“The best. He’s kind and generous and sincere. Libeth couldn’t exist without him.”
“Does he have a wife?”
“She died a year ago . . . sir.” He nearly choked at having to address me with a respectable title.
“And does he have any children other than his son?”
“No. He lost another child many years ago due to a great tragedy. And forgive the observation, but you look a little like his son Mathis. He was older than you and there are differences of course, but anyone who knew Mathis would be able to see the resemblance.”
Maybe that was why Harlowe treated me so kindly. Perhaps I reminded him of what he’d lost. I started to ask more about that but the servant had moved on to patting the cut with an alcohol-soaked sponge. I howled and arched my back, then told him if he didn’t stop I’d hurt him. He removed the sponge and stared at it a moment, unsure of whether to finish tending the wound as he’d been ordered to do, or opt for self-preservation.
“Put the sponge down and wrap me up,” I said. “Enough alcohol soaked into this wound on my arm; it’ll find its way to this new injury just fine.”
The servant reached for a bandage. “Do you mind if I ask what happened there?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He finished up quickly, then offered me another sponge and a pan of warm water to wash myself. “I’ll let you have some privacy now,” he said, and left the room.
I sponged off until I was as clean as I cared to be, then wrapped myself in a robe the servant had left behind. I couldn’t explore Harlowe’s home in only a robe, so I lay on the bed to wait for the servant to return with some clothes. It had been my plan to stay awake, but when my eyes opened again, a thick blanket was spread across me. A clock on the bedside table indicated it was early afternoon, much longer than I’d ever wanted to sleep.
I tossed the blanket aside and quickly dressed in a set of clothes laid on the bed. A full-sleeved linen shirt went beneath a long, copper-colored vest trimmed in silver-plated buttons. The woolen pants were a little big on my waist, but then most pants were lately, and the leather boots fit perfectly. When I opened the door, another servant waiting for me said, “You’re awake, then? Master Harlowe has an afternoon meal ready for you, if you’ll join him.”
“Where are the clothes I had before?” I asked.
“They’ve been burnt, sir,” he said.
I groaned. The clothes I now wore were new, clean, and reeked of money. I couldn’t go into Avenia wearing them, and I should’ve been there already. Only a week remained until the regents met with Gregor.
“Apologize to Master Harlowe for me, but I must leave,” I said.
“Your horse is being groomed,” the servant said. “After the fight you got in, we thought you’d want him carefully checked for any injuries. He should be ready at about the time you finish your meal.”
I relented. “Take me to your master, then.”
Harlowe’s table was spread with food by the time I arrived. Considering how much was there, I was surprised to see only three plates set for dinner. Nila was already sitting in her seat. She had also cleaned up, and though she was solemn, she looked better than before. Harlowe stood to greet me when I entered the dining room, then directed me to my seat.
Servants waiting in the room began offering food until it was impossible for me to accept any more. It all looked and smelled delicious, but there was simply no room left on my plate. When every dish on the table had been offered to us, Harlowe dismissed the servants and we were left alone. I decided to get through the meal as quickly as possible, and so set to work on my food.
“You never did tell us your name,” Harlowe said.
I spoke with a mouth full of warm bread. “No, sir, I didn’t.”
He smiled knowingly. “What matters with a name anyway? Perhaps you wish to hear a little about me first.” I glanced up and Harlowe said, “My family has lived in Libeth for generations. We take care of the people in this village, and they take care of us.”
“Are you a noble?”
He shrugged. “I suppose, but it’s only a title. Titles don’t matter here.”
“They matter in Drylliad. I thought all the nobles were there for King Eckbert’s funeral.”
“And what is that but a parade of egos?” His smile fell. “I keep myself as far from the king’s politics as possible. Besides, we have our own troubles here.”
“With the Avenians?”
“Many of them are very dangerous. I hope that wherever your travels lead, you will not meet them, son.”
Our eyes locked on that last word, though I quickly had to turn away. Nobody had called me “son” in years. My father might have at one time, but it was meaningless to me then. Now, the word had far more value.