Convergence (36 page)

"It's something
I
can argue with," Jowi said before Ro was able to respond, startling Clarion. The beautiful woman was still serene, but no longer amused. "As Dom Ro said earlier in a different way, what's right for you doesn't necessarily have to be right for me. For instance, I know someone who doesn't want to let me out of her sight. She pretends that her actions are for
my
benefit and protection, but in reality she's serving herself. And since even stealing can be considered right under the proper circumstances—as, for instance, to save your life—I seriously doubt if there are many universal rights and wrongs to begin with. You'd do well, Dom Drowd, to reexamine the basis of your beliefs."

Drowd came back with something to continue the argument, but Clarion no longer listened. He'd been shaken by Jowi Hafford's words even more than by Ro and Drowd's, but the confusion buzzing around his head refused to let him understand why. What they'd said didn't apply to
him
in any way, so why were his hands cold and nearly
trembling,
and his mouth dry? The situation was quite ridiculous, but banishing it was apparently beyond him.

Clarion sat back in an effort to regain control of
himself
, and had almost managed it by the time the next course was brought. Chilled fish with a tangy sauce it was, just the thing to attract his weakening but still-active appetite. The others also let themselves be somewhat distracted by the newly arrived dish, but not to the point of abandoning their discussion.
Their pointless, ridiculous discussion which had nothing to do with
him,
and which he therefore ignored.
Leave it to the lower classes to upset a gentleman without even knowing they did it-After the chilled fish
came
tidbits of chicken and various sauces to dip them in, and that finally settled Clarion's hunger. A light dessert of banana slices mixed into butter-cream topped it all off, and by then no one at the table was still part of a discussion. Everyone seemed to feel the waves of exhaustion rolling over them as strongly as Clarion did, so he wasn't the only one to finish his tea, rise and bid a general good night, and then head for his room. Clarion had meant to discuss the size of his quarters, but at the moment it was simply too much trouble. Tonight he felt he would find it possible to sleep propped in the corner of a broom closet, but tomorrow would surely be another matter.

Yes, tomorrow he would speak to the lovely Tamrissa Domon, possibly with as much success as he'd had with Jowi Hafford. Clarion climbed the stairs to his room with a smile of anticipation on his face, but that uncomfortable hardening had returned to his body. He usually had to exercise hard to rid himself of the condition, but possibly tonight his exhaustion would see to the matter. Tomorrow, however . . . Yes, tomorrow would definitely be another day.

N
ineteen

Jowi awoke to moderate sunshine coming through the curtains, and spent a moment enjoying the feel of the bed and the lack of a servant determined to wake her. That happened only rarely at Allestine's residence, as Allestine believed in allowing her ladies only enough sleep to keep the blush of good health in their cheeks. Perhaps twice a year a holiday was declared and everyone was permitted to do as they pleased, but usually that happened only during some terrible storm that no one was able to get through. With Allestine even a shopping trip was business, as it let the girls show themselves off around town to men who might not know what marvelous courtesans her residence housed.

Jowi's enjoyment evaporated at the thought of Allestine and the confinement she was determined to escape. So far her plans hadn't gone well at all, especially since she'd begun to wonder at those plans. Her ultimate aim was to be so wealthy and powerful that no one would ever be able to control her life again, and last night she'd been shaken to realize that she stood within reach of the ultimate place of wealth and power. Being a member of the new
Blending
. . .

"But that's more fantasy than reality," she protested to herself, trying to bring her imagination down from the heights. "Do you really think
you
could qualify as a member of the new Blending?
Don
't you remember what the boy said about it being nobles who were chosen? You may have nobles as patrons, but you can't be silly enough to think you're one yourself."

Jowi sighed as her practical nature refused to let her lie to herself. Her family had been about as noble as an old shoe, something she refused
to
let herself forget. Her talent with

Spirit magic was just an asset to be used like any other, not something to use in an effort to pretend she was better than everyone else. Those who talked themselves into believing they were superior in every way usually proved just the opposite with everything they did.

Like that silly girl Beldara Lant, last night at the table.
Jowi made a face at the memory, wondering how anyone above the age of five could be so self-centered.
Or any woman, at any rate.
Men with money and power usually demanded that life accommodate them, but most women were too practical to do the same. Money and power most often ended in the hands of men, and only the occasional woman was able to take them for her own.

Which was what Jowi had planned to do, before delusions of fantasy had begun to turn her head.
In all practicality it would never be possible to become a member of the new Blending, but the temptation to try for it was so unbelievably strong. She'd better remind herself again about what the boy had said, repeating it over and over as necessary.

"And stop calling him 'the boy,' even in your thoughts," she chided herself as she sat up and ran her hands through her hair. "He's obviously older than you, and his name is Clarion."

Yes, Clarion Mardimil, she recalled with another sigh. He was actually more than ordinarily handsome, but there was a . . . lack, perhaps, or some kind of innocence that made him feel more like a boy than a man to her talent. His balance was so precarious it was difficult to understand how he'd passed his test. Most adults with so little self-possession rarely found it possible to cope with ordinary life, not to mention extraordinary situations like his test must have been. But he
had
passed, and was now in the process of developing a crush on her . . .

