Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(83)

A wizened old majordomo showed them to the garden, a simple affair of flowers and trees that might be found at any steadholt in the Realm, and that the High Lord Cereus tended to with his own hands. The garden was arranged around a perfectly circular pool. Its mirrored surface reflected the colors of the low furylamps throughout the garden, as well as the sullen red light of the stars.

Servants produced food, and Amara's belly remembered that they'd been attacked before she'd had the chance to eat. Giraldi made both her and her husband sit, while he brought them food and stood over them as he might over his grandchildren, making sure that they ate before sitting down with a small round of cheese, a loaf, and a pitcher of ale for himself.

A few moments later, Lord Cereus arrived. Among the Citizenry of the Realm, Cereus Macius was something of a rarity-a silver-haired, elderly man. Either he had lacked the talent for preserving his outward youth, or he had simply never bothered to maintain it. There were rumors that Cereus's furycrafting abilities were somewhat stunted when it came to watercrafting, though Amara had no way to know if the rumors were based on fact, or if the fact of his appearance had given birth to the rumors.

Cereus was of medium height and slender build, with a long, morose-looking face and blunt, strong fingers. He entered, two hard-faced men flanking him, hands on their swords. Upon seeing Bernard and Giraldi, the two men paused and narrowed their eyes. Bernard and Giraldi returned their scrutiny with matching impassivity.

"I wonder, Countess Amara," Cereus murmured, his tone whimsical. "Are we to let them sniff one another's rumps and become friends, or should we tie their leashes to separate walls to avoid trouble."

"Your Grace." Amara smiled and rose, bowing deeply. "They mean well."

Cereus took her hands in both of his, smiling, and nodded back to her. "You may be right. Gentlemen, if there's fighting to be done tonight, I'd prefer that it not be in my garden. Very well?"

The two bodyguards nodded and withdrew by half a step and no more. Giraldi grinned and went back to his food. Bernard smiled and bowed to Cereus. "Of course, Your Grace."

"Count Calderon," Cereus said. "Welcome. Though I fear you have come to my city at a most unfortunate time."

"I am here, Your Grace," Bernard said firmly. "And I offer you whatever aid I can provide."

"Thank you," Cereus said, no trace of irony in his words. "Countess, are the others coming?"

"Yes, Your Grace," she said. "But it may take more time. Most of the survivors were badly traumatized by the city's panic."

Cereus grunted and lowered himself stiffly onto a richly, beautifully carved wooden bench. "Understandable." He squinted at Bernard. "Your sister, the..." He blinked as if mildly disbelieving, "... Steadholder. The woman Steadholder. She's a talented watercrafter, yes?"

"Yes," Bernard said.

"How is she?"

"Exhausted. Sleeping," Bernard replied. "She'd had a difficult day even before the stars changed."

"The panic was extremely painful to those of sensitivity to such things. If there is anything I can do to help her, please send word to me," Cereus said.

Bernard bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Grace. Your offer of secure quarters was more than generous enough. She's resting comfortably."

Cereus squinted at Giraldi. "Is that ale? Real, honest ale?"

Giraldi belched.

"Crows and thunder," Cereus said. "Do you have another mug, soldier?" Giraldi did. Cereus sipped, let out a long sigh, and settled back down on his bench. "My daughter, you see," he explained. "She'll not let an old man have a well-earned draught. Says it isn't good for my heart."