Free No True Way by Mercedes Lackey Page A

the hearth behind the high table, or at least it looked small in the vastness of the large fireplace. There were two settings there. Herald Helgara stood before one, dressed in her white uniform.
    Behind her, a portrait hung on the wall, a lovely picture of a man and a woman with gentle faces, and two bright-eyed fair boys. The frame was draped in black mourning cloth and tied back with black ribbons. A garland of dried flowers graced the lower part of the frame. A palpable aura of sadness and grief hovered in the air.
    Cera walked around the table to stand before her place.
    â€œI’ll tell them you are ready to be served.” Alena whisked off through a distant door, leaving them standing there.
    â€œGood morning,” Helgara said from the far end of the table, a good ten paces from where Cera stood. The Herald had an odd glint in her eye.
    â€œThis is ridiculous,” Cera said.
    Helgara laughed, and then covered it with a cough.
    Cera leaned over, scooped up her place setting, and started toward the door. “I think we’d be far more comfortable in the kitchens, Herald.”
    Helgara had taken up her dishes as well. “As you see fit, Lady.”
    Cera pushed through the door and into a warm, bright room filled with the smells of baking bread and frying eggs. She’d caught them all in the process of preparing a tray, presumably for herself and Helgara.
    â€œGood morning,” Cera said politely. She moved to an open spot at the wooden table and started to set down her dishes. “It makes little sense for me to dine alone in the Great Hall. This would be far more to my liking.”
    They stood staring at her, although Alena was trying to cover her smile. An older man, a middle-aged woman hovering near him, and a lad with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Various young women, kitchen workers surely, and another stout woman who had to be the cook.
    â€œLady Ceraratha.” Helgara’s voice was rich and amused, but ever so proper. “Allow me to introduce you to your Steward, Athelnor, and your Chatelaine, his wife, Marga.” Helgara continued about the room, naming all in turn. Cera nodded to each, until Helgara finished, then they all stood in sudden silence.
    â€œI’m famished,” Cera said and settled on a stool. “Is there any porridge?”
    The room returned to life as they scrambled to serve her.
    *   *   *
    â€œHerald Helgara has told us of the death of Lord Sinmonkelrath.” Steward Athelnor cleared his throat. “I would extend my condolences, my Lady.”
    They had settled in his office, a small room crammed with documents and the dry scent of papers and ink. Athelnor had moved bundles to allow Cera to sit, and now he hunched behind his desk, his wife hovering at his side. Helgara had waved off a chair and leaned against the doorjamb, her arms folded over her chest.
    â€œThank you,” Cera said.
    â€œMy Lady, I have done my best to follow your late Lord’s instructions, but it has been difficult,” Athelnor continued apologetically. “I’ve sent the sums he demanded, but—”
    â€œAt a cost, you understand,” his wife jumped in, her tone holding no apology. “We’ve closed off rooms, drained our supplies, kept the household to a minimum. If you think to fete guests at this time, Lady—”
    â€œThere will be no guests,” Cera said firmly. “None but myself and Alena. I have left the Court and will take up residence here. I will not be entertaining.”
    Athelnor sighed in relief. “We can see to your comfort and amusement, Lady Ceraratha, but I admit it will be a strain on our resources. Our coffers are limited and—”
    â€œLady Cera,” Cera said firmly. “And I do not seek amusement, Athelnor. I wish to ease my grief with work. Money I have, a gift from Her Majesty, which will refill the coffers. What I wish to know are the conditions of the