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“House Calliope prints books, I understood,” he said, looking intrigued.
“More than books. It was, oh, at least a century and a half ago that they successfully argued that any device for setting words to paper fell under their aegis.”
“A broad interpretation.”
“Yes, and good for us because I intend to use that precedent for House Phel’s product line. El-Adrel will lay claim to the license on any magically created device or artifact if we don’t fight back. Your ever-replenishing water flask will be our test case. I’m going to apply for the trademark on that first, arguing that the water is the key magic involved, not the container. We’ll make a fortune on that alone.”
Canting his head, he gave her a knowing smile. “I thought you didn’t want to fight the Convocation.”
“Not the entire Convocation, and not on a question of morality, but another house’s license for trade on a product that falls under the aegis of House Phel and that could turn us a tidy profit? Absolutely I will. I’ll win, too, or I’m not the first daughter of House Elal.” If nothing else, Papa had taught her very well how to consolidate wealth. She would put those skills to good use for House Phel and Meresin. For all those children consigned to rural educations and a lifetime of using magic simply to keep their houses dry. They deserved better, and she aimed to deliver it. “Besides,” she added, savoring the incipient victory over the arrogant and greedy tightwads at El-Adrel, “this is about business. That’s entirely different.”
Gabriel shook his head, laughing softly, though in admiration, she thought, not disdain. “I knew marrying an Elal would be good for our fortunes, but I had truly not expected a warrior of trade.”
Something about the words caught her attention. She looked up from puzzling over an entry in the ledger. “Do you mind?”
“No,” he answered, sounding completely sincere. “I think you’re amazing. I’ll just stay out of your way and write my letters.”
She glanced around at the ghostly room, absent of any other furniture. “This is your desk, though. I can’t take that.”
“You’ll need to spread out those ledgers.” He tipped his head at the miserly surface. “I can work elsewhere.”
“Where?” she asked bluntly. It wasn’t as if the decrepit manor had a plethora of dry rooms.
“All I need is a table,” he replied. “Writing a few letters doesn’t require a dedicated space like an arcanium. There’s some paper in the drawer there, if you’ll give me a stack, and a spare quill and ink pot.”
She slid open the drawer and found the paper, low grade and not nearly adequate for formal missives from Lord Phel. They seriously needed supplies. Perhaps negotiating with House Calliope’s subsidiary, House Salis, for better-quality paper should go to the top of her list. There were a number of pressing issues jostling for that position. She was also reconsidering the wisdom of Gabriel penning his own letters. The houses would react to his handwriting the same way she had—and she couldn’t bear for them to have another reason to snicker at his provinciality.
“I have a better idea,” she said. “Have the servants bring in one of your tables, and we can both work in here. I can advise you on drafting the letters.”
He raised a brow. “That would be helpful, to have your advice, but who are these servants you’re expecting?”
She gazed at him in consternation. “This is a massive house, even if three quarters of it is still sunk in a swamp, and we plan to remedy that soon enough. How do you plan to run a place of this size without servants or household imps?” She folded her arms. “I might have to serve you in any way you please, but if you make me do housework, I swear to make your life miserable.”
Face creasing in irritation, he glowered. “You do not have to serve me, so stop poking at me about it. Everyone here pitches in.”
She threw up her hands. “Then order up some brawn topitch inand bring a table in here.”
“I can carry a table, Nic.”
“You’re still healing from the battle with the hunters,” she retorted. “Besides which, the lord of a High House doesn’t move his own furniture. You need to start acting the part. If you’ll round up some workers, you can also ask them to take a few boards off these windows so we’ll have more light.”
“And when it rains?”
“Is that an inevitability?”
“It rains pretty much every day here, depending.”
“Then the workers can put the boards back up again. There’s plenty for them to do in the meantime. We’ll need an army to clean up this house.”
“They’ll be out in the cotton fields and orchards this time of day,” Gabriel said. “I can hardly ask them to drop those tasks. Which reminds me, I should get out there myself. Remember from yesterday? Mom wanted me to look at the levee that leaked and flooded the orchard. We’ve been concentrating on produce,” he explained, reacting to some expression on her face. “It’s one of our strengths, and you’re the one all fired up to increase our income.”
She attempted to smooth away her exasperation. Seating herself at his desk, she leaned her forearms on it and regarded him seriously. “Gabriel, my only love, I want you to listen closely. You are no longer a farmer.”
He gave her a long look, silver intensity swirling enticingly around him. For some reason, it annoyed him when she called him her only love, so she shouldn’t persist in it. Something in her, however, took a perverse delight in needling him, in provoking a rise from her brooding wizard. “You’re mistaken, my sweet familiar. Iama farmer, first and foremost. There’s no shame in it.”
“Wrong.” She slapped a hand on the desk. “The day you wished for rain and drowned your fields in an unstoppable deluge with your nascent wizardry is the day you stopped being a farmer. You are a wizard, Gabriel. First, foremost, and forever. That’s not a choice. It’s who you are now, like it or not. What’s more,” she continued, raising that hand again to stop the protest she saw boiling up in him, “you are Lord Phel. Youdidhave a choice there. You could’ve chosen to wile your wizardry away as a landless rogue, but no. You justhadto apply to the Convocation to restore House Phel.”
“I have a right to restore my family’s house and honor,” he bit out, reaching the desk and slamming his own hands on it and looming over her. “You have no idea what it’s like to grow up under the shadow of coming from a fallen house, from a family that lost its magic. HouseFell. I hear them make the joke. I’m not that naïve.”
