They continued around the lake, and the conversation went with them. They spoke of the town where René had grown up before moving to Wellkron, and of Leon’s childhood in Wellkron, until René asked whether Leon missed living in Wellkron.

“Sometimes,” Leon admitted. “Though I prefer Langrer in many respects. There is considerably more room to ride.”

“Oh, yes. You have mentioned liking riding.”

Leon laughed, a little embarrassed. “I suppose I have.”

“Do you go out often?”

“I prefer it in the mornings, before anyone has had the opportunity to find me and give me something to do. But there is seldom time for a proper ride before noon.” He glanced at René. “I noticed you walking in the mornings and thought I might try it myself.”

René glanced at him. “My father was involved in horse betting before his death. I spent a considerable part of my childhood listening to gentlemen discuss horses as though there were nothing else worth speaking about.”

“Was it truly so terrible?”

“You cannot imagine. Their legs, their teeth, their breeding, their chances of winning. I knew the names of half the horses in Wellkron before I could remember the names of any of my cousins.”

“That is rather impressive. And did you remember?”

“Unfortunately. My father liked to ask me questions when his friends visited.”

“Were you good at answering them?”

“Very. Which only encouraged him. I prefer drawing and reading. Anything that did not require me to hear another argument about the merits of a horse’s hindquarters.”

Leon nearly choked on his laughter. René smiled, pleased with himself.

“I do not dislike horses,” René added. “I simply had enough of them before I was eighteen.”

“That is a shame.”

“Is it?”

“A little. There is nothing quite like riding when the weather is fine and you have nowhere in particular to be.”

René glanced at him. “Why?”

Leon considered the question. He had never been particularly good at explaining what he liked about riding. Most people who rode understood without being told, and those who did not generally had little interest in hearing about it.

“I suppose because there is very little to think about once I am out there,” he said at last. “Not in the sense that I cease paying attention. Quite the opposite. I must watch the ground and listen to Blaze, and I know immediately if something troubles her. But there is no room for much else. The horse does not care whether I have answered a letter. She cares whether I know what I am asking her to do.”

“That sounds rather sensible of her. Is Blaze your horse? The black one that often walks the grounds?”

“Yes. I have had her for several years.”

“What is she like?”

“Proud. Impatient. Convinced that every other horse ought to make way for her.”

“You sound very fond of her,” René said as they turned about the lake’s edge. “Perhaps she takes after her master.”

Leon shook his head, smiling. René looked towards the lake for a moment.

“Does she frighten easily?”

“Not usually. Why?”

“I was wondering whether she is difficult to ride.”

“She can be rather spirited, but she is well trained. I would not put you on her without knowing how comfortable you were.”

“Oh, I am not afraid of horses, Mr. Meren. I merely prefer them when they are not being discussed over dinner.”

This led Leon into an account of the first time Blaze had shied at a shallow crossing, stopped so abruptly that Leon lost his seat, and deposited him rather unceremoniously in the mud. 

“The stablemaster saw everything,” Leon complained. “He was kind enough not to laugh until I had stood up.”

“And Blaze?”

“Looked very pleased with herself. I was furious with her at the time. But what was I supposed to do? I love her to a fault…”

René was laughing despite himself. “I am merely trying to imagine you sitting in the mud while your horse looks down upon you, quite satisfied with her superior judgment.” 

Leon’s face turned almost crimson. “It was not my finest morning…”

René was still smiling when they reached the bend in the path. They continued along the shore. By the time they reached the path from which they had begun, neither of them turned towards the house. They simply continued on.

They had nearly completed another stretch of the lake when Leon began complaining about the repairs to the western wing.

“It must be difficult to decide upon all the renovations,” René said after listening to Leon list his grievances.

“I have to agree. By now, I simply choose whatever is put before me. The marble fireplace and the gray tapestry, for instance.” Leon chuckled. “I believe I merely pointed at them.”

René chuckled, though his reply came dryly. “That will look monstrous, Mr. Meren.”

Leon smiled and shook his head, but René’s expression made it increasingly clear that he had not been joking.

“The colours will wash each other out, and the carpet will look hideous in such a gray, lifeless room.” Amusement crept into René’s voice as he shrugged and tilted his head toward Leon. “But if that is what you like, Mr. Meren, I am sure it will look acceptable in the end. Monstrously deformed, but acceptable.”

Leon parted his lips, then pressed them together as quickly as he could, but the laugh escaped him anyway. He wanted to tell René about another atrocious choice he had made the week before, but Odette appeared in the yard, her hands behind her back, waiting for Leon to return to his study. 

“I was about to have tea, Mr. Meren.” René took the path to the right, heading for the house. His smile softened. “You are welcome to join me if your work permits.” 

Leon glanced toward Odette. The work had not gone anywhere, and neither, judging by Odette’s patient expression, had she. Another hour would make little difference. He had spent remarkably little time in René’s company since their marriage, and this was the first occasion on which their conversation had lasted long enough for Leon to discover how much he enjoyed it.

“Tea would be very welcome,” Leon said.

