Chapter 43

　　Sylvin paused in the kitchen door, his eyes sweeping over the eternally busy table, searching for Arithen, and then pausing, with a frown, on Corin, who sat by the fireplace, his hair wet and his skin pink from scrubbing, wrapped in a blanket and sulking.

　　“What happened to you?”

　　Corin pouted. “Tillie made me wash.”

　　“Hmm,” Sylvin considered the boy for a long moment and then arched an eyebrow. “Good.”

　　Through the door to the kitchen garden, he saw the yellow hair of Arithen, and he crossed through the busy room, past the beggars that waited at the door, following the Fae housekeeper into the orchard where she strung freshly scrubbed clothing over the branches of a tree.

　　She yelped when she turned and saw him standing there, her hand going to her chest. “Oh, My Lord,” she exclaimed. “You gave me a fright.”

　　“A bath,” Sylvin told her. “In my room.”