Window Wall (7 page)

“You might have seen this,” he heard himself say. “You might have, and changed it. My brother’s likely crippled, all because you think your Elsewhens are a
bore.
”

Cade swung around in a fury. “It’s not my fault. I won’t have it be my fault!”

Mieka fled the kitchen and didn’t stop until he was at what used to be the entrance to his little tower lair. The doorway was boarded up now, the tower having at long last crashed down into the river below. It had taken with it, among other things, one of the three candle-flats that had been his eighteenth Namingday present (he’d given Jinsie one, and the other was at his house in Hilldrop), all the various blankets and pillows he’d nested there, his collection of Touchstone’s placards, and his spare thorn-roll.

Now that Touchstone was on the Royal Circuit, Mieka had taken to dividing his time during the winter between Wistly Hall and the house where his wife, daughter, and mother-in-law lived. But Wistly wasn’t home anymore, not really, and for all that he’d owned the place for several years now, Hilldrop wasn’t home, either. In both places he always felt one step away from being a stranger. The Mieka who had grown up here didn’t exist any longer, and he hadn’t quite grown into being a Mieka who, between Royal Circuits, could be content with a quiet life in the country being a husband and father. The only time he felt truly real—alive, and happy, and
right
, and exactly where he’d been meant to be—was onstage. Yet even that feeling sometimes eluded him. Now he knew why.

Cade’s fault. Deny it as he might, this was all Cade’s fault. A flickering of humor curled his mouth in a bitter little smile, for hadn’t Cade always felt guiltily responsible over his Elsewhens, and hadn’t Mieka tried to persuade him that he couldn’t be held to account for what other people decided to do? Now there were no Elsewhens to feel guilty about, but Cade was absolutely responsible not only for rejecting sight of things he might have changed for the better, but also for killing parts of himself that Mieka needed.

No wonder the withies had felt different.

He turned from the boarded-up doorway to seek a bed—there must be an unoccupied one somewhere in this house—and his fingers sought the little bit of glass in his shirt pocket. He wouldn’t have to ask Blye what kind of glass it was. He knew very well, as Jinsie had known very well, that it was the crimped end of a withie. And the hallmark on it—a thing forbidden to Blye—was that of Master Splithook, who made withies for, among others, Black Lightning.

I
t so happened that Trials would be held early at Seekhaven this year, for King Meredan and Queen Roshien were going on progress throughout Albeyn to celebrate the twenty-fifth year of their reign. It would take them all summer to visit the most important cities, towns, castles, and country houses on a schedule almost as brutal as any of the circuits. Prince Ashgar was set to join them here and there; Princess Miriuzca, having just been delivered of a daughter, would stay at Seekhaven with her children until early autumn, when grand celebrations would be held in Gallantrybanks.

Thus it wasn’t even a week after the accident at Lord Piercehand’s Gallery that Touchstone set off in their wagon for Seekhaven. They wouldn’t be returning to the capital until autumn, for the circuit schedules had been moved up as well, and the Royal would begin the day after Trials was over. The King wanted all the best groups in Gallantrybanks for the official festivities. And since the King paid room and board, transportation, and performance fees, all the best groups would do as they were told.

Three days before Touchstone’s departure for Seekhaven, their wagon rolled in from its off-duty home at Hilldrop. Yazz, their driver, occupied the coachman’s bench, but the reins were in the hands of Mieka’s daughter, Jindra, perched on the half Giant’s massive knee. She took her job very seriously. Mieka bit both lips together in the effort not to laugh as she pulled on the reins to stop the horses just outside Wistly Hall, her face screwed up with the effort. Yazz grinned down at Mieka, who scrambled up to lift Jindra down.

“Well done, sweeting! When Yazz gets tired of us, we’ll hire you to be our driver!”

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. At almost three and a half years old, she was adorably Elfen, with Mieka’s changeable eyes (and thick eyebrows, poor darling), Mieka’s elegantly pointed ears, Mieka’s hands (the ring and smallest fingers of almost the same length), and Mieka’s black hair. Only the full, soft, sweet curve of her mouth was her mother’s.

