Dangerous Waters by Juliet E. McKenna Page B

leading from the great hall to the upper storey of the baronial tower. He didn’t sound like a man bereaved.
    Two sets of heavy footfalls followed him. Starrid’s men, unless Lord Licanin had brought sufficient force to rescue her and her children. But how could he know she needed help?
    ‘Ilysh. Esnina. Be ready to greet your aunt’s husband.
    The girls quickly put their pens away in their boxes. Ilysh screwed the inkwell’s cap tight while Esnina sanded her sheet of carefully copied letters. Zurenne spared a moment to regret the worn nap of her blue velvet gown. But there had been no reason to don any finery, festival or not. They hadn’t been allowed beyond the door leading to the stairs for eight days now.
    The girls’ russet wool dresses were shamefully short, their petticoats showing at the ankle and far too tight in the sleeve and the bodice. Zurenne had asked Starrid for a seamstress only days before. She’d even said she would sew their clothes herself, if he allowed her cloth and shears. He delighted in denying her, saying such matters must wait until their master returned.
    Licanin appeared in the hallway, flushed with annoyance. ‘I have no need of your assistance.’
    To Zurenne’s bitter disappointment, the armed men who accompanied him looked to Starrid for instruction. When the steward nodded, they went silently back down the stairs.
    ‘You may leave us.’ Licanin shrugged off his riding cloak and held it out.
    Zurenne recalled he always preferred the saddle to a carriage. If he had left his youth behind, he wasn’t yet in his dotage.
    Starrid made no move to take the heavy garment, offering only an insolent shrug. ‘Master Minelas left me to stand guardian to Lady Zurenne and her daughters while he’s away.’
    ‘I look forward to you rendering account of your service,’ Licanin said sternly. ‘Meantime you will see that I am provided with refreshment. This is scarcely a festival welcome!’
    For a moment, Zurenne truly thought that Starrid would refuse. The man’s impertinence broke new ground with the turn of every season, just as his tunics and breeches grew more costly.
    ‘Of course, my lord.’
    As Starrid took Licanin’s cloak, Zurenne saw the glint in his eye. He left the withdrawing room door open, walked the length of the hallway, opened the door to the stairs and shouted down to the great hall. ‘Cakes and wine for the baron. Hop to it, one of you!’
    Shutting the door, he leaned against it smiling smugly. No, he had no intention of letting them speak in private.
    Then to Zurenne’s surprise, Licanin raised a gloved finger to his lips before turning to address the steward.
    ‘Has your master gone all the way to Duryea for the Spring Parliament? I would not travel so far, not with unrest from Lescar spilling across the Rel,’ he remarked to Zurenne.
    She saw Starrid’s grip tightened on the baron’s cloak. ‘My master — that’s to say, my lord, we haven’t had word.’
    Licanin tugged each fingertip of his gloves loose. ‘I was hoping to discuss that unhappy realm’s prospects with Master Minelas,’ he explained to Zurenne. ‘Saedrin only knows what will come of this conclave of theirs. Landowners, townsfolk and peasants debating how to harness themselves together to agree on their laws and taxes.’ He shook his head dubiously. ‘When we face those cursed corsairs returning on the Aft-Spring tides.’
    ‘When will your master return?’ He looked at Starrid, expectant, as he tossed his gloves down on the table. ‘I have written three times since Aft-Winter turned to For-Spring and have had no courtesy of a reply. Have you sent my letters onwards?’ Licanin demanded.
    ‘No, that’s to say—’
    Zurenne couldn’t decide which delighted her more: Starrid’s impertinence sagging so utterly in the stocky baron’s presence or realising the steward had no notion where Minelas might be. She’d thought he refused to tell her purely out of malice. Now she saw