AN: I thought I'd mention for readers who have been burned by abandoned stories that this manuscript is more or less complete with the last few chapters in rough draft.

A Consolation of Princes

Chapter 2: A Clowder of Cat Ladies

oOoOo

Morwen awoke the next morning free from any pillowy skin, despite her mother's worries. She felt fresh and eager as she accompanied Gwereneth to the townhouse leased by Gaeron's new in-laws.

Renneth's reception marked the closing of the wedding week while providing a gesture of gratitude to the new couple's family and friends who would soon be leaving town for their homes in other fiefs. Tathren's family lived in Pelargir and many of the guests hailed from Lebennin and were strangers to Morwen. Their faces and introductions had blurred together over the course of the wedding week with all the little rituals that led up to the final ceremony. If only she had thought to be of use to Thengel before the wedding, she could have produced a thorough catalog of suitable women for him the evening before.

Granted, until a year ago Morwen had held some proprietary feelings toward the heir of the Riddermark. Though she flattered herself that she had at least outgrown her possessiveness once she came of age. She had, after all, been disabused of some false notions at the time regarding her importance to their family friend.

Morwen armored herself with the thought that anyone who knew the family might little wonder that she had harbored false notions. Thengel's presence had always been a fixture in Amarthor's household in Minas Tirith ever since Gaeron had picked a fight with him when they were both young warriors in training. In a process Morwen didn't pretend to understand, the conflict had made the two men fast friends. She had been a toddler then, so she could never clearly remember a time before Thengel.

But recently a seed had sprouted and grown into the idea of sharing him beyond the family; a sign of how mature and level-headed she had grown, especially given the long history they shared. She could think of him comfortably as something…somewhat…ish…like a brother. A little. A fledgling to be pushed out of the nest like Gaeron.

Amarthor and Gwereneth, however, were far too formal to allow Morwen to treat him quite the same way that she and Gaeron had behaved toward one another. Her mother would have died if Morwen had tried to wrestle with Thengel the way Gaeron had let her. Of course, Gaeron had only been humoring her. She tried now to replace those memories of Gaeron with Thengel and found that a strange feeling came over her like an undercurrent ready to pull her down.

Her mother bumped into her. "Why are you stopping in the middle of the lane?"

Morwen shook herself out of that interesting reverie. "Sorry."

They had chosen to walk to the sixth circle as it was a beautiful day and the heat had not yet become overwhelming. As usual, Morwen had to measure her pace so that her mother wouldn't need to skip in her fine clothes to keep up with Morwen's longer strides — a fact of inheriting most of her physical attributes from the Belfalas side of the family, an advantage Gwereneth didn't have. Morwen sometimes forgot about this when her thoughts galloped away on her as they had now.

"If your head is in the clouds it's time to come back to solid ground now," Gwereneth griped. "I hope you will remember to be a good guest rather than disappear to scribble in the corner."

Morwen gave her mother a razor smile. "Good? I intend to be perfect."

She felt her mother's suspicious gaze before being pulled along in the woman's wake. "I am somehow not comforted, Morwen."

"My paper and pencils are at home," she confided. "I will speak to everyone in the room like a well-bred lady…though you will have to remind me of their names."

Gwereneth's shoulders tensed into, perhaps impossibly, an even straighter line. "There's no need to go out of your way. Simply remember to attend to those nearest you. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't circulate the entire room," she continued. "You've had one season in town and now you think you know everything there is to know."

Well, come to think of it, yes, Morwen did feel that way. But she said, "Don't misinterpret this as ingratitude for your advice, Mother, but I intend to begin my investigation today on Thengel's behalf. Circulating the room is a necessity."

"Lord Thengel." All the lines on Gwereneth seemed to deepen in one accord as the conversation flowed into strange waters. "I don't understand why he humors you."

"Why, I've always felt that humor rather than manners was the better preserver of friendship."