Her mother emerged from the wagon’s back door, wilting in the unseasonable heat and looking rather greenish; riding in an enclosed vehicle made her queasy. She smiled wanly at Mieka and accepted Petrinka’s escort upstairs to sleep off the drive from Hilldrop.

Back when Wistly Hall was built, and the Windthistles had been able to afford their own coaches, carriages, and horses, a splendid mews had graced the mansion’s western side. That time was long past, and these days the mews served mostly as storage and a home for the cats that kept the mouse population in check. The stalls had been cleared and cleaned, and Yazz occupied himself in unhitching and stabling the horses while Mieka stood with Jindra on one hip, listening to her prattle on about her friends, the birds she’d saved from her mother’s pet fox, and the present she’d helped make for Uncle Jez.

“And what would that be, Jinnie?”

“Pillow. Down, Dadda!”

When he set her on the cobbles, she ran for the wagon and clambered up the steps. Yazz had finished with the horses, and came to Mieka’s side to impart his own news.

“Fanna will be brothered by Wintering,” he said with shy satisfaction.

“Good work!” Mieka clapped him on the elbow. “How’s Robel?”

“Glad she’ll be to have me home for the birthing. Not like last time.”

“How d’you know it’s a boy?”

Yazz looked pityingly down at him. “How did we know Fanna to be a girl? We just know.”

The ways and knowings of Giants were as impenetrable to the other races as the ways of the Old Gods. Two months into her first pregnancy, Robel had announced she would have a girl; now she was certain she’d have a boy.

“Takes all the surprise out of it, if you ask me.”

Yazz peered around the mews, frowning. “Who asked?”

Mieka laughed with him, and caught Jindra up in his arms again as she raced towards him holding a package half as big as she was. “And what’s this, then?”

“I
said
, Dadda,” she reminded him. “Pillow. I helped sew!”

“Yes, you did tell me. Sorry I didn’t pay attention. Let’s go see Jez, shall we?”

The pillow proved to be a beautifully worked creation of dark green silk embroidered in the center with a pale green thistle and scented with cinnamon and sage. Grandmother and aunts exclaimed over how pretty it was, and Jezael gave her a bow rendered no less elegant for his being propped up in bed. Jindra fussed over the placement of his injured leg on the pillow.

“Beholden, Jinnie. It feels much better already!”

She insisted on staying in his room that night, sharing a cot with Mishia, and when Mieka came in the next morning, he found her curled up beside Jez like a drowsing puppy.

His mother, who sat at the window sorting Mistress Mirdley’s doses of medicine, smiled. “I keep wondering,” she said softly, so as not to wake them, “how you ever managed to produce anything so sweet as that child.”

“Mum! I was just as adorable at her age!”

“Actually,” she mused, “you were. What in all Hells happened?”

He grinned and betook himself downstairs, intending to take breakfast up to his wife. They’d spent the night in separate rooms so she could recover from the drive. Only two more nights with her, he reminded himself, before several long months of separation. And this time, he thought with a wince, he really would have to behave himself. Month after month of celibacy … it didn’t bear thinking about.

The spring sojourn in Lilyleaf came about because Mieka had been a very, very,
very
bad boy. From last year’s Royal Circuit he had brought home toys for Jindra, a beautiful fur capelet for his mother-in-law, and, among other things, a case of the pox for his wife. Auntie Brishen had been applied to when his own affliction manifested itself most unpleasantly during Touchstone’s giggings at Castle Biding. The cure had come by special courier (with a hefty bill and an admonition to keep his pants buttoned), and he’d thought he was over it by the time he got home. That he wasn’t had become clear that autumn in ways equally unpleasant for his wife. Again Auntie Brishen was consulted, and again she had provided (for an even heftier fee, and with her solemn promise to tell his mother if it ever happened again).

