Ventus | Page 9

when I needed you?" she shouted.
"Everything is not all right. It's not!" She thrust herself away and ran
off down the hallway. Jordan stayed leaning on the wall for a long
moments. Then, still feeling the prints of her hands on his shoulders, he
slouched back the way he had come. What had happened? It was as if
last night some veil had been withdrawn from reality, showing behind

it an ugly mechanism.
For just a second, he saw blue sky, clouds, heard the snorting of a horse.
"Oh, stop," he murmured, squashing the palms of his hands against his
eyes. "Just stop."

2
Jordan's mother ladled out a thick soup and revealed a spread of cheese,
salad and fresh bread. She smiled around the supper table with
proprietary kindness, while Jordan's father talked on about the stone
mother and Jordan's bravery.
"Ryman can't say a bad word about the boy now. Ha! What a change.
But the fact is, when it came to the moment, he panicked, and you
didn't."
"Thanks." Jordan found himself squirming. All this sudden fame was
strange, and tiring on top of everything else that had happened today.
Despite his exhaustion, he was afraid of going to sleep tonight. The
nightmare might return.
He wanted to tell his family about Allegri's idea that he'd been blessed
by the Winds. He opened his mouth to speak, but a cold feeling deep in
his stomach stopped him. Father kept printed broadsheets detailing the
escapades of the inspectors and controllers; Jordan could see several
tacked up by the door if turned his head. That was all Mother would
allow as decoration, the rest being relegated to a chest on the porch.
Father would would be thrilled and proud beyond description if he
thought Jordan might be able to gain a government position. But it
wasn't what Jordan himself wanted.
He had always assumed he would follow in his father's footsteps, and
was content with that. Jordan's highest ambition was to have a
comfortable home, a family, and to be considered a solid member of
the community. What more could a man ask for?

So he said nothing. It was desperately necessary that the peace of the
supper table not be disturbed. His mother's careful preparations, her
cleanliness and little touches such as the chrysanthemums in the center
of the spread, were talismans, protective as was his father's way of
hovering about all problems without alighting his attention on any, and
smoothing all troubled waters with belittling wit.
His father had said something more. "Hmm? What?" He blinked
around the table.
"Where's your head?" His father's smile was puzzled, traced with a
little sadness as it often was. "Have more potatoes, they're good for
you," he said, but he looked like he wanted to say something else.
What he did add was, "I met a man today, a courier for the Ravenon
forces named Chan. You know about the war they're having with the
Seneschals?" Emmy nodded dutifully. Jordan sat up straight, his food
forgotten.
"This fellow said there was a battle yesterday. On the border."
"Is the war coming here?" Emmy asked.
"No. I don't know if the war is going to continue. It seems the Winds
intervened in the battle. Stopped it.
"The Winds are mighty," said their father. "That's the lesson; though
truth to tell, this fellow Chan seemed more amused by the tale than
anything." He shook his head. "Some people..."
He turned his attention to Emmy. "Your brother did well today, didn't
he?" he asked.
"He did okay," she said in a monotone.
"Okay? Well, aren't you proud?" She said nothing. "Well, how about
you?" he asked. "Did you get to see our master's guests? Did you meet
Turcaret?"

Emmy glanced up; her eyes met Jordan's. He looked down, squirmed in
his chair. "Yes," said Emmy.
"He's pretty grand, isn't he? I hear his house is twice the size of Castor's.
Mind, that would be twice the work, I expect."
"I--I don't like Turcaret," blurted Emmy.
Their father reared back, raising his eyebrows. "What? That's a pretty
definite opinion to have for somebody you've barely met, especially
one of your superiors. What brought that on?"
Emmy didn't answer immediately, hunkering down over her meal.
Finally she said, "He got Castor to make me wear my old dress
tomorrow."
"What dress?" asked their mother.
"The canary one."
"But you've outgrown that dress, dear."
"I told them that."
There was a brief silence. Jordan felt a familiar tension, and the
clamoring need to defuse it. He cast about for something
funny to say, but his father was faster. "You still have it? I thought you
gave it to Jordan as a hand-me-down!"
Everybody laughed except Emmy. She looked a bit sick, actually, and
Jordan's own laugh died