Moth and Spark by Anne Leonard Read Free Book Online Page B

stuffy. She lay in bed for a while, but sleep did not return. She found the firestarter and lit a candle. It was a red taper that burned clearly, the holder beautifully glazed. It was the small items like this that made her aware of the wealth of the palace.
    She could turn on a lamp if she wished, but that felt too much like getting up. There was a window seat piled with cushions, and she took the candle over, placed it on the floor so it would not reflect in the glass. After a moment’s thought she opened the window about an inch, letting in the noise and the cool air. The scent of the wet stone reminded her briefly of forest; it made her feel wilder than the palace was. She got a blanket, light and soft, from the closet and wrapped herself in it while she looked out at the darkness.
    Even four stories up she heard the rain drumming on the stone below. Her rooms overlooked a courtyard with a plain grassy area and a few modest flower beds in the center. An arcade surrounded the courtyard, the pillars functional and unadorned. She could not see any of it now, but in half a week it had already become quite familiar to her. When she walked through it she had hardly been able to tell which of the many windows was her own. It was uninteresting but adequate; she had been afraid she might overlook the furnace sheds or the washyard. In the palace, windows went with rank, and she had none.
    That had mattered much less than she expected. Her brother’s wife, who was a baron’s daughter, had received permission from Queen Talia to bring Tam to summer court. Kinship to Cina seemed to be all Tam needed to be accepted among the minor nobility who were the core of the courtiers. The unmarried women whose rooms were in the same wing were the daughters of counts, barons, baronets, and knights, some of them rich in land but poorer in gold than herself. Wealth earned in commerce was no longer vulgar in Caithen—she supposed it might be elsewhere in the Empire—and her brother, who was both clever andlucky, had plenty. Her father was a doctor, respected both for his profession and his skill in it, who also had a widespread reputation as a scholar among physicians and natural philosophers. He was not poor either; he was the man the rich and the nearby country lords called on at every sneeze. Tam could reasonably expect to leave at the end of summer with an engagement to a minor lord.
    She had not come husband-hunting, though, which set her apart from the rest of the women; she had come because she was curious. It was not something she dared admit to anyone. The honor was a real one, and she could not diminish it by comparing her position to that of a spectator at the circus, entertaining as it was to watch the games of courtship that the others played. She liked Cina—everybody did, she was very popular—and did not want to embarrass her. So she smiled and flirted and charmed and talked like all the others. To her relief she had not yet caught any man she would have to let down, though she had had to work consciously at not favoring any man twice. Fortunately no one suitable had caught her eye either.
    She was a well-bred and well-educated young woman, even an accomplished one. She spoke three languages besides her own and could draw, sing, play the piano, and do embroidery, all of it inoffensively. She could converse on poetry and morals with equal grace. She had improved her mind by extensive reading. But her education did not end there.
    For the last five years she had gone with her father when he went, once every week or two, into the dark places of the poor to treat them without fee. She dressed wounds, mixed medicines, sat by the dying. She helped her father with his experiments and his writings. When he saw something interesting under the glass, it was she who drew the picture for him. She had done other work too, assisting her brother with his accounts, shipping lists, and other such things. He had clerks, but there was always more