“Do they suppose that the technology of combustion will not come to the attention of the unseen courts as its use spreads? That airships will not be viewed as a threat if any attempt is made to mount an expedition over the ice?” With a two-tined fork, he speared a bit of meat and ate it, and then another piece and a third. I was so engrossed in watching him eat off my plate without apparently realizing he was doing so that his subsequent words floated past like clouds out of my reach. “Are they so naïve and ignorant to believe that the unseen courts will not retaliate as they have in the past, and that when the courts retaliate, many more people will suffer than will ever hope to benefit by these clever toys?”
“You believe in the existence of the unseen courts,” I breathed as he stabbed more meat. I sat with all the wind knocked out of me as he ate through most of the meat before I could find breath enough to speak. “How can we know for sure, when no human or troll has ever seen the courts?”
He set down his fork. “I do not ‘believe’ in the unseen courts, Catherine, any more than I ‘believe’ in the sun. Like the spirit world, the courts exist despite my belief or lack of belief, whatever that means. Isn’t it strange how the new modes of fashion ignore the truth, or claim it is something else? How can you not believe in the courts when you are being conveyed in a carriage harnessed to creatures molded in the manner of horses that have not been changed out since Adurnam? If they were ordinary horses, they would have long since foundered and expired. You may naturally perceive the coachman and footman who serve me as men, but they are not.”
“Oh,” was all I said as I snagged the last piece of meat. I could hoard my own secrets!
“You don’t believe me!” he said triumphantly. Condescendingly. He grabbed the last slice of apple. “But it is nevertheless true. Why did your father, the natural historian, refuse to recognize the existence of the unseen courts?”
“He didn’t disbelieve. He just had no proof. They are ‘unseen,’ after all. He recorded a hundred village stories in his journals about the spirit world and the courts. But stories, of themselves, are not proof.”
“The Wild Hunt is not a story. Those with too much power, or too much curiosity, are hunted down and eradicated. Much as we hunt down and eradicate pests and mice and crawling things from our houses. Where is your father now, Catherine?”
I set down my utensils and bit my lip. My eyes stung.
He looked at his fork. At my plate. At me. His color seemed heightened. He slapped down the fork, scraped back the chair, and jumped to his feet.
“We’ve stayed too long.” He crossed to the sideboard and rang the bell.
The door opened and an older man stepped into the room. His springy black hair was plaited in rows. His indigo boubou was so crisp and crinkly that the cloth rustled as he moved. “Magister, what is your wish?” His voice was as harmonious as his appearance.
Andevai relaxed and acknowledged him with a polite nod. “A change of clothing both for myself and my wife, maester. Something more appropriate for her, if you please.”
“These fit me,” I broke in. “Other garb might not be so accommodating for travel.”
“Ah. Well, then, fit her with fur-lined boots and cloak and gloves, a woolen underjacket. She’ll need furs for the carriage. Heated bricks.”
“I’d like to wash,” I said, a little desperately, feeling all my dirt.
“I’ll have a basin with warmed water brought, with towels, maestra,” said the man. “Then you may at least wash your face and hands.”
“That will be all there is time for,” said Andevai. “Make it quick.”
“And a basket of food to take with us in the carriage,” I called as the door swung shut.
I heaped more food on my platter. It was easier to eat than to think of my parents. Or the Wild Hunt. Had the Wild Hunt killed my parents because they’d known something they weren’t meant to? But, no, it wasn’t possible. They had not died on Hallows Night.
Andevai went to stand at the window, as cold and proud as if we had never spoken or as if he had never eaten off my plate as casually as I might have forked delicacies off Bee’s. I had a suspicion that he might not really have been aware he was eating, that he’d done it without thinking.
That he was embarrassed.
Impossible.
I set to the food, aware I had little time to wolf down as much as possible. He spoke not one word further. The older man returned, and Andevai went away with him. After I had used the water closet, a young woman with flame-red hair and creamy skin entered with a brush and cloth to wipe what dirt and stains she could from my clothing as I washed my face, hands, arms, and finally my feet in blissfully hot water.
