better off with me, that’s for certain.”
Calder decided that honesty had gotten him as far as it could. It was time for persuasion. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mother. To think you had a house like this...I’m sure even Father would agree that I am better off with you.”
He smiled up at her, watching a brace of ornamental pistols out of the corner of his eye. Eighty silvermarks.
One side of Alsa’s mouth curved up. She was a pretty woman still, with rich brown hair running down her back.
“You have your father’s tongue as well as his hair,” she said. “Flattery can serve you well, or it could end with you in the cell next to him.”
That didn’t sound too bad to Calder. If he wound up in a cell next to his father, at least they could see each other every day.
“Do you have horses here?” he asked. He’d wondered about that ever since he’d arrived here. Big houses were supposed to have horses.
“We do. And you will learn to ride, as well as several other skills important to your future.”
“What future did you have in mind, exactly?” he asked hesitantly. His father’s idea of a future had always been ‘earning a fortune and retiring to our own private island,’ but Calder doubted his mother would see things quite the same way.
Idly, she touched the Blackwatch Crest embossed into the table. “Among the Guilds,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing possible. “You’re too old to find a place among the Consultants or the Champions, thank the Fates, but riding will be important if you find yourself with the Witnesses or the Greenwardens. You seem surprisingly well educated, despite Rojric’s influence, so you might enjoy a life with the Magisters.”
Working in one of the ten Imperial Guilds? He’d have more freedom in a prison cell. He turned up his smile like a quicklamp, resolved to change the subject before she decided his future for him. “Oh yes, Father made sure I was educated. I have read all the classics, and I’ve been told I could pass for a governor’s son.”
“Can you, now? I had no idea your tutors were so well-rounded.” She leaned back in her chair, pulling a knife out of her pocket. Without preamble, she began trimming her nails right there at the table. It was so contrary to how he had imagined her that he
His mother, Alsa Grayweather, was everything Rojric pretended to be. She could trace her family line back to the dawn of the Empire, she wore only the latest in Imperial fashion, and she owned her own three-story home in one of the Capital’s wealthier districts.
In Calder’s mind, she needed more flaws. She was too perfect; like an Elderspawn stuffed into human skin. And, of all the Imperial Guilds, she had to work for the worst one.
The family line was mostly confidential, the Imperial records of her family sealed for security purposes. Her high-fashion dresses came in only one color—tar-black—and her home was stocked with more curios and deadly artifacts than a museum.
A curving tusk sat on a rack next to a pair of dueling sabers, all of them polished and oiled for immediate use. When he had first asked her about the tusk, she’d seemed shocked.
“If a Whispering Gaunt finds its way in my back door, how do you expect me to defend myself? With a sword?”
And, worst of all, that crest she had embroidered into her dress, woven into a tapestry, and displayed in the stained glass of her sitting-room window: a squirming mass of tentacles with six eyes overlaid.
The Elder’s Eyes, symbol of the Blackwatch.
“He needed me,” Calder insisted. “Only I can tell him what’s fake and what’s worth taking.”
“Worth taking! You have too much talent to waste on someone like your father. You’ll be better off with me, that’s for certain.”
Calder decided that honesty had gotten him as far as it could. It was time for persuasion. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mother. To think you had a house like this...I’m sure even Father would agree that I am better off with you.”
He smiled up at her, watching a brace of ornamental pistols out of the corner of his eye. Eighty silvermarks.
One side of Alsa’s mouth curved up. She was a pretty woman still, with rich brown hair running down her back.
“You have your father’s tongue as well as his hair,” she said. “Flattery can serve you well, or it could end with you in the cell next to him.”
That didn’t sound too bad to Calder. If he wound up in a cell next to his father, at least they could see each other every day.
“Do you have horses here?” he asked. He’d wondered about that ever since he’d arrived here. Big houses were supposed to have horses.
“We do. And you will learn to ride, as well as several other skills important to your future.”
“What future did you have in mind, exactly?” he asked hesitantly. His father’s idea of a future had always been ‘earning a fortune and retiring to our own private island,’ but Calder doubted his mother would see things quite the same way.
Idly, she touched the Blackwatch Crest embossed into the table. “Among the Guilds,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing possible. “You’re too old to find a place among the Consultants or the Champions, thank the Fates, but riding will be important if you find yourself with the Witnesses or the Greenwardens. You seem surprisingly well educated, despite Rojric’s influence, so you might enjoy a life with the Magisters.”
Working in one of the ten Imperial Guilds? He’d have more freedom in a prison cell. He turned up his smile like a quicklamp, resolved to change the subject before she decided his future for him. “Oh yes, Father made sure I was educated. I have read all the classics, and I’ve been told I could pass for a governor’s son.”
“Can you, now? I had no idea your tutors were so well-rounded.” She leaned back in her chair, pulling a knife out of her pocket. Without preamble, she began trimming her nails right there at the table. It was so contrary to how he had imagined her that he
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