Chapter 154: Hospitality

Lord Corvin Merrow smiled like a man who had practiced it until nobody could object, neither too wide nor too warm.

"Your Highness."

He bowed to Elizabeth first, with the correct depth and the correct timing, and then straightened to address the rest of us.

"Lord Vellaroux. Lady Trohan. Lady Spinster. Lord Vortex."

Apparently I had become recognizable enough that introductions were optional. I disliked that kind of progress.

Elizabeth stepped forward. "Lord Merrow. Thank you for receiving us on so little notice."

"The Crown’s guests are always welcome in my home." His eyes moved briefly to Commander Renn. "Especially when circumstance has made the road inconvenient."

Renn inclined his head. "Waystation Fourteen couldn’t accommodate the convoy."

"So I was informed."

He sounded sympathetic, but not surprised. Someone had probably sent a rider ahead.

Behind him, servants were already moving toward the carriages, and two footmen came to ours. One reached for Dream Haven. I looked at him, and he stopped.

"This stays with me."

The footman glanced at the pillow, then at me, and wisely decided that whatever question he had been about to ask wasn’t worth it. "Of course, my lord."

Merrow had noticed. His smile shifted by perhaps half a degree. "I had heard about the pillow."

That was unfortunate. "Most people have."

"I was told you never set it down."

"The stories are occasionally accurate."

James coughed. Sophie looked away. Merrow’s gaze stayed on Dream Haven for another second before it came back to my face.

"I confess, Lord Vortex, I expected something more..." He paused, and I waited. "Martial."

"That sounds less comfortable."

For the first time, the smile looked real. "Quite."

I decided I might like him. It was too early to tell.

***

The estate had enough guest rooms that I suspected Merrow collected visitors. Ours were on the second floor of the western side of the house. Elizabeth was given the largest, because princesses came with square footage. James was two doors down from me, Sophie across the corridor, and Daphne at the far end. Instructor Sorel had a room by the stairwell, and Renn’s people were quartered separately near the outer courtyard.

I approved of the arrangement right up until I learned that dinner was formal.

"No."

The maid in my doorway didn’t react. She had introduced herself as Tessa, and she had the expression of a woman who had already been warned about me.

"Lord Merrow requests formal dress for dinner."

"I am wearing clothes."

"Formal dress, my lord."

"These are Academy clothes."

"Yes."

"Zenith is formal."

"Not for dinner."

I looked at Dream Haven, which offered nothing. Tessa simply waited, with the air of someone who already knew I owned formal clothes and was prepared to stand there until I admitted it. Penelope had packed two formal outfits. At the time I had considered it excessive. I now understood that it had been premeditated violence.

[She anticipated formal dinners.]

’I know.’

[You complained when she packed them.]

’I continue to.’

[You are going to wear it.]

’You’re becoming controlling.’

[Get dressed.]

I took the dark coat out of my storage ring. Tessa watched me do it, patiently. There was nothing more exhausting than a competent maid.

***

Dinner was held in a room built for twenty people. There were eight of us, which made conversation impossible to avoid. Lord Merrow sat at the head of the table, with Elizabeth on his right and Commander Renn on his left, and the rest of us down both sides. Sorel sat beside Daphne. I had tried to take the seat farthest from everyone, and a servant had quietly moved the name cards. Apparently hospitality had rules.

The table was polished dark wood with silver everywhere: three forks, two knives and four glasses at each place. I distrust any meal that requires equipment planning.

James sat across from me and saw where I was looking. "Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You were going to."

"I was counting."

"Why?"

"There are too many forks."

Sophie looked down at her setting. "Three."

"Exactly."

"That isn’t many."

"There should be one."

Elizabeth heard us from up the table. "Please survive dinner."

"I’m trying."

Merrow smiled into his wine. "The Academy seems livelier than when I attended."

That caught my attention. "You studied at Zenith?"

"Many years ago."

"Which class?" James asked, before I could.

"The second."

James sat up a little. "Vanguard?"

Merrow shook his head. "The names came later."

"Combat track?"

"Mostly."

James looked pleased, which was predictable.

Merrow turned to Elizabeth. "I have followed the reports from Zenith with some interest. Five students of SSS potential in a single year is difficult to overlook."

"Apparently," I said.

Elizabeth gave me a warning look, and I lowered my eyes to the food. There was meat, vegetables, and something in cream. There was no stew.

"Your presence at the signing will mean a great deal," Merrow went on.

"We’re attending as witnesses and representatives," said Elizabeth.

"Symbols matter."

"They do."

"Especially now."

The last part landed differently. It wasn’t hostile, only careful, and Elizabeth heard it too.

"What do you expect from the signing, Lord Merrow?"

He leaned back slightly. "A beginning."

It was a very safe answer. Elizabeth waited.

He smiled. "A useful one, I hope."

That was safe as well.

"Do you support the treaty?" asked Sophie.

James looked at her. She looked back. "What?"

"Nothing."

Merrow didn’t seem offended. "I support stability."

