"I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs.
Put not you on the visage of the times
And be like them to Percy troublesome.
"
--Second Part of Henry IV; III.iii.

"You offered to do what?" Daine reappeared in the front room, their infant son beginning to calm in her arms. "Shhh, shu, Rikash. No, not Mummy's hair." She gave the child a corner of her thick woolen shawl to grip instead.

"Nothing, nothing of importance." What had he been thinking, almost blurting it all out the moment he walked in the door? It would only upset Daine. And it wasn't as though there was thing to be done about it. Numair Salmalìn sat down in the first chair he came to, slinging his cloak over the back of another, and let out a deep breaeth. "Gods, am I starving!"

His wife didn't move. "There's pottage left. It was hot at sunset." She gestured with her head in the direction of the hearth. "And I hope you washed your hands." He hadn't, but he didn't want to venture back outside into the cold. Besides, a bit of ink and dust wouldn't harm anyone. He wiped his hands on his tunic before fetching himself a bowl. The fire was banked for the night, but a little warmth still emanated from it. More warmth than emanated from his wife, at any rate. He added more kindling, and willed the embers to grow into flames. Much better. That done, he squatted down to serve himself from the iron pot hanging over the hearth.

"Well. I think I can make a decent report tomorrow," he ventured, picking up the thread of their conversation. "You can't imagine what a relief it is not to have failed, after all that work."

Daine smiled thinly.

He took a large spoonful of pottage. It was cold. And burnt. Somehow, one didn't tend to think of those two states occurring simultaneously. But their conflation was becoming all too familiar to him. He made a face. "Is there any bread?"

This time, it was his wife who scowled. "In the cupboard. Where it's always kept, Numair. I had thought to keep it by for Sarralyn's breakfast tomorrow, but if your stomach is too delicate for pottage…"

What was wrong with Daine? he wondered. She was so testy these days. Wasn't it enough that his more erudite colleagues (one of whom he had once happily been) were refusing to speak to him, and that the less erudite were avoiding him like a plague? Wasn't it enough that Thaliard Wells, who had been his best student and the only one advanced enough to have helped him with the research for this, had suddenly requested to transfer to the City of the Gods to pursue his studies with the Mithrans? Wasn't it enough that he had done more study and work in the last two days than in the last frantic weeks of cramming for his Black-Robe thesis defense at Carthak? Did he have to come home late to an angry wife and a burnt dinner on top of it all? He decided not to respond to her provocation, but forced down another spoonful of the mess in his bowl.

"So, now. What was it you were going to do?" Daine had seated herself in the rocker; she looked the picture of motherly and wifely comfort as she nestled her son against her breast. Salmalin smiled in spite of himself.

"Nothing. Nothing you need worry about."

"Oh, indeed? If I needn't worry about it, you might tell me. Or am I no longer your wife -- just the helpmeet who raises your children?"

That was a low blow. "Daine, you know that isn't fair at all." Except that it was fair, to some extent. "I know, Daine. I know I haven't been doing my share. But I have been stretched thin with just my work," he pleaded. "When this has blown over, I promise I'll do better. If --" He stopped. How could he say it? How could he tell her?

"But you still can't tell me what you were so eager to reveal when you walked in." Daine didn't sound angry now as much as she sounded worn out and weary. "By all the gods, Numair! If you and your university weren't so obsessed with keeping all your doings in secrecy and shadows, you might not be in such a mess now!"

Salmalin sighed, putting down his bowl. There was no point in trying to eat anymore. "I … You don't believe that I'm wicked, do you? That this is all my fault?" He put his hand on the arm of her chair. "You are with me?" For a moment, he thought that she would contradict him. The fire crackled and a log popped. A spark flew out and quickly dulled and died on the hearthstones.

"Of course I'm with you." His wife shifted Rikash to place a hand over his own. "I've been fussing too much, I'm sure, and I am sorry. Peace?"

"You weren't without reason." With a courtier's gallantry, he bent his head to kiss her hand. Daine gave him a reproving smile, gently removing herself from his hold. She leaned forward a little.

"Now tell me."

Salmalin took a deep breath. "You know nothing can be done while … while Roger of Conte's spirit is trapped in Thom's body. And I think -- actually I'm quite sure now -- that the Dominion Jewel is the only way to get it out."

"And?"

He shrugged.

"Numair, that's hardly a state secret."
"So you plan on using the Jewel, hmm?"

