urgency in his voice. It had as well be both of them in the fire. “Come round
back,” she hissed, and closed the casement and the shutters without thinking
until then that she had just asked a lord of Sanctuary to come in by the
scullery, and that at her merest word he was going to do it.
She stepped into her slippers, unable to bend in the corset, and worked one and
the other on with a perilous hop and a catch-step as she headed out to the
stairs, saving herself on the railings as she flew down in a flurry of too many
damned Beysib petticoats that kept her from seeing her feet or the steps. She
fetched up at the bottom out of breath, with a catch at the newel-post and an
anguished glance at a thief-maid who gawped at her.
“There’s a man out back,” Moria said, and pointed. “Go let him in.”
“Aye, mum,” the gaptoothed girl said, and tucked up her curls under her scarf
and went clattering off in unaccustomed, too-large shoes to see to that. The
maid was one of those who had come for the Dinner; and stayed, Moria not knowing
anything else to do with her. Like the new chef. As if She had forgotten about
everything, and left her with this huge staff and all these people to take care
of, and, gods, she had given Mor-am part of the house accounts, had given him
too much. Ischade would find it out. She would find this out….
Moria heard the maid clattering and clumping along the back hall, heard the door
open, and went into the drawing room where there was a mirror. She stood there
hunting her hair for pins to put the curls back in place.