Gwereneth exhaled in a slow, measured way. "Malapert speeches are not becoming in a lady, Morwen, nor will it assist you in finding a husband," she reproved.

"Fortunately that is not my object for this afternoon. I'm trying to make a husband…for someone else."

Morwen felt her mother look at her with what she interpreted as equal parts exhaustion and exasperation. Why couldn't the child of her age have been the biddable sort, the expression seemed to mean. Morwen fumed. The traits her mother could not abide in Morwen were praised in Gaeron. It wasn't fair.

"I shall have to speak to Lord Thengel about how he encourages your behavior," Gwereneth grumbled. "For the time being, please refrain from embarrassing Tathren's parents or putting yourself in a compromising situation."

Morwen raised three fingers. "I give you my word to behave beautifully or perish."

"Well, don't strain yourself," her mother bit off. "We're nearly there."

They arrived at the house in the sixth circle that had been leased by Tangon and his wife Renneth for their stay in Minas Tirith during the wedding. They were a wealthy family with merchant vessels. The couple tended to keep close to their warehouses and had only seen fit to come to Minas Tirith when their daughter had come of age several years before. Therefore, they kept no permanent residence in the White City and had taken a home that had been used by the extended members of the royal family hundreds of years ago.

The house had a stately aspect despite the evidence of decay and disuse that afflicted a growing number of houses in the city as the population and the skill of its craftsmen dwindled. Morwen overheard Gwereneth suggest to Amarthor when they first arrived in the city for the wedding that Tangon and Renneth had put on airs when they made their choice of lodgings in the sixth circle. Morwen thought only that it put them near Thengel's home on the same level. She had never visited him at his home. She found herself glancing farther down the lane until the view became lost in the curve while they waited at the gate for the hired porter, wondering which crumbling facade belonged to their friend.

Once admitted into the house, they were welcomed by Tathren's mother and father, who congratulated both families on the union and then reminisced with Gwereneth. But since Morwen had contributed very little to the wedding beyond her presence and the cunningly hidden pin, her attention traveled around the large stateroom where the reception took place until something like a struck chord denoted a shift in the conversation.

"It is a pleasure to have a daughter married," she heard Renneth congratulate herself. "Though I must say that it's very lonely in the house now."

"Who could wonder in such a large establishment," her mother replied dryly. "Fortunately for me, Morwen is still a bit young to marry."

Morwen's eyebrows shot up and she had to school them back down again to their normal level. It surprised her to hear herself referred to as young all the time. After all, she had never been as old as she was now.

Renneth sighed. "I suppose I'll have to content myself when the grandchildren begin to arrive. Our home in Pelargir will have to be completely rearranged for it when Tathren and Gaeron stay with us, but it is a small matter. Of course, if they would take my advice and purchase their own home nearby then it would be unnecessary to hide all the breakables."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop sharply at the mention of Gaeron moving to Lebennin. Morwen shivered at the glacial expression on her mother's face. She hadn't heard any discussion from her brother or sister-in-law on the subject and it seemed to go without saying that they would remain near the estate that Gaeron would inherit from Amarthor in Lossarnach.

"I never heard Pelargir described as an especially welcoming city to young families," Gwereneth remarked, "with the residential district butting up against the docks and warehouses and…public houses."

"Haven't you? How strange. My dear Tathren turned out just fine relative to other girls who didn't grow up within view of warehouses."

Morwen could detect an undercurrent of competition between the two women with both of their gazes falling suddenly on her. Unwilling to be mortified by comparisons to her new sister-in-law, she used the pretext of following a servant with a tray of food toward the overflowing sideboard where other guests had gathered to graze. She already knew her mother disapproved of her on principle. She didn't relish being exposed to general opinion.

Having filled a small plate with some fruit and some little cream cakes, Morwen scanned the room for likely women and found a promising set of very pretty girls. She squeezed herself onto the sofa between them. They talked of the wedding. One of the women, she learned, had recently become engaged and pressed Morwen for details regarding Tathren's flowers and gowns and jewelry. Morwen could not be helpful. Renneth had supplied almost everything for her daughter. Anything that Morwen wore or held at the ceremony had simply materialized in her room either by Renneth or Gwereneth's will. Well, except for the pin.

