Philip Athans - Whisper of Waves

Willem blushed again, but not as badly, and nodded.

“Was there something you wished to discuss with me?” Marek prompted. He enjoyed the young man’s company but had business to attend to in the Land of One Hundred and Thirteen. “Perhaps you’ve come to ask for my niece’s hand in marriage?”

Marek chuckled at the look of mute shock that exploded from Willem’s face.

“I think that’s lovely,” Marek went on, his heart not allowing him to torment the young man too much. “She’s a terribly lovely, lovely girl and I would imagine your children will be equally lovely, if not even more lovely. We’ll plan a lovely wedding and invite everyone who’s anyone in Innarlith.”

Meykhati struggled not to laugh every time Marek said “lovely,” which was why he said it so much. Willem appeared more and more distressed. Marek had seen condemned men with the same expression as the magistrate described the time and manner of their deaths.

Beshaba preserve us, Marek thought. I’m going to enjoy him!

“Thank you, Master Rymut,” Willem mumbled, eyes glued to the tabletop.

“Oh, no, Willem,” Marek said, putting a gentle hand on the Cormyrean’s strong forearm, “we’re to be family. I insist you call me Marek. Or would you prefer Uncle?”

Willem snatched his arm away, which made Meykhati laugh again.

“I imagine that you’ll be ending things with the master builder’s daughter,” Marek said, only slowly withdrawing his own hand. Willem’s face went from red to white. “A man in your position has to learn where to go for his dalliances. You certainly don’t play up, as it were.”

The look on Willem’s face was priceless. It was plain that he wasn’t sure what Marek meant by “play up,” but he’d get it soon enough. It was Marek’s way of telling Willem that, at least in the Thayan’s mind, Phyrea was Halina’s better, and she was, after all.

“I have every confidence that Willem will do anything to avoid embarrassing either of us or himself,” Meykhati said.

“She’s a charming young thing, though, isn’t she?” Marek prodded. “Phyrea, I mean. Why, in another life, I might have … Well, in another life.”

“Y-you …” Willem stammered. “You know Phyrea?”

Meykhati looked at Willem with disappointment, but the younger man didn’t notice.

“Oh, I’ve known her family for years,” Marek replied. “Even then, well … everyone knows Phyrea, if you know what I mean.”

Willem’s expression was plain. He didn’t know what Marek meant, but he was nervous just the same.

“I haven’t seen her in months,” Willem said. “She left the city. She’s gone to live in the country.”

“Not any more,” Marek was pleased to inform him. “She’s been back for some time. Apparently, the fresh air sufficed to rejuvenate her spirit. Anyway, she seems different somehow. Perhaps she’s simply maturing … growing out of certain things, and so on.”

Willem wore his emotions so plainly on his face Marek would have been embarrassed for him if he hadn’t been having so much fun.

“She’s …?”

They looked up when someone walked into the room, surprised that the privacy they’d paid so dearly for had been interrupted. Marek relaxed when he saw that it was Nyla. He’d almost forgotten that she had been included in the invitation. Apparently, Meykhati was tiring of showing his new boy off to the right people one at a time and was wrapping things up faster.

“Nyla, darling,” Marek said as he stood.

The other two men stood too, as was customary when a lady entered a room, though at least Marek and Meykhati knew that Nyla was no lady. Marek grinned and they embraced. The woman’s eye patch tickled his face. Meykhati didn’t touch her, but they nodded at each other. She didn’t appear to notice Willem at all at first.

Meykhati made the introductions, and Marek could feel the woman begin to take Willem in. Though she was years his senior, the look in her one eye, the purse of her lips, and the twist of her hips on her chair made it clear that she saw all the things in Willem that Marek had seen.

“So, Senator Nyla,” Marek said, “your trade is well, I hope?”

Nyla grimaced at him. She had taken complete control of prostitution throughout the city years ago and had made herself one of the wealthiest women in Innarlith. Though everyone knew how she made the coin that bought her seat on the senate, and almost every other senator availed himself of her services from time to time, there was an unspoken agreement on the part of all the aristocracy not to address it. Profit from it, live it, but for goodness’s sake, don’t talk about it. Marek adored that sort of genteel hypocrisy.

“Fine,” Nyla answered. She brushed an errant strand of hair off her eye patch. “And you, Master Rymut? It’s been over a month, but you seem no worse off for very nearly being blown back to Bezantur.”

Marek laughed and said, “Oh, no, it wasn’t nearly that bad, my dear. A half-hearted attempt by a poor, lonely, misguided, unfortunate soul. Seems he was miffed with me for having assumed some of his clients some months back. He’s a kind of journeyman alchemist, I’ve been told. Not a good one, but good enough to make loud noises and upset a fine afternoon’s walk. Anyway, I’m from the city of Nethjet.”

They stared at each other for a moment that Marek was sure was uncomfortable for Meykhati and Willem.

“Well,” Nyla said at last, “I’m glad you’re well. I can’t say I remember hearing, though … has the assassin been executed yet? I was told there was some kind of complication?”

“No, the would-be assassin is quite alive,” Marek said. “In fact I’ve recently petitioned the ransar for his release.”

The three senators looked at him with mouths agape. That reaction alone was worth the effort to effect Surero’s parole.

“Really, senators,” he said. “Don’t be bloodthirsty.”

“He tried to kill you, Marek,” Meykhati said.

The Red Wizard shrugged and sat back in his chair.

Meykhati started in on a diatribe about the ingratitude of the masses, but Marek didn’t pay any attention.

4 Nightal, the Year of the Wave (1364 DR)

SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH

Willem stared at the tea in his cup, his head bent down, his shoulders stiff, his back aching. He tried to listen to Halina’s uncle prattle on about the responsibility of the aristocracy and the ascendancy of the masses, but all he wanted was to go home and sleep.

Halina reached out for his hand and he held hers. Her skin was soft and warm, but the touch brought a heaviness to his chest.

“Are you feeling all right, Willem?” she asked. Only then did he realize that Marek had stopped speaking.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I think I’m still exhausted from the move.”

“I’ve heard,” Marek said. “Shepherd’s Stride, isn’t it?”

Willem nodded. Shepherd’s Stride was one of the Second Quarter’s best addresses. The house was magnificent and would indebt him to Meykhati for years more-decades.

“It’s a lovely home,” Halina said.

A strange twinkle passed through Marek’s eyes when she said that, and Halina looked away from her uncle, confused and embarrassed. The heaviness in Willem’s chest grew worse.

They sat in a small parlor in the Thayans’ Second Quarter manor, sipping tea with the pretense of discussing wedding arrangements. Willem had worked harder than he had at anything in his life to change the subject and was both relieved and ashamed at having succeeded.

“I understand you live with your mother,” Marek said.

“She lives with me,” Willem retorted. He stopped and took a shallow breath.