"My mother," Caelith replied softly.
"And your mother's name?"
She hesitated, the question catching her unprepared. "…She passed away many years ago."
At once, something in the old woman's gaze shifted—growing layered, unreadable.
"A fine hand indeed," she said at last. "A rare one."
She turned to leave. At the threshold, she paused briefly. "Lucas, your judgment does you credit. This young lady's skill is indeed exceptional."
Lucas smiled lightly. "Naturally."
The old woman departed.
Caelith remained where she stood, momentarily at a loss.
Lucas approached and spoke in a low voice, "My godmother—Lady Lian. She has been at the embroidery house for thirty years. What she says… is as good as law."
***
That afternoon, Caelith was summoned to the rear courtyard.