Sophie tilted her head. "That isn’t quite the same thing."

"No," said Merrow. "It isn’t." His voice stayed pleasant. "I have lived near this border most of my life, Lady Trohan. I have buried men who died because peace failed. I have also watched promises made in distant rooms fall apart the moment they reached the people who had to live with the consequences."

The table had gone quieter. It was a better answer than his others, though not a warmer one.

"I want the agreement to work," he said. "I also believe that wanting something and trusting it at once are very different acts."

I stopped cutting my meat. Liora had said something close to that, years ago. Not the same words, but near enough to move the memory: discussion, she had said, because peace would be premature. Very premature, Lyssairia had added. I looked back down at my plate.

Merrow’s gaze found me anyway. "Lord Vortex?"

I looked up. "Yes?"

"You’ve spent more time near the border than most people your age."

The conversation had located me.

"So people keep reminding me."

"I understand you studied under Master Valerian Alzette."

"Yes."

"A remarkable healer."

"Unfortunately."

Sorel looked at me. Merrow laughed softly.

"You disagree?"

"No. I disagree with his teaching methods."

"What did he do?"

James immediately looked interested, which made it the third betrayal of the trip.

"He made me run."

Merrow waited. "That’s all?"

"There were hills."

Sophie lowered her face toward her plate. Daphne’s mouth moved very slightly, and I chose to take it as sympathy.

Merrow’s eyes stayed on me. "And later?"

The question was casual. Very casual.

"Later?"

"Your years out here. The camps. The villages." He lowered his voice a little. "The beastkin territory."

Everyone at the table knew about that, or at least the public version of it: kidnapped, missing, returned alive, and nothing particularly useful in between. I drank some water.

"Mostly uncomfortable."

Merrow smiled. "I imagine."

"Sleeping outdoors is badly designed."

"Did you spend much time outdoors while you were missing?"

Elizabeth stopped moving. It wasn’t enough for anyone who didn’t know her to notice. I did know her. Merrow appeared not to.

I looked at him. "Some."

"What were the roads like?"

It was an odd question, not suspicious exactly, but specific.

"Bad."

"Patrolled?"

"Sometimes."

"By which factions?"

He was friendly, and interested, and for a western lord it might have been entirely normal. I put my fork down.

"The ones with people in them."

James looked at me. Sophie coughed into her hand.

Merrow smiled again. "I walked into that."

"Yes."

Elizabeth stepped in. "Lord Vortex has been questioned about his time beyond the border often enough already."

Merrow raised a hand. "My apologies. Professional curiosity."

"Professional?" said James.

"Anyone who owns land this far west eventually takes an interest in roads, and patrols, and which group intends to burn what."

That was reasonable, and so was everything else he had said. I was beginning to notice how reasonable all of it was.

Dinner went on. He asked James about Zenith’s combat training, Sophie about Brightvale, Daphne about Gravity, and Elizabeth about court. He didn’t ask me anything else about the beastkin, which somehow made the earlier questions easier to remember.

***

Dessert was small enough that I forgave it. Afterwards, Merrow offered to show Elizabeth the western gallery, and she accepted, because princesses apparently had responsibilities even after eating. James went with them. Sophie followed once she had decided the paintings might be interesting. Daphne stayed in her seat, and so did I.

Sorel stood up. "You’re both coming."

Daphne looked at her. "Why?"

"Because you are guests."

"I’ve seen walls."

Sorel stared at her until Daphne stood up. Then Sorel looked at me, and I stood up too. The trip was becoming a series of defeats.

The western gallery was full of dead people, painted ones, mostly Merrows. They all looked serious. One had a sword, one had three dogs, and one seemed personally offended at being painted at all. I liked him best. Merrow walked beside Elizabeth, explaining names and wars, and I followed far enough behind that nobody could mistake me for interested.

The house was older than it looked from outside. The western rooms had been renovated, and so had the central halls, but further north the stone changed: older, darker, the corridors narrower. Merrow stopped in front of a closed pair of double doors.

"The old north wing."

Elizabeth looked at the doors. "Unused?"

"Mostly."

"Why?"

"Age." He rested one hand lightly against the wood. "The foundations on this side shifted years ago. Nothing dangerous, but enough that I stopped housing guests here. Repairs have been slow."

James looked up at the ceiling. "It doesn’t look damaged."

"Most inconvenient damage doesn’t."

That sounded like something Valerian would say, and I disliked it on principle.

Merrow moved on. "We use some of the lower storerooms. The upper floor is closed."

A servant passed us going the other way, empty-handed, and bowed. Merrow acknowledged him without stopping. I looked back at the doors. Nothing happened, which was good.

***

The tour lasted too long, as all tours do. Eventually Merrow’s steward called him away, and Renn took over the job of returning us to our rooms. We were halfway up the western stair when Sophie stopped.

"Did anyone else see the greenhouse?"

James looked at her. "We walked past it."

"I mean properly."

"No."

"We should look tomorrow."

"Why?" said Daphne.

"There were blue flowers."

Daphne considered this. "That’s your reason."