Morwen tried to change the subject but found her companions had nothing to offer on the topic of hunting and spoke only generally about other domestic topics. One or two had definite opinions on cookery, but that would not be a task for a wife in Thengel's house. None had ever met Lord Ecthelion. Most of them were Morwen's age and thought a man of twenty-seven might be pushing the bounds, let alone anyone over thirty.

Finding nothing that would tempt Thengel here, Morwen handed off her empty wine glass and plate to a passing servant and went to attack the other side of the room where some interesting ladies stood looking out through a set of massive windows into a courtyard garden that lay sandwiched between the townhouses. Morwen invited herself into the middle of their group.

She had arrived in time to overhear one of the ladies inquire if the City Watch should be called. Morwen scanned the negative space of the lawn in search of the subject and nearly gasped. They were looking at, stars — was that an enormous cat that had gotten into the garden?

The creature looked practically the height of one of Gaeron's retrievers. It had a solid black coat and fierce yellow eyes that seemed to regard the world with half-lidded contempt. And its ears stood far larger than a house cat's and grouped close together over its head like someone had set two oblong relish dishes side by side on a stand. The limp body of a rat hung from the cat's mouth while it lounged in the sun.

Morwen turned to inquire of her neighbors about this strange creature when she felt Gwereneth's presence behind her like an icy draft.

"Morwen, what on earth have you got on your dress?" her mother hissed in her ear.

Leave it to her mother to notice a spot on Morwen's clothes rather than a strange cat in the yard. Morwen glanced down half expecting to find a wine stain or cream from one of the little cakes. At first, she could see nothing. But then she turned a little and the light from the window hit a stiff black fiber sticking out from the weave. Then she became aware of other similar fibers. Morwen plucked one between her fingers to inspect it. A frisson of excitement passed through her being. It looked too short and wiry to belong to her.

"I believe it is animal hair."

Tathren's parents kept no pets, so someone else had tracked the hair onto the furniture. This meant the cat wasn't a feral creature that had snuck into the garden but must belong to a guest here in the house or perhaps to a negligent neighbor.

As Morwen's thoughts cartwheeled along this interesting line, the owner of a pleasant though booming voice could be heard saying, "Goodness. Nahtar has gotten out of his pen again, clever bastard. I'll just nip into the garden and put away the rascal. Oh look, the little hunter found a morsel. I hope it wasn't an ornamental rat, Renneth. No? That's a relief."

Morwen swiveled around to find the owner of that voice. She saw a woman that she had been introduced to a few days ago, but the name eluded her. The woman appeared elegantly dressed and seemed well-to-do, but for a few details. She had the tanned skin of a field hand and her long, loose hair had the frayed look of being whipped around by the wind for hours at a time.

Morwen launched herself forward just as the woman passed by, causing them nearly to collide. She reached out to touch the woman's arm both to stop her and to avoid a true collision.

"Forgive me," Morwen stammered a little theatrically. "I didn't see you there…Lady….um?"

Morwen could feel her mother's sudden grip on the back of her dress, ready to haul her bodily away if necessary, as her mother had done numerous times whenever Morwen had attempted to step into the street as a child.

"Morwen, you remember Tathren's cousin, Lady Húnil?" Gwereneth reminded her with glacial politeness, which Morwen knew how to interpret as a promise of future lectures. "Forgive my daughter," her mother said to Húnil. "She doesn't always watch where she's going."

Morwen felt an extra tug on the back of her bodice in emphasis. She bowed her head. "Forgive my clumsiness, Lady Húnil."

Lady Húnil regarded both women with an easy smile. "No harm done, I'm sure," she soothed, her voice echoing as if she often had to talk into the same wind that had frayed her hair. "But you'll excuse me — there's a cat to be crated."

