She paused, hazel eyes searching Donaia’s face. “You don’t recognize my family name, do you?”
That had an ominous sound. Seteris might be on the other side of the sea, but the truly powerful families could influence trade anywhere in the known world. If House Traementis had somehow crossed one of them…
Donaia kept her fear from her face and her voice. “I am afraid I haven’t had many dealings with the great houses of Seteris.”
A soft breath flowed out of the girl. “As I suspected. I thought she might have written to you at least once, but apparently not. I… am Letilia’s daughter.”
She could have announced she was descended from the Vraszenian goddess Ažerais herself, and it wouldn’t have taken Donaia more by surprise.
Disbelief clashed with relief and apprehension both: not a creditor, not an offended daughter of some foreign power. Family—after a fashion.
Lost for words, Donaia reassessed the young woman sitting across from her. Straight back, straight shoulders, straight neck, and the same fine, narrow nose that made everyone in Nadežra hail Letilia Traementis as the great beauty of her day.
Yes, she could be Letilia’s daughter. Donaia’s niece by marriage.
“Letilia never wrote after she left.” It was the only consideration the spoiled brat had ever shown her family. The first several years, every day they’d expected a letter telling them she was stranded in Seteris, begging for funds. Instead they never heard from her again.
Dread sank into Donaia’s bones. “Is Letilia here?”
The door swung open, and for one dreadful instant Donaia expected a familiar squall of petulance and privilege to sweep inside. But it was only Colbrin, bearing a tray. To her dismay, Donaia saw two pots on it, one short and rounded for tea, the other taller. Of course: He’d heard their guest’s Seterin accent, and naturally assumed Donaia would also want to serve coffee.
We haven’t yet fallen so far that I can’t afford proper hospitality. But Donaia’s voice was still sharp as he set the tray between the two of them. “Thank you, Colbrin. That will be all.”
“No,” Renata said as the majordomo bowed and departed. “No, Mother is happily ensconced in Seteris.”
It seemed luck hadn’t entirely abandoned House Traementis. “Tea?” Donaia said, a little too bright with relief. “Or would you prefer coffee?”
“Coffee, thank you.” Renata accepted the cup and saucer with a graceful hand. Everything about her was graceful—but not the artificial, forced elegance Donaia remembered Letilia practicing so assiduously.
Renata sipped the coffee and made a small, appreciative noise. “I must admit, I was wondering if I would even be able to find coffee here.”
Ah. There was the echo of Letilia, the little sneer that took what should be a compliment and transformed it into an insult.
We have wooden floors and chairs with backs, too. Donaia swallowed down the snappish response. But the bitter taste in her mouth nudged her into pouring coffee for herself, even though she disliked it. She wouldn’t let this girl make her feel like a delta rustic simply because Donaia had lived all her life in Nadežra.
“So you are here, but Letilia is not. May I ask why?”
The girl’s chin dropped, and she rotated her coffee cup as though its precise alignment against the saucer were vitally important. “I’ve spent days imagining how best to approach you, but—well.” There was a ripple of nervousness in her laugh. “There’s no way to say this without first admitting I’m Letilia’s daughter… and yet by admitting that, I know I’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot. Still, there’s nothing for it.”
Renata inhaled like someone preparing for battle, then met Donaia’s gaze. “I’m here to see if I can possibly reconcile my mother with her family.”
It took all Donaia’s self-control not to laugh. Reconcile? She would sooner reconcile with the drugs that had overtaken her husband Gianco’s good sense in his final years. If Gianco’s darker comments were to be believed, Letilia had done as much to destroy House Traementis as aža had.
Fortunately, custom and law offered her a more dispassionate response. “Letilia is no part of this family. My husband’s father struck her name from our register after she left.”
At least Renata was smart enough not to be surprised. “I can hardly blame my gra—your father-in-law,” she said. “I’ve only my mother’s version of the tale, but I also know her. I can guess the part she played in that estrangement.”
Donaia could just imagine what poison Letilia’s version had contained. “It is more than estrangement,” she said brusquely, rising to her feet. “I am sorry you crossed the sea for nothing, but I’m afraid that what you’re asking for is impossible. Even if I believed that your mother wanted to reconcile—which I do not—I have no interest in doing so.”
A treacherous worm within her whispered, Even if that might offer a new business opportunity? Some way out of Indestor’s trap?
Even then. Donaia would burn Traementis Manor to the ground before she accepted help from Letilia’s hand.
The salon door opened again. But this time, the interruption wasn’t her majordomo.
“Mother, Egliadas has invited me to go sailing on the river.” Leato was tugging on his gloves, as if he couldn’t be bothered to finish dressing before leaving his rooms. But he stopped, one hand still caught in the tight cuff, when he saw their visitor.
Renata rose like a flower bud unfurling, and Donaia cursed silently. Why, today of all days, had Leato chosen to wake early? Not that fourth sun was early by most people’s standards, but for him midmorning might as well be dawn.
Reflex forced the courtesies out of her mouth, even though she wanted nothing more than to hurry the girl away. “Leato, you recall stories of your aunt Letilia? This is her daughter, Alta Renata Viraudax of Seteris. Alta Renata, my son and heir, Leato Traementis.”
Leato captured Renata’s hand before she could touch it to her shoulder again and kissed her gloved fingertips. When she saw them together, Donaia’s heart sank like a stone. She was used to thinking of her son as an adolescent scamp, or an intermittent source of headaches. But he was a man grown, with beauty to match Renata’s: his hair like antique gold, fashionably mussed on top; his ivory skin and finely carved features, the hallmark of House Traementis; the elegant cut of his waistcoat and fitted tailoring of the full-skirted coat over it in the platinum shimmer of delta grasses in autumn.
And the two of them were smiling at one another like the sun had just risen in the salon.
“Letilia’s daughter?” Leato said, releasing Renata’s hand before the touch could grow awkward. “I thought she hated us.”
Donaia bit down the impulse to chide him. It would sound like she was defending Renata, which was the last thing she wanted to do.
The girl’s smile was brief and rueful. “I may have inherited her nose, but I’ve tried not to inherit everything else.”
“You mean, not her personality? I’ll offer thanks to Katus.” Leato winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t insult your mother—”
“No insult taken,” Renata said dryly. “I’m sure the stories you know of her are dreadful, and with good cause.”