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“And look at you,” Darius said as he straightened, pencil in hand. “So upright and mobile, so very much better. I was going to come unto you, but you have come to me. Well done.”
“Thank you, my brother.” Rhage took a wee bow, and as he righted himself, he braced for a light-headedness that did not claim him. “I feel quite well. A corner has been realized.”
“I shall call Havers unto you as soon as we are done here.” Darius’s smile stayed broad, whilst his eyes became serious. “We will be sure he agrees with your self-assessment, prior to your imminent departure, which I sense, given those clothes, is more immediate than the meal about to be served across the foyer.”
“Bring on the healer.” As Rhage lifted his arms, he ignored the squeak of pain from beneath his ribs. Still, it was so much improved. “I am ready for him to conclude my convalescence.”
“Good.” Darius beckoned. “In the meantime, see here now our final product. I am very proud of our outcome.”
The Jackal nodded. “He has much improved my ideas. This is going to be quite a palace, constructed for a long viability by master craftsmen.”
Rhage indulged them both, moving across to stand over the plans, nodding and exclaiming excellence at their every turn of the broadsheet and point of an index finger—even though, for truth, he had no idea what he was looking at or of what they spoke. For these males, the translation of two dimensions into three was a ready accomplishment. For him? Such endeavor was but a logjam of cognition. The nonsensical bunches of lines on those architectural renderings went absolutely nowhere under his skull.
He could certainly appreciate their enthusiasm and sincerity, however, and besides, in his current mood, he was o’erflowing with fine humor, so such temperate well-wishes were easy to extend. In fact, he was even prepared to thank Jabon on his way out of the mansion—and not just in a polite, obligatory fashion. As trying as this ordeal had been, he did appreciate all of the hospitality. Though he most certainly was not going to miss the doggen.
“So it is set to be constructed?” he asked when there was a pause in the discussion of rafters and buttresses and “load-bearing” things.
The Jackal nodded in deference to Darius, and the future owner was the one who answered. “It is indeed ready for building. Thanks to this male here, who has pulled yeoman’s duty. How many hours did you spend upon this, these last three nights?”
“It matters not. I do not sleep.” As Darius focused on the male, the Jackal made a show of replacing the renderings’ proper order. “And it is easy effort when the owner is such a decisive and incisive client.”
After a moment, Darius returned his eyes unto the plans. “And you have gotten for me all of the workmales, too. However did you accomplish such a thing?”
“You may credit our mutual acquaintance Jabon. He was forthcoming with a reference, who in turn proved a fount of labor provision.”
“But you will stay on and see the project through, yes?”
The Jackal inclined his head. “I intend to carry it from cornerstone to finishing touch, and to center my thoughts on the proper sequencing of it all, I have outlined the orders herein.” He tapped a stack of more reasonably sized white pages. “This is a copy for you to keep and comment upon. I am looking forward to this project like no other.”
“I am glad that you will be in charge. Such a relief unto me—”
Later, when Rhage replayed the ensuing series of catastrophes within his head, he would recollect that the footfalls coming down the stairs, those urgent yet delicate footfalls, were harbingers of the downfall. Of many downfalls. Yet, as with so many prescient signs, he did not, at first, recognize their significance.
The shout from the second floor was a different story.
As he turned about to see what of the commotion, Ellany flew off the last of the staircase’s steps, her silken dressing gown not at all appropriate for the public areas of the house. And the instant she saw him, she stumbled to a halt, the peach silk that covered her swirling around in a perfumed furl. If he hadn’t been standing in the parlor, he was quite sure she would have escaped the house entirely and run out into the street.
Her mahmen’s voice was sharp as it repeated her name. Twice more. And when Ellany did not even glance to the head of the stairs, another set of footfalls came down.
Ellany as yet paid no heed. Her gaze was fixated on Rhage, her eyes glazed with tears.
“I did it for you,” she whispered. “I did it . . . for you.”
That was when he noticed the blood on the silk. Down upon the skirting portion.
