Vhadä grinned and gave them a nodding bow.

“Perhaps you’d like to see the rest of the house, my lords?” said Dorin, who’d watched all this with a hint of disapproval.

“You don’t have to call us ‘my lord’ anymore,” said Alec.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to maintain the proper forms of address,” the man replied stiffly. “I was not a slave, but a valued servant of the house, and I hope to remain so.”

Seregil clapped him on the shoulder and felt him flinch. “Then I guess we must remain lords. Please, show us the house.”

“As you can see, this is the main hall, preserved very much as it was originally constructed, as is the rest of the house.”

“It’s beautiful!” Alec exclaimed, turning slowly to take it all in.

“I hope you will be very happy here, my lord,” said Dorin.

“We won’t be here often,” Seregil informed him. “However, I’ve had word given out that this house is to be a refuge for any Aurënfaie and ya’shel who wish to live here. Please make them welcome and give them a room.”

“I—of course, my lord.” The man’s smile was forced.

“Very good. Mistress Sabriel, please, would you make up a cold lunch, and dinner for tonight? I’d like to test your abilities.”

The old woman gave him a warm smile and strode away with Vhadä at her heels.

Dorin took them around the first floor first, showing them the ornate dining rooms—one large for company, one small for family—several drawing and retiring rooms, a large formal parlor, and a library with a few tattered volumes on the shelves.

“The previous owner had a substantial collection, but he took most it with him, as well,” Dorin explained. “All that remains are some papers and histories regarding the manor.”

“A pity, that,” said Seregil. “I’d like to see the kitchen, as well.”

Dorin gave him an impassive nod and led them to the back of the house, where Sabriel and Vhadä were already at work on the meal. A dozen plump trout lay gutted on the chopping block. Both servants looked very happy at their work.

“Are these all the household?” asked Alec. “It seems a small staff for such a large house.”

“There were others,” Dorin told him. “Some went away with the Plenimaran lord. Others—slaves—ran away. I don’t know what’s become of them.”

“Hopefully they’ll return,” said Seregil. “And now the upstairs?”

The second floor had enough bedroom suites to host a royal delegation, though most were unfurnished and closed up.

“The master suite, my lords,” Dorian said, swinging open an ornate set of doors into a sun-washed room the size of the upper floor at the Stag and Otter. It was lavishly appointed, with carved cornices, fine tapestries, blue velvet hangings with silver bullion edging on the massive bed, and some excellent Aurënfaie statuary. Evidently their predecessor had been a man of good taste. Two tall windows and smaller side ones overlooked the pond and the sea beyond. Another equally impressive suite with red hangings had been prepared for Micum.