Free Law of the Broken Earth by Rachel Neumeier Page A

an agent—certainly not confidential. Forgive me, esteemed lady.”
    Mienthe thought it would be very difficult to break a habit of getting people to talk to you, and doubted Tan really meant to try. And the other half of that habit must be not talking too much yourself, at least not about anything important. That must be hard, learning to say things, but nothing that mattered. She’d certainly been carrying more than her share of the conversation so far, which wasn’t at all usual for her, and hadn’t been her intention, either.
    Perhaps guessing her thoughts, Tan said lightly, “I do know some north Linularinan poetry, including a couple of romantic epics you might not have heard this far south. I could write them out for you, if you like.”
    Mienthe straightened, excited and happy at this generous offer, even though he’d obviously made it partly to turn the subject and partly to flatter her because she was Bertaud’s cousin. But she hardly meant to turn the offer down, no matter why he’d made it. She said quickly, “Oh, could you? Of course you could—you have a legist’s memory. That would be wonderful, truly! And it would be something quiet you could do, when I know you’re still tired.” She hesitated, remembering that he was a guest, and still recovering from injury or exhaustion. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
    “Not in the least,” Tan said cheerfully. “Whom should I ask for paper and quills?”
    “Oh, I’ll send you all the things you’d need,” Mienthe assured him. She jumped up, but then hesitated. “I knowyou only just came out of a legist’s trance. Of course you need to rest. I’d understand if you’ve worn your gift out for the next little while—I didn’t mean to ask you to write things for me if you’re too tired or anything—”
    “Not at all,” Tan assured her with perfect good cheer. “An unhurried little task like this is just what I need to limber my gift and memory and fingers all up again.”
    “If you’re sure,” Mienthe said. But he did look tired now, she thought. “But
I’m
sure you should rest. I’ll tell the kitchens to send up a real tray, shall I?” There were only crumbs on the plate that had held the rolls.
    “A wonderful idea,” Tan agreed, and let his head rest against the pillows.
    “Though I should go find Bertaud first,” Mienthe added doubtfully, once she and Erich were in the hall. There were two guardsmen in the hall, which she found did not surprise her.
    “Go,” agreed Erich. “I’m sure Geroen passed the word along, but yes, go. I do not mind to go back by the kitchens.”
    Mienthe grinned and let him go. But once she was alone, her steps slowed. She was, she decided, thinking back on it, not quite as pleased at Tan’s offer as she ought to have been. How strange it was, to be a little bit suspicious of every single thing a man said! She found herself wondering if Tan was trying to make a good impression on her, and then wondering if asking herself that question meant he wasn’t succeeding, and then asking herself whether it was fair to be suspicious of a man who had, after all, risked his life to bring Feierabiand important information. Or fair to worry about whether Tan was being altogether honest with her, when, after all,she never did know whether
anyone
ever was. Except her cousin, of course.
    Her steps quickened as she suddenly found herself eager to talk to Bertaud. She wanted to ask him whether he liked Tan, whether he thought he ought to like him, whether he trusted him—was it possible to like somebody you didn’t trust? Was it
proper
to allow yourself to like somebody you didn’t trust?
    Though the great house had hardly been built to loom over the town, some parts of it were set rather high, and then the whole house was on a hill—not a high hill, but the highest Tiefenauer offered. The solar was nearly as high up as the tower room, but in every other way it was the antithesis of that windowless chamber,