Lady Húnil strode off without further ado. As Morwen watched her go, she remembered the sketch of Húnil she had made the night before, even if she couldn't attach a name at the time. She had accentuated the lips and the cheekbones; but Morwen had failed to notice, she realized, that Húnil had beautiful hazel eyes that didn't seem to be truly blue or green or amber, but all of them like threads woven in a tapestry. The perfect eyes for an admirer who refused to be pinned down by choice. Like Thengel.

Morwen extricated herself from her mother and made to follow Lady Húnil, who had left the stateroom to stride down an empty gallery that bordered the garden. Morwen had to skip a little to hurry her pace while still within view of Renneth's guests, feeling a little bit more sympathy for her mother.

"Is that your cat?" Morwen called. "I've never seen one so large."

"It's no wonder," Lady Húnil replied over her shoulder. "That's a hunting cat from the southern grasslands. Quite exotic in these parts."

A hunting cat! That ranked almost as highly as hounds. Morwen could have hugged herself, but she didn't have the time. The woman stood a few fingers taller than Morwen and had a stately bearing, and her strides seemed to swallow up the length of the gallery. Morwen lifted her skirts so that she could catch up at a run.

Perhaps sensing that she had acquired an accomplice, Lady Húnil waited at the door where a footman had materialized just in time to open it for them. Morwen caught up and slipped through into the garden behind Húnil.

In the walled garden, the cat lay making short work of the rat as it lounged in the sun. With little to shield the space from the direct overhead light of noon, the garden felt very warm. But the cat only seemed to absorb it like a sleek black sponge. Morwen watched in morbid fascination as it worried the meat from the bones with the largest pink sandpaper tongue she had ever seen.

Húnil stood in front of the cat with her hands on her hips. "Now see here, Nahtar, you've been a very naughty little prince."

The cat ignored her, rolling slightly onto its side, and began dispassionately cleaning its paws. Only the unfurling of its tail and thumping it once on the ground marked that the feline might have heard his mistress. From paw to claw, his body could stretch out almost as long as Morwen was tall.

"He's enormous," Morwen breathed.

"Oh yes, the largest in my kennel," Húnil drawled with no small amount of pride. "But his sire dwarfed this fellow. Zorzagar could take down a deer on his own. Nahtar is quite good at bagging large waterfowl and heartier-sized rodents. In fact, a little rat like this is quite beneath him. Isn't it?" she cooed, addressing the cat. Then crossing her arms, she remarked to Morwen, "He only did it out of spite for being cooped up." She raised her voice in scorn, "You know I can't have you roaming around town stalking fine ladies' little doggies. Cousin Renneth will be very upset that you've littered bones and innards over the grass in front of her guests."

Nahtar stretched and rolled onto his back to sun his sleek belly. He settled into a half-moon shape as they gazed at him. He returned their gazes through barely slitted eyelids. Morwen felt the urge to scratch his belly, but the part of her that understood consequences held her back.

"He's a handsome fellow," Morwen admired. "How will you crate him again? Can he be carried or held by the scruff?"

"Not if you value your flesh," Húnil quipped with loud glee. Morwen wondered if she might be partially deaf, for she spoke at a consistent volume as if trying to be heard over a crowd. "Between claws and teeth, he'll flay you to ribbons. A tether won't do either. They just go boneless and wriggling. No, it's bribery or a sedative for this one. I prefer the former." Morwen noticed Húnil's glance catalog her from head to toe. "You don't happen to carry sardines in your pockets, do you?"

Morwen shook her head, puzzled by what she meant. "Sorry, no. I don't have any pockets. Or sardines."

Húnil shrugged. "It's no bother. Only I've run out, you see. Nahtar is too clever by half. It's said they've got a bit of southern sorcery about them, these cats. He certainly seems to work some kind of charm on his enclosure door. I've had to bribe him on several occasions since we arrived in the city and it has depleted my supply."

