Chapter Nine

                                    

                                          
For someone so wary of barrowers, Isaiah's mother had been remarkably quick to allow the Obadiah family into her ballroom to assist with decorations. Sarai Obadiah and her brood had always been master gardeners, but their craft had seen breathtaking advancement with the addition of a magic line only three years prior. The scent of lace-flowers and juniper fern laced the grand ballroom, as out-of-season as the cascading walls of vegetation that framed the dance floor and lent a mystical kind of calm to its center. Word had it, Obadiah's youngest had already shown promise of inheritance at the tender age of two. Isaiah had no doubt Mahlon and Sarai would have themselves a second generation of barrowers strong enough to carry on the family business within the span of a decade.
Isaiah, for his part, could not tear his mind from the disappearances along the Talakova's edge. Growing plants was, comparatively, a minor power. He was sure the family's Crow Moon offerings constituted little more than a rabbit or a dove, but the up-front cost was what bothered him so insistently. The family's late matriarch was listed in Calis's formal registry as the life-trade for the contract. While Isaiah fully believed Bernice Obadiah would sacrifice herself at the end of her life in order to grant her progeny magic, tales of darker magical acquisition abounded in the Ring of Thirty. 
"Your highness."
Jordan Obadiah. Isaiah donned his polite smile again and turned to greet them. 
Jordan's clothing swished as they cut a smart bow. "Your highness, we were hoping to solicit your opinion on placement of the planters. Your mother is of the opinion that they will make the hall less open in their current position."
Isaiah's heart sank. His mother was home, then, and already commanding the details of a hall layout he'd been here since sunup to advise. He'd had the bulky planters arranged in a way that would quiet one corner of the hall. It would be solace in a crowded, noisy room, but of course his mother would see the arrangement and its intended purpose differently. To her, separation of the crowd ruined the appearance of grandeur she strived to maintain, and Isaiah was unwilling to risk the gambling wheel of responses he would face if he pushed back on this. Talk of compensations the day before had gone uneasily. His mother was concerned enough about action on the disappearances to let him draw more money from the treasury, at least. But he had more sensitive topics to raise today, and he wanted to maximize his chances of success.
"Take my mother's advice," he said. "She has final say in all arrangements."
He could hear Jordan's frown in their next words. "Pardon my argument, your highness, but your mother provided the opposite instructions when she hired us. Am I to tell my family that her word overrides yours, then?"
Isaiah's smile turned dry. "It usually does."
"You had excellent reasons for the current arrangement..." 
"Her word is final." He wouldn't have outsiders—even well-meaning ones—compromising his tactical choices. "I apologize for the miscommunication."
Jordan's small sigh didn't escape him. "As you wish," they said, not unkindly, before turning and striding away. Isaiah could now hear his mother's voice across the hall. It would only be a matter of time before she broke from her command of the Obadiah family and came to find him, at which point he would have only a narrow window to introduce the thing he wanted to talk about before she took over the conversation. The sharp click of her heels on tile cut that thought short. Isaiah braced for her arrival.
"There you are, love," she declared as she rounded the corner of the grand staircase. "Lurking in corners as usual, I see."
"I've been here all day."
"Yes, I know." Her voice softened on the words. Then that tone vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Now, do you have a moment?"
Isaiah swallowed hard. "I do. And I have something to speak with you about as well."