Daughter of Regals by Stephen R. Donaldson

place of courage. “You dream
high, Wallin. Servants are usually too wise for such ambition.”
    His smile was handsome
and malign. “But I am no servant,” he replied. His eyes glittered like bits of
stone. “I am Kodar the rebel, and my dreams have always been high.”
    He astonished me—not in
what he said (though it had surprised me entirely) but in that I believed him
instantly. “Kodar?” I snapped, not doubting him, or what he would say, but
seeking only to cover my dismay while he spoke. “Again you lie. It is known to
half the realm that even now Kodar and his rebels prepare an assault upon
Lodan.”
    He appeared to find a
genuine pleasure in my belligerence. Softly, he stroked the side of my neck
with his knife. “Of a certainty,” he replied smugly. “It has required great
cunning of me to ensure that every spy in the Three Kingdoms knows what my
forces will do. But my end has been accomplished. While lesser men fight and
die in my name, attracting all attention to themselves, my best aides and I
have found employment here, disguised as servants. Unsuspected, we have placed
ourselves in readiness for this night.
    “My companion and I will
slit your throat.” The tip of his blade dug in until I winced. “Then we will
summon the other monarchs to private audiences with you, and we will slit their
throats.” He made no attempt to hide his relish. ‘Then my men will fall upon
the Mages and noblemen loyal to my enemies. Your Ryzel will not be spared.
Before dawn, the rule of the realm will be ours. In truth, the rule will be
mine, though my companion will assume that place.” He considered himself clever
in concealing the identity of his ally from me. “In that way,” he said with a
smirk, “my success will be as high as my dreams.
    “Lest you misunderstand
at all,” he concluded, “let me assure you that I have never felt the slightest
desire for you or your person. You are a savorless morsel at best, and I would
not sully myself with you.”
    I heard him in silence.
But if he thought that his insults would hurt me, he had misjudged his victim.
His contempt only brought me back to clarity. To all appearances, my attention
remained transfixed upon him; but within myself I was gone, see* king help and
hope in places where he could not follow.
    He looked at me
narrowly. His excitement or his arrogance required the vindication of a
response. “You would do well to speak,” he said with velvet menace. “If you
plead with me, perhaps I will spare you briefly.”
    I did not speak; I did
not risk provoking him. I did not want to die. [wanted to learn who his
confederate was.
    A frown pinched the
flesh between his brows. His desire to see me grovel was unmistakable. But
before he could attempt to dismay me by other means, a faint knocking at the
door interrupted him.
    Nothing kindled in me at
the sound. It was clearly a signal—a coded sequence of taps for Kodar’s
benefit, not mine. He cocked his head, at once gratified and vexed— gratified
that his plans developed apace, vexed that he had no abject victim to show for his
pains. Yet he did not hesitate; he had not come so far by giving spite precedence
over ambition. Lithe and virile, he strode to the door and tapped a response.
    When his question was
answered, he unbolted the door and opened it, admitting Queen Damia to my
chambers.
    She appeared more
radiant than ever. As Kodar sealed the door again, she hung her arms around his
neck and kissed him as if she were insatiable for him.
    His ardor in return was
everything a woman could have wished, yet she broke off their embrace before he
was done with it. Her gaze turned to me, and her eyes were bright.
    “Kodar, my love,” she
beamed. “You have done well.
    She considers herself
defiant, but she will make an apt sacrifice nonetheless. I am pleased.”
    Watching her, I wondered
if Kodar had noticed the subtle way in which she had already taken command of
the room, reducing him from mastery to