As if to illustrate her point, Húnil inserted her hands between folds in her gown and pulled out triangles of fabric that had been sewn in between the seams of her dress. A small piece of dried fish fell out, which caused Nahtar to raise his head for a moment before laying it down again in ennui.

"I only brought him with me to show my cousin what these cats are capable of. Another time," Lady Húnil said archly, "and I'll tell my dear cousin to come to me instead."

Morwen might have wondered what Renneth would want with a hunting cat, but she felt temporarily enamored by small purses — pockets — that Lady Húnil had sewn into her gown. Why wasn't that a standard staple of dress patterns? Morwen never liked having a purse hanging around her waist and her mother tended to be very dictatorial about what she permitted Morwen to store in it — no pencils and paper.

But with pockets, Morwen could keep some paper folded up on one side and a small tin of pencils in the other. Such a storage method certainly proved more convenient than stuffing art supplies down her bodice, a thing that had become increasingly impractical once she'd developed breasts. It was easy enough to stash her drawing supplies when she dressed, but much more difficult to discretely retrieve them later when she wanted them in a public setting.

Morwen considered the quality of a woman who had ordered pockets sewn into her dresses, even her fine gowns. And the sort of woman who used them to carry sardines to bribe exotic animals. Morwen felt a ping of gratitude that Lady Húnil considered that she might be the same sort of woman…at least same enough to ask.

Lady Húnil squatted down and attempted to snatch away the remnants of the rat. Nahtar's head shot up, ears flat against its head, and began to hiss and spit in a ferocious manner. Húnil held her ground but Morwen stepped back. The cat had seemed so languorous that it had lulled Morwen into a false sense of security. She pitied the rat which had probably died quite terrified.

Lady Húnil reached for the rat tail again and this time Nahtar's velveted paw swiped the air, claws out. It sent a warning. The woman chose to heed it.

"Well, so much for that," Lady Húnil chuckled with a good-natured shrug that Morwen knew Gwereneth would have detested. Her voice had a way of echoing off of the garden walls. "The rapscallion prince refuses to cooperate."

Morwen might have questioned why Húnil kept referring to her cat as a prince, but she could see before her a creature who clearly considered itself to be royalty. A funny thought occurred to her as she reflected on her own family. Her father's cousins had a penchant for rich food and always arrived on time for meals, even if they had their own sense of timing where other duties were concerned.

"I could get some goose liver mousse from the sideboard," Morwen offered. "I don't think anyone will stop me…but I'm a decent sprinter if they should try."

Lady Húnil beamed at her. "Liver should do the trick. Good thinking, my girl."

Morwen ran back inside and only remembered to skid to a walk like a proper lady just before returning to the party. She had to be quick or else her mother would probably stop her from returning to the garden. She didn't want to miss this opportunity to make friends with Húnil, even if it meant breaking her promise to perfectly behave. What was a small sacrifice of propriety in the name of one's friend's future happiness? Besides her mother would probably be relieved once Morwen managed to marry Thengel off. He couldn't come around so often to be a bad influence. Morwen tripped over her own foot but righted herself before she could fall. Clumsy.

Belatedly, Morwen realized her mother had probably been watching in horror from the window this entire time and would be expecting Morwen to materialize at any moment after she had disappeared from Húnil's side. Morwen stooped a bit so that she couldn't be seen quite so obviously over the heads of the other guests, as her height contrasted quite a bit with the statures of her sister-in-law's family whose pedigree leaned in favor of the old mountain communities rather than those from over the sea.

A servant stood sentinel over the refreshments, rearranging the dishes after some of the empty ones had been taken away from the sideboard. Morwen pretended to inspect the offerings. Once the servant turned away, she snatched the entire plate of savory mousse and, in a bid to look natural, held it in front of her as if she had filled a plate with several little delicacies instead of a large quantity of meat paste. She kept her gaze vague to put off anyone who might catch her eye and challenge her for absconding with the appetizer.

