Black Blossom, Part 40

We continue Black Blossom, the novel that follows The Aphorisms of Kherishdar and The Admonishments of Kherishdar. It is a form of quasi-communal storytelling, as described here. Feel free to ask questions, converse or react as you wish in the comments; the Calligrapher and I are at your disposal, as time permits us both. And don't fear... your questions are shaping the narrative. Read closely in the future and you may see yourself referred to there.

Black Blossom, Part 40
A Story of Kherishdar as Translated by M.C.A. Hogarth

      The Servant bowed and I went with him, as I must. As I followed, I considered the situation in every possible wording, and in every possible style—florid, with historiated initials? Stark and bald, without decoration?—wondering how to explain in the most truthful way possible, without giving offense. Should I share the speculation as well as what was known? When the speculation was so unthinkable, and was unsubstantiated? The lady would not thank me if I told her that her brother might be in the beds of aunera... that was the sort of accusation that required proof, for his Correction would be grave. The act might even be beyond Shame's authority... and the only authority after his in that arena was Thirukedi's.
      And really, what did we know for certain? Almost nothing!
      The Servant left me in the study: from the neatness of the desk and the lack of any papers, I guessed this was the lady's for when she visited. I sat across from the desk and looked out the inevitable windows at the gardens; the room was upstairs and in the back of the house, and had a superb view of the plot the House kept at the gate-complex, both for pleasure and use. I imagined there was some sort of trellis up the walls also, as there were climbing vines trained around the windows: a flower we call "formals" because their blade-like petals and white and black stripes recalled the crossed layers of robes we wear at our throats. Staring at them, I thought suddenly of Kor, and had this strange mad urge to paint him with them. Black and white, and black and white, and maybe a drop of red somewhere, or would that be too gauche—
      The lord's sister interrupted my reverie, sweeping into the room and seating herself with the abruptness of a closed book. She startled me so obviously that she couldn't help but laugh. "Apologies, osulkedi," she said. "I did not mean to surprise you. But it has been a disturbing walk I've just made, and I do not like the looks of my brother." She lifted her brows. "So now, perhaps you will tell me what has gone on here."
      "Lady," I said slowly, tasting the words in my mouth, "I wish I could tell you. The truth is... we are not certain yet."
      "Well then, what you know," she said, waving a hand. She paused as the tea tray arrived and poured herself a cup. She offered me one with a gesture, but I declined in kind.
      "The lord requested the aid of an osulkedi in the matter of the Chief Observer," I said, "who needed Correction. When we arrived—"
      "—we?" she interrupted.
      "I am accompanied by Shame, who is currently indisposed or he would also be here," I said.
      Her ears flattened. "Continue," she muttered.
      "When we arrived, we found the lord had attempted Correction," I said. "Following it, the Chief Observer became tsekil."
      Her frown was growing more distinct, but she did not interrupt.
      "Here it becomes more nebulous, lady," I said, using my most studiously courteous language. I imagined flourishes on the initials and very plain letters behind, painting out the words as I chose them. "We are not certain what was between the lord and the Observer to occasion the Correction, though his staff reports that the Observer was deeply distressed with some request of the lord's. The lord himself went through the Gate on business. When he returned, he met with Shame, and following that meeting, the lord became tsekil also. Shame developed a fever before we could ask over the matter—not a soul-sickness, but virulent nevertheless."
      "So you mean to tell me that my brother and the Observer made each other sick, and the priest cannot tell us why?" the lady said.
      "That is... correct, yes," I said, ears falling. "Everything else is supposition."
      She sighed. "Well, then, we will have to wait for the priest to wake. Or my brother, or the Observer."
      "Yes, lady," I said.
      "Very well," she said. "Or at least, as well as can be managed at this point. You may go."
      I rose and bowed, and left her to the meal. And on the way down the corridor wondered if it was a determination to see that all parties were treated justly and without slander that had motivated me to withhold the Decoration's accusation... or cowardice.

      I stopped at the suite after my interview with the lady and found Shame's condition unchanged: both his fever and his attendant. I asked Ajan if he would like to have a moment to rest and he declined, as I perhaps should have expected. I left them there, then, and went to find my Qenain council, as I had begun to think of them. The Physician would not be moved from the lord's chambers, so I sent a Servant for Seraeda and a different one to fetch something to eat. As we waited, I studied the lord's slack face.
      "No change here either," the Physician said. "My assistant is waiting on the Observer now, as the fathrikedi is sleeping. As well she should, for she has been louring over her lord like some desperate lover from a ballad. I did not want to add her sickbed to my rotation."
      "Do you think—"I began, alarmed.
      "No, no," the Physician answered, testy. "No, she is young, and not likely to suffer from a few sleepless nights. But one must take precautions."
      I looked uneasily at the lord, then went to answer the Servant with the tray.

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