Marasa listened carefully to Arvin’s report then shook her head. “The fact that Haskar’s rogues want to offer Glisena to Chondath means nothing,” she said. “Lord Wianar might have kidnapped her without the rogues’ knowing it.”
“The fact remains,” the baron interrupted, “that there have been no demands. Chondath is silent.” He turned to Arvin. “You’ve done a good morning’s work, but now comes the true test. Can you find my daughter?”
Arvin took a deep breath. “Of course, Lord Foesmasher,” he said in a confident voice. “But I need to know just a little more about what happened on the night of her disappearance. Did you entertain any guests that evening?”
The baron’s eyes bored into Arvin’s. “If you mean to ask if Ambassador Extaminos was here, the answer is no. Nor were any other guests present. It was a… quiet evening. Just Glisena and myself.”
“And the harpist,” Marasa noted. “She may have been a—”
“The harpist is a regular guest of this household and well trusted,” the baron growled, “as are the servants who attended us that evening.”
Arvin knew little of royal households, but he’d spent two months in the home of the wealthy uncle who had cared for Arvin briefly after his mother had died. There had been a constant flutter of servants around his uncle—servants to help him dress and undress, to carry his parcels, to turn down his bed and place a draught of fortified wine on his bed table each night. In summer a servant stood over his bed while he slept, waving a fan to keep him cool. Arvin’s uncle had little privacy—a princess of a royal household would have even less.
“Have you questioned Glisena’s servants?” Arvin asked. “The ones who attended her bedchamber that night?”
“No servants attended her on the evening she disappeared,” Foesmasher said. “Glisena’s head pained her. She said she could not bear even the slightest noise and dismissed them from her chamber.”
“Her head pained her?” Arvin echoed. A wild notion occurred to him—that Zelia might have planted a mind seed in the baron’s daughter. Arvin had stripped that power from Zelia six months ago, but she may have regained it since. That would explain what she was doing in Sespech—she may have been stopping at Riverboat Landing on her way back from Ormpetarr, rather than on her way to the city. It would also explain Glisena’s sudden disappearance.
Then again, he reminded himself, it might be a simple elopement he was dealing with, after all. No need to jump to conclusions… yet. “Was this the first time your daughter complained of a headache?” he asked.
Foesmasher shook his head. “Glisena had been feeling unwell for several days.”
“How many days?” Arvin asked sharply. A mind seed took time to blossom. If her headache had begun seven days before her disappearance…
“Several days,” Foesmasher repeated. He gave an exasperated sigh. “What does it matter? Her illness had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
“Glisena had been unwell for nearly a month,” Marasa told Arvin. She turned to the baron, “You should have summoned me.”
“Her illness was minor,” Foesmasher said. There was a testy edge to his voice. It sounded, to Arvin, that the baron and his advisor had gone through this argument at least once before. “It was a slight upset of the stomach. Nothing that required magical healing.”
“A stomach upset?” Arvin asked, confused. “I thought you said she had a headache.”
Neither the baron nor Marasa was listening to him. Marasa bristled at Foesmasher. “A simple laying on of hands would have saved Glisena much discomfort.”
“The headache was an excuse to dismiss the servants!” the baron growled. “Glisena ran away.”
Marasa glared right back at him. “How can you be so sure? Wianar’s agents may have infiltrated the palace and kidnapped her. Whether the headache was feigned or not, if you’d summoned me that night—”
“That’s enough, High Watcher Ferrentio!” Foesmasher shouted. He looked away, refusing to meet the cleric’s eye. He glared at the far wall, visibly composing himself.
Marasa gently touched his hand. “You and Glisena were arguing again, weren’t you?”
Foesmasher sighed. “Yes.”
Arvin’s eyebrows rose. A “quiet evening,” the baron had said. Given the baron’s propensity for shouting, it had probably been anything but. No wonder Glisena had fled to her chamber. “So the headache had only come on that evening?” he asked.
The baron turned to Arvin, a suspicious look in his eye. “Why are you so interested in my daughter’s health?”