Morwen had almost reached the threshold when she heard her mother call her name. She jumped a little. Then grimacing, she quickened her pace toward the door knowing full well that her mother also knew that she had heard but had chosen to ignore it. The walk home would be extremely unpleasant later. Oh well, she would bear the lecture stoically and think of Thengel.

…

It turned out that rich food had the same effect on the princes of cats as it did on the princes of Belfalas, which allowed Húnil to lead the feline next door to where she had also taken a house. Morwen accompanied her, utterly fascinated by the desert cat and the two others that Húnil had also brought along. They were smaller females who didn't seem inclined to break out of the space where food magically materialized twice a day to follow their brother into the strange stone city.

Once Nahtar lay safely ensconced in his enclosure, Morwen squatted down to watch him through the wooden slats of the pen. Even with the cage between them, she felt the need to be cautious.

"Do you manage these cats all on your own?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Húnil drawled. "As much as anyone can manage cats. They're like husband and children to me."

"You mean you aren't married?" Morwen asked airily. She thought she knew, but it didn't hurt to confirm.

"Not to my knowledge." Húnil gave her a broad wink.

"How nice," Morwen breathed, grinning. "Will you be leaving soon with the other guests?"

"Oh no. Now that I've made the trip, I intend to stay another month. Cousin Ecthelion still has to see Nahtar."

Morwen barely smothered a gasp. "Lord Ecthelion is your cousin?"

"He is," Húnil affirmed with a nod. "His mother and mine were sisters."

A niece of the Steward by marriage! And one who had the ear of the Captain of the Tower of Guard to boot. Morwen felt her stomach do a little skip. Of course, she wouldn't naturally have made the connection between Húnil and Ecthelion when the lady had mentioned a cousin, but it made much more sense that he would be curious about savage cats from the south that could hunt deer or large rodents than that Tathren's mother Renneth would want one. Although, the rats near the quays in Pelargir did have a fearsome reputation.

"Do you often advise Lord Ecthelion?"

"Well. I am the only authority on exotic hunting cats in Gondor these days. My own mentor mysteriously disappeared one day a few years ago." Húnil's lips curled into a devilish smile. "The cats, of course, will admit to nothing."

Morwen shivered at that thought. Then she asked, "Where is your kennel? Is it far from Minas Tirith?"

"It's on the old family estate in Lebennin."

Morwen felt that that was a blow. "So far."

"What's a day's journey by ship from Pelargir?" Húnil waved her hand dismissively. "It's probably as long a trip on horseback from Lossarnach, depending on where you live in the fief."

"Still, a whole day in one direction is quite a lot, especially with an estate to run. It must be hard for you to come to Minas Tirith often."

"The estate belongs to Ecthelion truly. It passed to him after our grandfather died, but since he had no need of it as a permanent residence beyond Minas Tirith, I manage things. For now, anyway."

Morwen glanced at her. "For now?"

Húnil smiled dryly as she watched Nahtar making inroads into the goose liver. "I hear my cousin's wife would like to spend summers outside of the city, especially as Ecthelion spends quite a bit of time patrolling the river these days."

"He certainly does," Morwen muttered, thinking of the impact that had on Thengel. "What will you do?"

"Find somewhere else to live, I expect," said Húnil with unexpected good humor. It seemed as though nothing could shake her native tranquility. "Moving the kennels will be a piece of work, but otherwise, I am prepared to move at a moment's notice. I'm a bit spartan." She shrugged. "If a suitable place can't be found without overextending my annuity, I suppose I may have to finally bow to fate and marry."

Morwen bit her tongue for ten seconds. She must have been born under a lucky star. Success had come so easily with Gaeron. Now she felt the rays of it again. Húnil completed her list.

Once Nahtar had enjoyed the delicacy provided for him, a servant retrieved the plate and had it cleaned before returning it. Morwen followed Húnil back toward Renneth's lodgings with the empty plate in her hand. On their way back, an idea occurred to her. She waited until they reached the gate to act on it.