Jowi smiled as she got out of bed, wondering if Clarion even knew what was happening to him. He'd dropped out of the table conversation early and had been one of the first to go to bed, but every time he'd looked at her she'd felt him reacting the way men always did. The odd thing about it had been the distance of his own awareness, as though he'd somehow been kept from learning a normal masculinity. Jowi didn't understand that, but there were enough other men in the house to keep Clarion from pestering her. She'd use one or two of the others as shields, and—

Her thoughts broke off as she heard a very small but unexpected sound, at the same time feeling
a wetness
on her bare left foot. She looked down expecting to find herself imagining things, then blinked at what should have been imagination but wasn't. About halfway between her knee and her ankle a tiny cluster of thunderclouds floated in midair, dark and threatening with lightning flashing through them and thunder rumbling around. And rain coming down from them, which was what had wet her foot and part of her nightdress.

"But all we drank last night was tea," she protested in a murmur, staring down at the miniature thunderstorm. It was actually rather adorable, if you liked that sort of thing. What she didn't enjoy, though, was having her foot inundated, so she stepped back to get it out of the rain. That helped for a very brief moment, and then the clouds followed to rain on her again.

That was the point she realized someone must be playing a joke, but who they might be and how they were doing it was beyond her. The only ones at the table with Water magic were Valiant Ro and that shy little stableman, Pagin Holter, and neither of them seemed the type to play jokes. She'd expected a frank and direct suggestion from Ro because of the way he'd looked at her, but using a practical joke to get her attention? It wasn't at all likely, and the same held true for Holter. His yearning interest had been quite clear, but all traces of intent to follow up on the feelings were entirely absent.

Jowi's foot was beginning to get cold, so there was only one thing to do: get rid of the clouds no matter how adorable they were, and then act as if nothing had happened. That should make the prankster reveal himself, to find out what had happened if for no other reason. And it
was
faintly amusing, that she was willing to grant.

Dispersing the cloud wasn't difficult. Thunderstorms were a careful balance of water and dust and air all in turbulence, and without the turbulence it wasn't possible to have a storm. Jowi soothed away that roiling violence with very little difficulty, and once it was gone the clouds quickly dissipated and disappeared. Her foot was now safe from the threat of drowning, but it and the carpeting could use some drying. Not to mention that small part of her nightdress.

Mopping up didn't take long either, and then Jowi went to work on the problem of where to hide her gold. If she were going to be fitted for new clothes today, she couldn't very well carry it with her. But she also had no intention of leaving it lying around for the house servants to find. It had to be well hidden but easy for her to get to, and then she'd be able to dress and go looking for breakfast. Dinner last night had been quite substantial, but she'd slept for many hours and was now ready to sit down to another meal.

And possibly to speak to that nice Lorand Coll again.
He was certainly handsome enough with a lovely body, but the unusual steadiness inside him was even more attractive to her than his looks. Not that she was in the midst of searching for a steady male friend. That fit not at all into any of her plans, not even the fantasy ones. . . .

Lorand walked slowly down the stairs on his way to the dining room, glancing around to see if he could spot the practical joker. He'd awakened somewhat earlier feeling well rested and back to his usual self, and had gotten up with the intention of dressing and going to breakfast. Halfway across the floor he'd suddenly discovered that someone had put together a tiny thunderstorm in his room, and the thing was raining all over the back of his nightshirt. He'd found it possible to see the miniature clouds and their lightning only by twisting around at the waist, but he hadn't had any trouble hearing the small thunderclaps.

But he'd done quite a bit of hopping around trying to see the thing before it occurred to him to stand still and simply twist at the waist. He hated to feel foolish even if no one seemed to be around to watch, so he'd quickly removed the dust motes that kept the tiny thunderhead together. Without that cohesion the storm had ended, spreading out and then disappearing. It had managed to get him good and wet first, though, and he'd actually had to wring out his nightshirt.

So now Lorand looked casually around, trying to spot the one who had tried to make him look like a fool. He intended to indulge in some practical-joke-getting-even by pretending nothing at all had happened even if the culprit confessed, no matter which one of them it happened to be. Ro and Holter were the two with Water magic, and it had to be one of them. He'd find out over breakfast, and then it would be his turn to laugh.

Lorand walked into the dining room to find only two of the others there before him, the man Eskin Drowd, who already sat in his place at the foot of the table and ate, and Clarion Mardimil. The latter stood at a long table set up on the side of the room, a number of odd, covered dishes with long legs arranged on the table. Small containers of what looked to be some sort of oil bubbled gently under the tall dishes, no doubt thanks to some servants with Fire magic. But none of the servants were currently in the room and Mardimil was helping himself from a dish he had uncovered. That had to mean it was proper for Lorand to do the same, which came as something of a relief. He exported to get used to being served by someone other than his mother eventually, but he hadn't yet reached that point.

Walking around Mardimil to the left showed Lorand a stack of empty platters and a neat row of forks, so he took one of each and began to look in each of the covered dishes to see what they held. The first two held things Lorand wasn't able to identify in their cooked state, so he continued on until he reached the chicken livers in the third. They seemed to have been fried somehow and smelled wonderful, so he spooned some out onto his plate and went on with his search for eggs, potatoes, and bacon.
Th
a
t
was what breakfast meant to
him,
but it didn't seem to mean the same to these people.