Leon gave Odette a small, understanding nod, but followed René inside instead. The letters could wait. 

They walked along the inner side of the eastern wing and entered the drawing room. He knew René had first taken his tea in the smaller sitting room. Apparently, his drawings had required more space. Looking at the papers and pencils spread across the drawing-room furniture, Leon wondered how long this room would prove sufficient. 

The young maid assigned to René had placed the butter biscuits and tea among the papers, charcoal dust, and pencils.

“Mr. Meren,” she said before she had the chance to look up. “I have brought Eastern green tea this time—Oh, sir…” Her eyes widened when she saw Leon enter the room beside René, and she did her best to clear the charcoal and papers from the table. “Mr. Leon Meren, too,” she murmured, “I did not know you would be joining us… My apologies.”

“Elaine,” René whispered, approaching her. “Look.”

He opened his palms and let her peek inside. Immediately, her smile deepened. They stood almost whispering to each other, a blue glazed button between them as they talked about the birds. Elaine finally seemed to remember that she was whispering with René while Leon stood waiting. She quickly closed her hand around the button and slipped it into her pinafore.

“Mr. Meren.” She cleared her throat and smiled apologetically. “I am sorry. Please, take a seat here.” She moved more papers aside.

“Don’t mind me.” Leon chuckled.

“We will need a second cup. Thank you, Elaine,” René whispered.

Elaine excused herself, her ears still pink. Leon swallowed an amused chuckle as he watched her leave to retrieve a second cup. 

Leon sat at the table, looking at the biscuits and drawings the maid had not managed to scoop up before leaving. Some were mere sketches of people, one which Leon suspected was Elaine. Then some more unfinished hand drawings and faces.

Then he saw another of René’s drawings. The proportions of the horse were wrong, and the apples he had sketched did not look convincing, but the dates showed that these were his first tries. 

“Mr. Meren,” René murmured as he sat down, “please, do not laugh.” René lowered his eyes to his teacup as he noticed the smile pulling at the corners of Leon’s mouth.

“I apologize.” Leon tried to swallow his chuckle.

Elaine returned almost immediately, bringing the tea and the second teacup. She closed the door behind her as she left, her ears scarlet. The scent of green tea filled the room, mingling with René’s. His scent had been subtle enough that Leon had not recognized it before, but by now it had become familiar, settled and pleasant. 

Leon took his cup in his hands, hiding his smile behind it. “I suppose… the horse moved while you were drawing.” Leon chuckled into his cup.

“Mr. Meren…” René protested quietly, shaking his head. “Then please, by all means, show me how.” René grabbed a sheet of paper nearby and a pencil and handed them to him. 

Leon’s smile disappeared, and his eyes met René’s. René was waiting for him to take the paper. He set his teacup down and, with considerably less grace, took the materials and set them in front of him. He knew very well what horses looked like. Leon had ridden since he was twelve, had cared for his own horse since coming of age, and frequently enjoyed the ride to a hunt more than the hunt itself. 

But putting one on paper proved considerably more difficult. He could have protested that René had had the horse before him while drawing, but Leon knew that was a cheap excuse.

As he struggled to draw, René drank his tea and ate the biscuits, glancing out the window.

“My sister draws,” Leon said finally, examining the unfortunate creature taking shape beneath his pencil. “She is very gifted. I hope you can meet her soon.”

“I would like that. Perhaps she could improve my poor sketches.”

“She could certainly improve mine.”

René leaned forward to inspect the page.

“Oh, Mr. Meren.” He laughed before composing himself. “Which tea do you prefer, Mr. Meren?” René asked as he took another sip.

Leon’s hand stopped moving, his attention shifting entirely to the question before he returned to the sketch.

“I do not care much for tea,” Leon answered. “I prefer Harazi coffee.”

“I have never had coffee.” René tilted his head. “What is it like?”

“Um… It has a sharp bitterness. It is rather drying as well.” Leon paused. “Well, I am not making it sound very appetizing.” He chuckled. “Like roasted berries, perhaps.”

“I have heard it is brought from the Grand Levant,” René added, eating his biscuit.

“I can arrange to have some brought for your tea tomorrow, if you wish.”

“That would be very thoughtful. Thank you,” René murmured. “Then we shall have coffee tomorrow.”

Leon froze again. He managed a nod and scribbled some more, but eventually his work in the study gave him reason to leave René to the rest of his day.

“I wish you a pleasant day, Mr.—René.” Leon stood.

René looked up from his tea. His expression softened at the correction. “You too, Mr. Meren.”

Leon stood, leaving the unfortunate horse among René’s drawings. He had nearly reached the door when René spoke again.

“Do not forget the coffee.”

Leon glanced back. René had already returned to his tea, one hand curled around the cup.

“I won’t,” Leon said. 

When Leon returned to his study, Odette had arranged the unanswered letters neatly in the center of his desk. He sat down before them, picked up his pen, and stared at the first one for several moments.

Then he pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards himself.

The coffee was ordered before he answered anything else.