take a good tot of spirits for a nightcap.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Do you think I should watch Lord Skellhaven to be sure—
“I believe he’s an honest man, by his own lights. Don’t worry about him. And for heaven’s sake, don’t strain yourself with any more windwatching tonight.”
“The body—”
“The duke will see to it. We’ll say the man died of virulent colic brought on by the dicky rabbit pie. Off you go, now.”
The prince entered his improvised sleeping chamber. The great bed with its brocaded tester and coverlet had to have been disassembled and brought in piece by piece, for it nearly filled the entire scribe’s office. There were tarnsticks on a sidetable beside the candle and he struck one. The thing flared, then died. Damp, probably. Conrig cursed and scratched another against the wood of the table. When it also refused to light, he used his talent to ignite the wick, closed the door, and removed a silver flask from his trussing coffer. He tossed back a hearty swig of malt liquor and sat down on a stool to pull off his boots—
Froze as he felt the presence, smelled the warm green scent of vetiver.
The bed hangings parted, and a lovely narrow face peered out. Her eyes shone like green jade, and her long wavy hair was the color of pearls, covering her bare breasts like a silken shift.
“You!” he exclaimed, starting to his feet. “Were—were you watching again?”
Smiling, she put up a warning finger. “Hush. We don’t want to disturb the others, my prince. I saw you with Vanguard and Beorbrook and Skellhaven, but I did not eavesdrop, for I cannot do lip-reading. My lips are fashioned for other purposes.”
“Great God, lady—!”
She had left the bed, naked as a fish, and was unfastening his doublet, easing it off, opening his shirt. “All has gone perfectly, hasn’t it? And now you shall tell me everything and then claim your reward.” She opened her arms and the veil of shining hair fell to each side. “I assure you that my Sending enjoys every attribute of my true self.”
The prince felt the blood rising within him. He had to force the words from his throat. “I—I am a married man, and faithful to my vows.”
A laugh, sweetly scornful. “Your sharp-spoken Tarnian wife has given you no children during your six years of marriage, and for some time you have secretly despised her.”
“That’s not true!”
“You have even considered putting her aside, now that the alliance with Tarn is no longer crucial to Cathran state policy.”
“How did you know—”
“I know so many things about you.” She embraced him. Her mouth was hot and tasted of exotic honey. “Are you afraid of me, Conrig Wincantor?”
“No,” he lied, and crushed her to him, returning the kiss.
==========
Snudge lay on his pallet in the room above. He had drunk a fair amount of ardent spirits and his talent was extinct as a result, useless as a blown-out taper. But his mind’s eye still saw a wrathful face, a wide-open mouth full of rotten teeth, ferocious magic glittering in jet-black eyes. He sensed his own doom approaching, cloaked in paralyzing frost, and his windvoice screamed.
Damn you! You won’t! You won’t do that to me!
His dagger vibrated with the last drumbeat throb of a stricken human heart. He heard the frenzied windcry—Beynor!—and those eyes bright with dreadful life turned flat and dull and dead, only to open again and threaten and freeze and die once more.
He prayed for sleep, but it would not come.
----
seven
The king had already closed his eyes when Vra-Kilian Blackhorse came into the royal bedchamber in Cala Palace, scowling like the wrath of God, and commanded everyone to withdraw. The hovering courtiers and Princess Maudrayne and her red-bearded barbarian shaman went out obediently, but Queen Cataldise had no fear of her imperious older brother and refused to budge.
“I won’t have you upsetting the King’s Grace, Kilian,” she said, gentle but
“Thank you, Your Grace. Do you think I should watch Lord Skellhaven to be sure—
“I believe he’s an honest man, by his own lights. Don’t worry about him. And for heaven’s sake, don’t strain yourself with any more windwatching tonight.”
“The body—”
“The duke will see to it. We’ll say the man died of virulent colic brought on by the dicky rabbit pie. Off you go, now.”
The prince entered his improvised sleeping chamber. The great bed with its brocaded tester and coverlet had to have been disassembled and brought in piece by piece, for it nearly filled the entire scribe’s office. There were tarnsticks on a sidetable beside the candle and he struck one. The thing flared, then died. Damp, probably. Conrig cursed and scratched another against the wood of the table. When it also refused to light, he used his talent to ignite the wick, closed the door, and removed a silver flask from his trussing coffer. He tossed back a hearty swig of malt liquor and sat down on a stool to pull off his boots—
Froze as he felt the presence, smelled the warm green scent of vetiver.
The bed hangings parted, and a lovely narrow face peered out. Her eyes shone like green jade, and her long wavy hair was the color of pearls, covering her bare breasts like a silken shift.
“You!” he exclaimed, starting to his feet. “Were—were you watching again?”
Smiling, she put up a warning finger. “Hush. We don’t want to disturb the others, my prince. I saw you with Vanguard and Beorbrook and Skellhaven, but I did not eavesdrop, for I cannot do lip-reading. My lips are fashioned for other purposes.”
“Great God, lady—!”
She had left the bed, naked as a fish, and was unfastening his doublet, easing it off, opening his shirt. “All has gone perfectly, hasn’t it? And now you shall tell me everything and then claim your reward.” She opened her arms and the veil of shining hair fell to each side. “I assure you that my Sending enjoys every attribute of my true self.”
The prince felt the blood rising within him. He had to force the words from his throat. “I—I am a married man, and faithful to my vows.”
A laugh, sweetly scornful. “Your sharp-spoken Tarnian wife has given you no children during your six years of marriage, and for some time you have secretly despised her.”
“That’s not true!”
“You have even considered putting her aside, now that the alliance with Tarn is no longer crucial to Cathran state policy.”
“How did you know—”
“I know so many things about you.” She embraced him. Her mouth was hot and tasted of exotic honey. “Are you afraid of me, Conrig Wincantor?”
“No,” he lied, and crushed her to him, returning the kiss.
==========
Snudge lay on his pallet in the room above. He had drunk a fair amount of ardent spirits and his talent was extinct as a result, useless as a blown-out taper. But his mind’s eye still saw a wrathful face, a wide-open mouth full of rotten teeth, ferocious magic glittering in jet-black eyes. He sensed his own doom approaching, cloaked in paralyzing frost, and his windvoice screamed.
Damn you! You won’t! You won’t do that to me!
His dagger vibrated with the last drumbeat throb of a stricken human heart. He heard the frenzied windcry—Beynor!—and those eyes bright with dreadful life turned flat and dull and dead, only to open again and threaten and freeze and die once more.
He prayed for sleep, but it would not come.
----
seven
The king had already closed his eyes when Vra-Kilian Blackhorse came into the royal bedchamber in Cala Palace, scowling like the wrath of God, and commanded everyone to withdraw. The hovering courtiers and Princess Maudrayne and her red-bearded barbarian shaman went out obediently, but Queen Cataldise had no fear of her imperious older brother and refused to budge.
“I won’t have you upsetting the King’s Grace, Kilian,” she said, gentle but
Similar Books
