Free The Curse of Chalion by Lois M. Bujold

flared. “For now, you may both go to your chambers and stay there. I’d set you both to read scriptures for a penance, but…! I will decide later if you will be permitted to come to the feast. Good Dedicat, follow after and make sure they arrive. Go!” She gestured imperiously. As Cazaril made to follow, her sweeping arm stopped in midair, and she pointed firmly downward. “Castillar, dy Ferrej, attend a moment.” Lady Betriz shot a curious glance over her shoulder as she was ushered out. Iselle marched head high, and didn’t look back.
    “Well,” said dy Ferrej wearily after a moment, “we did hope they would become friends.”
    Her young audience removed, the Provincara permitted herself a rueful smile. “Alas, yes.”
    “How old is the Lady Betriz?” Cazaril asked curiously, staring after the closing door.
    “Nineteen,” answered her father with a sigh.
    Well, her age was not quite so disparate from his as Cazaril had thought, though her experience surely was.
    “I really did think Betriz would be a good influence,” dy Ferrej added. “It seems to have worked the other way around.”
    “Are you accusing my granddaughter of corrupting your daughter?” the Provincara inquired wryly.
    “Say, inspiring , rather,” dy Ferrej said, with a glum shrug. “Terrifying, that. I wonder…I wonder if we should part them?”
    “There would follow much howling.” Wearily, the Provincara seated herself on a bench, gesturing the men to do likewise: “Don’t want a crick in my neck.” Cazaril clasped his hands between his knees and waited her pleasure, whatever it was to be. She must have dragged him along in here for something . She stared thoughtfully at him for a long moment.
    “You have a fresh eye, Cazaril,” she said at last. “Do you have any suggestions?”
    Cazaril’s brows climbed. “I’ve had the training of young soldiers, lady. Never of young maidens. I’m quite out of my depth, here.” He hesitated, then spoke almost despite himself. “It looks to me to be a trifle too late to teach Iselle to be a coward. But you might draw her attention to how little firsthand evidence she jumped from. How could she be so sure the judge was as guilty as rumor would have him? Hearsay, gossip? Even some apparent evidence can lie.” Cazaril thought ruefully of the bath man’s assumptions about the witness of his back. “It won’t help for today’s incident, but it might slow her down in future.” He added in a drier voice, “And you might look to be more careful what gossip you discuss in front of her.”
    Dy Ferrej winced.
    “In front of either one of them,” said the Provincara. “Four ears, one mind—or one conspiracy.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. “Cazaril…you speak and write Darthacan, do you not?”
    Cazaril blinked at this sidewise jink in the conversation. “Yes, my lady…?”
    “And Roknari?”
    “My, ah, court Roknari is a little rusty at present. Granted, my vile Roknari is quite fluent.”
    “And geography? You know the geography of Chalion, of Ibra, of the Roknari princedoms?”
    “Five gods, that I do, my lady. What I haven’t ridden over, I’ve walked, what I haven’t walked, I’ve been dragged across. Or through. I’ve had geography ground into my skin. And I’ve rowed round half the Archipelago at least.”
    “And you write, you cipher, you keep books—you’ve done letters, reports, treaties, logistical orders…”
    “My hand may be a trifle shaky at present, but yes, I’ve done all that,” he admitted with belatedly rising wariness. Where was she going with this interrogation?
    “Yes, yes!” She clapped her hands together; Cazaril flinched at the sharp noise. “The gods have surely landed you upon my wrist. Bastard’s demons take me if I haven’t the wit to jess you.”
    Cazaril smiled bewildered inquiry.
    “Cazaril, you said you sought a post. I have one for you.” She sat back triumphantly. “Secretary-tutor to the Royesse