puzzled by his uncle’s obtuse answer. “Then how did you and Kirah catch them?”
“It’s a long story better told when we’re both older.” Guerrand found himself hugging his nephew’s already broad shoulders fiercely, which surprised them both. He realized now that he’d spoken incorrectly about being the only male DiThon with a sense of honor. He only hoped Bram would be able to hold on to his. “You’re a good person, Bram. Remember to always do what you know in your heart is right.”
This strangely timed advice confused Bram even more. He looked at the older man oddly as they separated, then strode down the hallway toward the staircase. “I’ll remember, Rand,” he called just before disappearing from sight.
Guerrand hastened toward his room. The hand he placed on the latch was shaking. By the time he got inside, the anger that had held him up before Cormac had burned away like fuel oil. He felt weak-kneed and wanted only to collapse; he would have if his armorhad not been still spread across his bed, where he had left it the night before.
Guerrand slipped off his gauntlets. He shook the left one gently, letting the shard of magical glass slide onto a free space on the bed. His fingers met with the cool, smooth surface of Belize’s mirror. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, he avoided looking into the glass, placing the shard behind the washing bowl on his table.
He quickly cleared the bed and pulled off his tunic, breeches, and boots. Then Guerrand sank into the down quilt on his bed. His exhaustion was less of the body than of the mind, and yet the body was beyond tired, too, having skulked around and ridden on horseback all night. He half suspected Cormac would come pound on the door and try to continue the argument. Perhaps his elder brother was trying out some newfound wisdom. Guerrand thought it more likely that Cormac didn’t know what to do and was discussing Guerrand’s “abominable behavior” with Rietta, who would likely arrive any moment to set him straight.
The problem is, he thought, unable to stifle a groggy yawn, I’m no longer sure which way is straight.
* * * * *
“Kyeow!”
You look like something out of the Abyss!
Guerrand’s eyes flew open. Propping himself up on one elbow, he squinted toward the tall, narrow window that overlooked the strait. Guerrand held a hand up to shield his eyes from the orange light he knew meant it was early evening; he’d slept the day away. His familiar stood on the sill, as if outlined by fire.
“Oh, hello, Zagarus.” Guerrand rubbed the sleep from his eyes, more than a little surprised that Cormac had left him alone all day.
The black-backed sea gull leaped from the sill in onebound and strode across the room on his sticklike yellow legs. Hopping onto the bed, he took one step across the feather tick and, with a webbed foot, kicked Guerrand in the ribs.
“Oww!” cried Guerrand as he rolled away, more startled than hurt by the rubbery little foot. He glared at the sea gull. “What in Habbakuk’s name is the matter with you?”
That
, said the sea gull with an imperious tilt to his beak,
is for having the biggest adventure since I’ve been your familiar and not telling me about it
. He looked almost petulant, with his wings folded before him.
I had to hear it from those preposterous pelicans who live out on Full Moon Point. It was humiliating!
“Let me assure you, my evening wasn’t fun either.” For Zagarus’s sake, he swallowed a smile. “I’m sorry, Zag. I didn’t tell you last night because I intended only to get proof that these men were Quinn’s killers. Besides, I was afraid you’d tell Kirah and you’d both want to come along.”
So you took Kirah!
“That wasn’t
my
idea. She was spying and followed me to the stable. I either had to leave her on the moor or take her along to keep her quiet.” Guerrand swung his legs out of bed and sat up, rubbing his neck. “I should have left her, too, because she
“It’s a long story better told when we’re both older.” Guerrand found himself hugging his nephew’s already broad shoulders fiercely, which surprised them both. He realized now that he’d spoken incorrectly about being the only male DiThon with a sense of honor. He only hoped Bram would be able to hold on to his. “You’re a good person, Bram. Remember to always do what you know in your heart is right.”
This strangely timed advice confused Bram even more. He looked at the older man oddly as they separated, then strode down the hallway toward the staircase. “I’ll remember, Rand,” he called just before disappearing from sight.
Guerrand hastened toward his room. The hand he placed on the latch was shaking. By the time he got inside, the anger that had held him up before Cormac had burned away like fuel oil. He felt weak-kneed and wanted only to collapse; he would have if his armorhad not been still spread across his bed, where he had left it the night before.
Guerrand slipped off his gauntlets. He shook the left one gently, letting the shard of magical glass slide onto a free space on the bed. His fingers met with the cool, smooth surface of Belize’s mirror. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, he avoided looking into the glass, placing the shard behind the washing bowl on his table.
He quickly cleared the bed and pulled off his tunic, breeches, and boots. Then Guerrand sank into the down quilt on his bed. His exhaustion was less of the body than of the mind, and yet the body was beyond tired, too, having skulked around and ridden on horseback all night. He half suspected Cormac would come pound on the door and try to continue the argument. Perhaps his elder brother was trying out some newfound wisdom. Guerrand thought it more likely that Cormac didn’t know what to do and was discussing Guerrand’s “abominable behavior” with Rietta, who would likely arrive any moment to set him straight.
The problem is, he thought, unable to stifle a groggy yawn, I’m no longer sure which way is straight.
* * * * *
“Kyeow!”
You look like something out of the Abyss!
Guerrand’s eyes flew open. Propping himself up on one elbow, he squinted toward the tall, narrow window that overlooked the strait. Guerrand held a hand up to shield his eyes from the orange light he knew meant it was early evening; he’d slept the day away. His familiar stood on the sill, as if outlined by fire.
“Oh, hello, Zagarus.” Guerrand rubbed the sleep from his eyes, more than a little surprised that Cormac had left him alone all day.
The black-backed sea gull leaped from the sill in onebound and strode across the room on his sticklike yellow legs. Hopping onto the bed, he took one step across the feather tick and, with a webbed foot, kicked Guerrand in the ribs.
“Oww!” cried Guerrand as he rolled away, more startled than hurt by the rubbery little foot. He glared at the sea gull. “What in Habbakuk’s name is the matter with you?”
That
, said the sea gull with an imperious tilt to his beak,
is for having the biggest adventure since I’ve been your familiar and not telling me about it
. He looked almost petulant, with his wings folded before him.
I had to hear it from those preposterous pelicans who live out on Full Moon Point. It was humiliating!
“Let me assure you, my evening wasn’t fun either.” For Zagarus’s sake, he swallowed a smile. “I’m sorry, Zag. I didn’t tell you last night because I intended only to get proof that these men were Quinn’s killers. Besides, I was afraid you’d tell Kirah and you’d both want to come along.”
So you took Kirah!
“That wasn’t
my
idea. She was spying and followed me to the stable. I either had to leave her on the moor or take her along to keep her quiet.” Guerrand swung his legs out of bed and sat up, rubbing his neck. “I should have left her, too, because she
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