Morwen threaded her arm through Húnil's. "Since you'll be in town, we must invite you to dine with us."

A puzzled crease formed between Húnil's brows. "But won't you be leaving for Lossarnach soon yourselves?"

Húnil clearly remembered more about Morwen than Morwen had remembered about her at their introduction.

"Not for another few days." Then, while the porter opened the gate for them, Morwen suggested, "What about dining with us tomorrow?"

Húnil laughed. "So soon? You don't stand upon ceremony, my girl."

Morwen noted the hint of approval in Húnil's tone. If this lady liked Morwen's lack of ceremony then she would weather Thengel's candor. However, she didn't know if Húnil would quite like the extent to which Morwen lacked ceremony if it meant being set up for marriage by the end of the week. She decided a little deception would help ease Húnil into the idea.

"Yes, you see I'm longing to speak to you about acquiring a…a cat."

Húnil gave her an inquiring look. "You want a cat?"

"Yes, I thought you could advise me." Morwen crossed her fingers.

"Anyone can get you a cat, my girl," Húnil chuckled. "I deal in exotic hunting felines."

"But that's exactly what I'm looking for."

Húnil scanned Morwen up and down, looking doubtful. "You?"

"Well…it's not for me," Morwen amended, pressing a hand to her heart. "It's for a friend. In fact, it would be more expeditious if you advised him directly. And he's coming for dinner tomorrow. You could meet him."

"Who is this?"

"Theng — " Morwen caught herself. "Eh, Lord Thengel of Rohan."

"Oooh Thengel," Húnil drawled with a wave of her hand. "I didn't realize he had any interest in an exotic cat. Why, I saw him only the other day as I left the citadel and he never mentioned it."

Morwen felt a little crestfallen. "You've met Thengel?"

"Of course. He's Ecthelion's shadow, don't you know." Húnil tapped her lips. "Hm. He did seem distracted at the time, which may account for his silence on the subject."

"Distracted by what?"

A conspiratorial grin spread over Húnil's face. "I understand that his home is under renovation. Those projects have a way of creating total upheaval." She smirked at Morwen. "Especially when one undertakes them alone. He really ought to get a wife to manage things."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Lady Húnil," Morwen replied with no small amount of restraint. Húnil kept playing right into her hands. It made her feel giddy. And that's usually when she let her tongue run off without her head. "Though I've never seen his home myself, I hear from Gaeron that it's dismal."

"Well, he has lived alone for a very long time. Some people seem to have a higher tolerance for the house coming down around their ears."

"Yes, it's about time someone helped him sort that out…don't you think?" Morwen batted her eyelashes at Húnil.

"I'm sure there are plenty who wish to." Then Húnil shrugged. "He seems, however, to have decided to take home improvement in hand himself all of a sudden." She waggled her eyebrows at Morwen. "He may be plotting something," she added with a sage tone.

Morwen choked a little, wondering if Húnil had seen right through her. "Do you think so?"

Thengel had not mentioned the renovation to Morwen. She wondered what had brought on this sudden attack of domestic attentiveness. The project had, she learned, already begun before she had volunteered her services as a seasoned matchmaker. Morwen frowned at this line of thought but decided to remain positive. At least his sense of timing coincided with her generous offer. When she found him a bride — and she believed that she had — the woman wouldn't have to move directly into a large, expensive sixth-circle hovel.

"Oh, certainly. The man isn't getting any younger."

"So I have told him," Morwen huffed.

They entered courtyard to Lord Tangon's lodgings and approached the door. "To you, he must seem ancient," Húnil laughed as she rang the bell.

Morwen had thought so as a girl, but after a certain point in her growth, it seemed like she had begun to catch up to him somewhat. In the last five years, she barely gave the difference in their ages any consideration.

But it didn't matter what Morwen thought. She grasped Húnil's arm to stay her before they returned to the group in the main room.

