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after nightfall, when Baocians of all degrees took to their cooler courtyards to eat by lantern light.
    They sat down only eight, in an intimate chamber in a new building quite near the kitchens. The Provincara took the center of the table, and placed Cazaril on her honored right. Cazaril was daunted to find the Royesse Iselle on his other side, and the Royse Teidez across from her. He took heart again when the royse chose to while away the wait for all to be seated by flicking bread-balls at his older sister, a maneuver sternly suppressed by his grandmother. A retaliatory gleam in the royesse’s eye was only sidetracked, Cazaril judged, by some timely distraction from her companion Betriz, seated across and a little down from him.
    Lady Betriz smiled across the board at Cazaril in friendly curiosity, revealing an elusive dimple, and seemed about to speak, but then the servant passed among them with a basin for hand-washing. The warm water was scented with verbena. Cazaril’s hands shook as he dipped and wiped them on the fine linen towel, a weakness he concealed as soon as he might by hiding them in his lap. The chair directly across from him remained empty.
    Cazaril nodded to it, and asked the Provincara diffidently, “Will the dowager royina be joining us, Your Grace?”
    Her lips pressed closed. “Ista is not well enough tonight, unfortunately. She…takes most of her meals in her chamber.”
    Cazaril quelled a moment of unease, and resolved to ask someone else, later, exactly what troubled the royse and royesse’s mother. That brief compression suggested something chronic, or lingering, or too painful to be discussed. Her long widowhood had spared Ista the further dangers of childbirth that were the bane of young women, but then there were all those frightening female disorders that overtook matrons…As Roya Ias’s second wife, Ista had been wed in his middle age when his son and heir Orico was already full-grown. In the little time Cazaril had been at the court of Chalion, years ago, he had watched her only from a discreet distance; she’d seemed happy, the light of the roya’s eye when the marriage was new. Ias had doted upon toddler Iselle and upon Teidez, a babe in the nurse’s arms.
    Their happiness had been darkened during the unfortunate tragedy of Lord dy Lutez’s treason, which, most observers agreed, had hastened the aging roya’s death by grief. Cazaril couldn’t help wondering if the illness that had evidently driven Royina Ista from her stepson’s court had any unfortunate political elements. But the new roya Orico had been respectful of his stepmother, and kind to his half siblings, by all reports.
    Cazaril cleared his throat to cover the growling of his stomach and gave attention to the royse’s superior gentleman-tutor, on the far end of the table beyond Lady Betriz. The Provincara, with a regal nod of her head, desired him to lead the prayer to the Holy Family blessing the approaching meal. Cazaril hoped it was approaching rapidly. The mystery of the empty chair was solved when the castle warder Ser dy Ferrej hurried in late, and made brief apologies all round before seating himself.
    “I was caught by the divine of the Order of the Bastard,” he explained as bread, meat, and dried fruit were passed.
    Cazaril, hard-pressed not to fall on his food like a starving dog, made a politely inquiring noise, and took his first bite.
    “The most earnestly long-winded young man,” dy Ferraj expanded.
    “What does he want now?” asked the Provincara. “More donations for the foundling hospital? We sent down a load last week. The castle servants are refusing to give up any more of their old clothes.”
    “Wet nurses,” said dy Ferrej, chewing.
    The Provincara snorted. “Not from my household!”
    “No, but he wanted me to pass the word that the Temple was looking. He was hoping someone might have a female relative who would be moved to pious charity. They had another babe left at the postern