Proof against corruption. Of all sorts. Even though you hate what I did. Haught
is Nisi. Does that suggest caution to you?”
“He-hates the Nisi witch.”
“Oh, yes. Nisi enemies sold him into slavery. But Stepsons bought him. I tell
you, Stilcho, I will not have quarrels in my house. There, you’re bleeding. Go
in and wash. And wait-” She bent and pressed a kiss against his scarred mouth,
another against his wounded cheek. He took in his breath at the second, because
she had sent a little prickling spell lancing into his soul. “If Haught tries
you again I’ll know. Get inside.”
He scrambled out of his predicament with the rosebush, gathered himself to his
feet and went up the steps into the house. In haste. With what of grace a dead
man could manage taking his leave of a sovereign lady who crouched thus in the
dust and meditated a few tattered, fresh leaves onto the rosebush.
The door slammed. The rosebush struggled into one further untimely surge, thrust
out a wan limegreen shoot and budded. She stood and it unfurled, blood-red and
perfect.
She plucked it and sucked her finger, sent out a silent summons and a dozen
birds napped aloft above where they had clung like ill-omened leaves to the
skeletal winter trees.
She tucked the rose into the dooriatch. So much for Haught, who thought that his
mistress had grown soft-witted. Who thought that she needed counsel; and who
took first a bit of latitude with his orders and then a bit more.
This rose likewise had thorns.
It was noon, and Straton headed to the streets again- quietly, or at least with