He twined his fingers and stretched them. "That's right. It makes perfect sense." Gods! Why was he so defensive? "The Jewel is supposed to strengthen the bonds of king and country. Treason is its antithesis. It should work very well against it."

"So?"

He didn't want to look at her, so he stared at the fire until his eyes began to water. He closed them, and light continued to flash inside his eyelids. "It's like this, Daine. You know that it's tricky using the the Jewel. You have to put power in to get power out, one might say. A lot of power. And I thought that I -- I'd offer to give it." Once started, his explanation would not be stopped. "I've done all the calculations I can, and it shouldn't kill me."

"What?" Daine was suddenly sitting up, very alert.

He tried to shrug it off. "I'll be offering my services to Roald as far as actually using the Jewel to expel Roger -- that's all. It won't be dangerous, I'm sure."

"But you aren't sure enough to be easy telling me about it." He couldn't identify the emotion in Daine's voice. If there even was an emotion. He looked down. "No, Numair. You can't do it alone. Why can't you use a group of mages?"

"I don't know what will happen. It's never been done before! You want me to risk two people, five people?"

"Risk five people, or kill yourself for certain to go out in a blaze of glory?" Rikash stirred and fretted, and she lowered her voice a little. "You don't need to prove your innocence. No one has charged you with anything. No one will. You've said yourself that everyone expresses confidence in you."

"They may say it, but … And, Daine, I am responsible, in some way."

"You're being ridiculous. No. You can't do it."

"You don't understand, Magelet. It's the right thing to do. The honorable, noble thing to do. Do you want Rikash to grow up with a father he can't respect? With a father who was too cowardly -- too afraid to risk himself -- to make amends for his mistakes?

"And you would rather he grow up with no father at all? I'm not your "Magelet," innocent and naive. I know the world as well as you, Numair. You talk about honor, about nobility -- those aren't for us! We follow the Gods' laws, the King's laws; we give our service and take our wage. Some grandiose repaying: that's for a noble. And you aren't a noble, Numair."

"Daine, calm down; that isn't what I meant at all." But his soothing was ineffectual. His wife had only just been started.

"You talk about Rikash, about what he'll think? Oh it's bad enough that we live so close to the palace, with all your noble students dropping by, oh so friendly and ready to play with the children! Ready to tell them stories and glory-tales! It's fine -- it gives me a bit time to do my work. It's good that our children grow up friendly with the palace folk. But sooner or later…" She trailed off. "Do you know what Tove was telling me? Her Erik wants to be a knight. A knight!"

Numair shifted his position. Why did Daine make him feel so uncomfortable? "So? And I thought you weren't on speaking terms with Tove Sievers."

Daine ignored his last comment. "So? So? Commoners don't become knights. Erik's only six, seven; he adores the trouveres' songs, the tales of honor." She put an undue emphasis on the last word, Salmalin thought. "Can you imagine how broken he'll be when he finally realizes that it's impossible? And you'll only make it worse for Rikash if you go off acting like what you aren't." Her voice was more conciliating now. "Please, Numair?"

"Daine. What's right is what's right, no matter who I am." But he knew that his conviction was less, now. "And no one would agree to work with me anyway. Not now." She raised her eyebrows. And they would work with him, he knew. They, too, would leap at the chance to prove that they had nothing but the interests of the realm at heart. They would want a share of the restitution. "I suppose," he began.

"Good." Daine's tone didn't admit the possibility of further argument. She stood up, shifting Rikash, now fully asleep. She yawned. "Goo'-night, Numair. Gods keep you."

"And you, love. I'll only be a little longer. " She smiled and blew him kiss before disappearing through the curtain into their sleeping chamber.

Once sure that she had gone, Salmalìn quietly investigated the bread situation. Even if he cut himself a decently-sized piece now, he would still leave for two little girls' breakfasts. And Daine would buy more tomorrow. Sitting back down with the dim fire's welcome heat at his back, he carefully spread his papers where no stray spark would damage them. He could ask Harailt, surely. And Galina would help if she thought it might get her research approved once this nightmare was over. Gautier of Jesslaw, perhaps. Polydore Rouse was a Healer, but he was a strong mage in other ways as well. And very dependable, if not very imaginative. Now, how to rework the equations to account for more participants? He wasn't unhappy at being beaten down by his wife, he realized suddenly. Stoicism was all very well, but it was good not to be facing death.