Having broken one of his own rules—that it mattered for naught what a man did when he was away from his wife so long as he didn’t bring home anything nasty—he made up for it the only way he knew how. They’d never had a real wedding trip, so in early spring when the roads were passable, he borrowed Lord Kearney Fairwalk’s second-best carriage (complete with groom to drive and look after the horses) and took his wife to Lilyleaf for a month of pampering. He did whatever she wanted and bought her anything she fancied. He accompanied her to shops and escorted her to public balls—and private ones, too, for once it was known that the most outrageous member of Touchstone was taking a holiday in Lilyleaf, the rich or titled or both were eager for the now-legendary diversions of Mieka’s presence. That he had a beautiful wife was almost consolation for the fact that he behaved himself perfectly. On mild days he took her for long drives in the countryside or partnered her at bowls on a green with only a few really muddy patches. He found something harmless and boring to do while she went to the baths. He didn’t drink more than a single ale or glass of wine each day. He left his thorn-roll at home. They stayed at Croodle’s inn, and every so often he caught a sardonic glint in her black eyes for the impeccable picture of sober husbandly virtue he presented. He had the feeling she knew the reason for it.

Mieka was able to take a whole month on holiday because of four things.

First, Rafe had declared that he was staying home in Gallantrybanks with Crisiant and their new little son. The occasional engagement at the Kiral Kellari or the Downstreet or the Keymarker would be fine, but no travel to the country houses of the nobility. None. Crisiant and Bram were his priorities, and nobody could blame him.

Second, Jeska agreed wholeheartedly with Rafe about staying strictly in Gallantrybanks, for he and Kazie had been married only a few months and he wanted as much time with her as possible before Touchstone left for Trials and the Royal.

Third, Cade had gone into yet another of his sulks and nobody wanted to be around him anyways.

Lastly, Fairwalk, far from despairing at the decrease in Touchstone’s income, had decided that to deprive the city and the nobility of performances for a while would only increase the demand later this year.

“And besides that—do forgive me for mentioning it—but there’s just the slightest hint of your getting stale. Not that you’re not as good as ever, but—”

Before Cade or Mieka or Jeska could protest, Rafe nodded agreement with Fairwalk. “I’m sick of feeling that it’s naught but a job of work,” he said. “Like a being bricklayer or a hack driver. Good at the craft, no mistakes and no accidents—but nothing to point to with pride anymore.”

Cade scowled and muttered, “You’re just browned off because I haven’t done up your children’s play yet.”

“You’ll get to it when you get to it,” Rafe replied. “Bram’s not old enough yet to enjoy it, anyways. But Kearney’s right, and we all of us know it. We’ve gone flat. It’s habit, like we were back in littleschool reciting the multiplication tables. The only challenge we’ve had in the last year was that play of yours, Cayden, and—”

“Don’t you fucking
dare
say it’s my fault!”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Lord Fairwalk soothed. “People just weren’t prepared for it, don’t you see. One day they will be, and it will be a triumph.”

“So we’ll be taking a break, then?” Jeska asked. “From each other, as well as the work?”

“Suits me down to the ground,” Cade snapped. “Leaves me in peace and quiet to write.”

Thus Mieka had left his daughter in his own mother’s care at Wistly, given his mother-in-law enough money to go and do whatever she liked for a month, and taken his wife to Lilyleaf. He’d originally thought she might like to spend the time at Frimham. Jinsie had disabused him of this notion the instant he mentioned it.

“Amongst all the people who knew her when she was scrabbling for a living? Once again, brother darling, you provide living proof that there ought to be laws against staggering stupidity.”

“I thought she might want to see her old friends.”

“And swan about with you on her arm, saying, ‘Look at my adorable famous rich husband!’ without actually having to say it out loud? Mayhap. But she’d also know they’d be sneering and gossiping behind her back. You’re a
theater
player, remember!”

He was just as glad she took the sting out of it with a grin. “Oh, all right, then. Lilyleaf, I suppose.”