"Yes."

"Fine."

Sophie smiled, and apparently that counted as planning. They went on up the stairs, and I followed more slowly, still in the formal coat, which had grown heavier with every portrait.

At the top of the stairs I heard footsteps below and moved aside. A servant came up carrying a large covered silver tray, and the smell reached me before he did: meat and bread, and something medicinal under them. I turned my head.

"My lord," said the servant, and bowed.

I nodded. He went on past the guest corridor and turned north.

I watched him go. The old north wing was in that direction. There could have been servants’ stairs there, or storerooms. Perhaps Merrow ate a second, secret dinner after formal ones, which would have been a reasonable ambition.

Then the smell reached me again, faint and sharp: bitter herbs worked into animal fat. I knew it. Not the exact mixture, but the family it belonged to; five years of making medicine at the border had taught me to sort salves by smell. This was one made for thick fur, designed to cling underneath it instead of sliding off, the kind of thing you used on claw tears and split pads, in places where an ordinary human salve was useless after five minutes because the fur soaked up half of it and the rest fell away.

I stopped walking. The servant disappeared around the corner.

[Host.]

’I know.’

[You recognized something.]

’Yes.’

[What?]

I kept walking. ’Medicine.’

[That is not unusual in a noble household.]

’No.’

[Then?]

I glanced back. The corridor was empty.

’Nothing yet.’

The System didn’t argue, which was useful. I went to my room.

***

I took off the coat and left it on the chair for Tessa, which was still more effort than clothing deserved. She had already turned down the bed. I had never understood the concept. Beds didn’t need preparation; being horizontal was enough. Merrow’s guest bed was annoyingly good all the same: wide and soft and firm in the right places, and very obviously expensive. Dream Haven expanded on top of it, and the bed immediately lost.

I lay down, and the System waited. I could feel it waiting. It was one of its more irritating talents.

’Don’t.’

[I haven’t said anything.]

’You were going to.’

[You noticed a salve made for fur injuries being carried toward a wing Lord Merrow described as closed to guests.]

’Yes.’

[And you intend to ignore it.]

’I intend to sleep.’

[Those are not the same statement.]

I opened one eye. ’You said a noble house having medicine wasn’t unusual.’

[I said medicine was not unusual.]

’Exactly.’

[The distinction appears important to you.]

’Very.’

I closed the eye again. The servant could have been taking it to the stables. Merrow kept horses, probably hunting dogs too, and perhaps someone in the household kept a magical beast with a thick coat. The north corridor might connect to another part of the estate. The salve might only have smelled similar. All of that was possible. If Theoran had taught me anything, it was that not every strange thing was evidence. Some things were simply strange, which was inconvenient.

I rolled onto my side, and remembered Penelope.

"No."

[Second letter.]

’Tomorrow.’

[You said that about the first.]

’And then I wrote it.’

[After I made you.]

’I prefer to remember it differently.’

[Write.]

I put Dream Haven over my head.

[Host.]

’Tired.’

[You were awake for most of the carriage ride.]

’Exactly. Exhausting.’

The System waited, and I lasted about a minute.

"This is harassment," I said, and sat up.

[Notebook.]

I took it out of the ring, where Penelope had packed it, and sat down at the desk. The chair was less comfortable than the bed, which felt intentional. This time I didn’t attempt a greeting at all.

We reached an estate instead of the next waystation, because apparently roads can run out of rooms. Lord Merrow is hosting us for the night.

I thought about it, and added:

I wore the formal coat. You were right to pack it. I dislike that this sentence now exists.

That was better.

Dinner had three forks. James defended this. I have revised my opinion of him downward.

That wasn’t fair. James hadn’t defended the forks at all. I left it in; Penelope would understand.

Lord Merrow is polite, the house is enormous, and Sophie has found a greenhouse she intends to investigate tomorrow. Daphne has somehow agreed to go with her. I may have misunderstood both of them.

I tapped the pen against the page. There were other things I could have mentioned: Merrow’s questions, the north wing, the tray, the salve. But nothing had actually happened, and none of it was evidence, and Penelope was at Zenith. There was no reason to put suspicion into a letter that might reach her before I knew whether there was anything to be suspicious of.

So I wrote:

The beds here are excellent.

I looked over at Dream Haven, sitting on Merrow’s expensive mattress with quiet superiority, and added:

Dream Haven disagrees.

Everyone is fine. Renn is still competent. Instructor Sorel can apparently hear incorrect breathing from across a room, which seems unnecessary.

I nearly signed it, and then wrote one more line.

Seven days until the signing.

I looked at it. It was too serious, and Penelope could count. I crossed it out and signed my name instead, folded the page, and left it by the door for the morning.

Then I went back to bed, and Dream Haven accepted me at once.

For a while, nothing happened. No footsteps, no voices, no strange mana, and no warnings from the System. There was only an unfamiliar house settling around me, and the wind against the window.

Somewhere far below, a door opened, and closed again.

I listened for another sound. None came.

Eventually, I mostly stopped listening.