“Zri taught my grandfather,” said Kasedre when Morgaine remained sunk in thought. He prattled on, nervous, eager to please. “And my father for a time too. He was old, but he had many children—”
One of the uyin tittered behind his hand. It was injudicious. Leth Kasedre turned and glared, and that uyo bowed himself to his face and begged pardon quickly, claiming some action in the back of the hall as the source of his amusement.
“What sort was Tohme?” asked Morgaine.
“I do not know,” said Kasedre. “He drowned. Like aunt Linna.”
“Who was your father?”
“Leth Hes.” Kasedre puffed a bit with pride, insisted to turn the pages of the book himself, to show her. “He was a great lord.”
“Tutored by Zri.”
“And he had a great deal of gold.” Kasedre refused to be distracted. But then his face fell. “But I never saw him. He died. He drowned too.”
“Most unfortunate. I should stay clear of water, my lord Leth. Where did it happen? The lake?”
“They think—” Kasedre lowered his voice—”that my father was a suicide. He was always morose. He brooded about the lake. Especially after Zri was gone. Zri—”
“—drowned?”
“No. He rode out and never came back. It was a bad night. He was an old man anyway.” His face assumed a pout. “I have answered every one of your questions, and you promised my answer and you have not answered it. Where were you, all these years. What became of you, if you did not die?”
“If a man,” she said, continuing to read while she answered him, “rode into the Witchfires of Aenor-Pyvvn, then he could know. It is possible for anyone. However, it has certain— costs.”
“The Witchfires of Leth,” he said, licking moisture from the corners of his mouth. “Would they suffice?”
“Most probably,” she said. “However, it is chancy. The fires have certain potential for harm. I know the safety of Aenor-Pyvvn. It could do no bodily harm. But I should not chance Leth’s fires unless I had seen them. They are by the lake, which seems to take so much toll of Leth. I should rather other aid than that, lord Leth. Seek Aenon-Pyvvn.” She still gave him only a part of her attention, continuing to push the great moldering pages back one after another. Then her eyes darted
to the aged scholar. “Thee looks almost old enough to remember me.”
The poor old man, trembling, tried the major obeisance at being directly noticed by Morgaine, and could not make it gracefully. “Lady, I was not yet born.”
She looked at him curiously, and then laughed softly. “Ah, then I have no friends left in Leth at all. There are none so old.” She thumbed more pages, more and more rapidly. “… This sad day was funeral for Leth Tohme, aged seventeen yeares, and his Consort. . . lady Leth Jeme . . . Indeed, indeed—at one burying.”
“My grandmother hanged herself for grief,” said Kasedre.
“Ah, then your father must have become the Leth when he was very young. And Zri must have had much power.”
“Zri. Zri. Zri. Tutors are boring.”
“Had you one?”
“Liell. Chya Liell. He is my counselor now.”
“I have not met Liell,” she said.
Kasedre bit at his lips. “He would not come tonight. He said he was indisposed. “I”—he lowered his voice—”have never known Liell indisposed before.”
“. . . Liell of the Chya . . . has given splendid entertainments … on the occasion of the birthday of the Leth, Kasedre, most honorable of lords . . . two maidens of the … Indeed.” Morgaine blinked, scanned the page. “Most unique. And I have seen a great many entertainments.”
“Liell is very clever,” said Kasedre. “He devises ways to amuse us. He would not come tonight. That is why things are so quiet. He will think of something for tomorrow.”
Morgaine continued to scan the pages. “This is interesting,” she assured Kasedre. “I must apologize. I am surely wearying you and interfering with your scribe’s recording of my visit, but this does intrigue me. I shall try to repay your hospitality and your patience.”
Kasedre bowed very low, thoughtlessly necessitating obeisance by all at the immediate table. “We have kept in every detail the records of your dealings with us in this visit. It is a great honor to our hall.”