"Do you think he's ancient?" Morwen asked.

"Not much more ancient than I am," Húnil declared with a good-natured smile. "The man only has a handful of years on me, if I'm any judge."

"I'm glad to hear it — I mean — you will come tomorrow, won't you?" Morwen pressed. "I'm longing to hear more about Nahtar and your other cats."

Hunil smiled at her. "Well, with that inducement I believe I will accept your invitation. But I warn you, I can wax eloquent on the subject for hours."

Morwen gave Húnil a brilliant smile. "I'm counting on it."

….

Gwereneth didn't spend the entire walk home giving lectures. Instead, she fumed in silence while Morwen felt her stomach twisting. She had already thoroughly displeased her mother and she hadn't yet told Gwereneth about the invitation she had extended without permission.

Not far from home, her mother finally addressed her.

"You seemed thick as thieves with Lady Húnil today."

Morwen sighed. "I adore her. She's perfect."

Gwereneth's perfect eyebrow arched. "Perfect for what?"

"A wife."

"Whose?"

"Thengel's."

"Stars above," her mother moaned. "You are relentless."

Morwen decided that the time had arrived to broach the subject. She squinted into the sun, the better to blind herself and avoid the look of vinegar waiting for her.

"Mother, I invited Húnil to dine with us tomorrow. Now Father needs to invite Thengel."

A blaze leaped into Gwereneth's eyes, as Morwen had predicted. She flinched away from it.

"And when were you planning to ask for permission before you arranged this?"

Morwen hadn't considered it…in the moment. "You're always telling me that I need to improve my skills as a hostess," she evaded.

"Yes, but not by overtaxing mine or by putting the staff under a strain. You know by now that food doesn't magically materialize in the dining room at every meal."

It had been a surprise to Morwen in her younger years when she learned that food had to be prepared and didn't simply exist as a pie or a pastry or a soup for her convenience. To bring the reality home to roost, Gwereneth had insisted Morwen take lessons from the cook and learn a few recipes. Morwen found she liked cooking except her recipes tended not to turn out as she had a habit of daydreaming in the middle of them. That and Cook never noted any quantities of any of the ingredients in his receipts. But the lesson stuck. Food required preparation and preparation required time and supplies and staff.

"It's only two more people," Morwen pleaded, despite this. "Cook won't have reduced his recipes simply because Gaeron has moved out. And Father never eats much in the middle of the day. We'll have plenty. I promise to give better notice next time."

Gwereneth sighed but conceded. "We can't uninvite a cousin of Lord Ecthelion, I suppose, but you will have to settle the rest with your father. He won't be pleased to have his afternoon studies interrupted by small talk, so good luck persuading him to invite Lord Thengel."

Morwen didn't worry about that, not when she had access to her father's cards. With his nose stuck in a book, he never paid much attention to what happened around him and had never noticed his stock dwindling. Thengel's presence would certainly go over his head. She just had to get one of the lads to run the card over to his home.

That Thengel would be home and available on the morrow she took completely for granted and until they reached their front door, she amused herself by speculating about the different degrees of pleasure and gratitude she could expect from the predestined lovers once they were introduced and provided with a proper nudge in the right direction.

It did grate Morwen's pride a little that the two had already met, especially as outward appearance did not point to an established attraction. She considered that an appropriate challenge to overcome, however. After all, Morwen had not been a part of the equation at the time. As an artist, she knew all about the importance of creating perspective for the viewer. She would simply have to cultivate the right frame of mind among her new subjects. Her past success with her brother buoyed her confidence on that score. Besides, she had a strong motive.

On reflection, she would need to remember to inform Thengel that she had invented within him a sudden burning desire for an exotic hunting cat from the south, or else their conversation with Húnil tomorrow would take a surprising turn for him. Not that he would have to commit to a cat…just to the lady. Who could say? Perhaps he would develop a sudden burning desire for Lady Húnil under the love light that Morwen felt prepared to shed upon them.