the cobbler—they were disgruntled with Abramm’s toleration of the Mataio, so I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear how Bonafil and his boys were driven from the coronation. I want you to see that they are ecstatic.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, then.”
It was not a direct dismissal, but one Vesprit should have read as such. Still he stayed, concern flickering through his essence.
“What is it now, Underwarhast?”
“What about Abramm himself, sir? Shall we continue our work on him at the same pace or intensify?”
Hazmul snorted. “Of course not! What have you been doing for the last four thousand years?”
The warm lemon of surprise flared across Vesprit’s form. “I’ve spent all of it in the deep south, sir. There haven’t been too many with the Light. And I thought the rule was that whenever they have a success we’re to immediately pound them with a counterattack.”
“That is only one of several relevant guidelines, all of which must be considered together: flexibility, variability, and target awareness are also in view here. If we become so predictable he knows what we’re doing, we’ve lost our advantage. He’s on to us now, ready for another attack. So we’ll let him think he’s won for a time, while we turn our efforts in other directions.”
Vesprit’s saffron glow deepened with understanding and approval. “I see, sir.”
“I’m thinking it would be profitable to play on Lady Madeleine’s feelings for him. She’ll try to ignore them, of course, but we won’t let that happen. In fact . . . if we can tease his to the fore, as well . . . why, that would be perfect.”
“Perfect, sir? I thought she was a danger to us. That she made him too strong.”
“That was before the coronation. Now she is merely her sister’s rival for his attentions. . . . If she can win him, and we can provoke him to act upon his feelings . . .”
“Oh yes. I see, sir. It’s brilliant!” Vesprit’s sudden flush of awe was so profoundly stimulating, Hazmul had to struggle for a few moments to keep his host’s aura placid. At length he gave a brief nod, as if Vesprit’s reverence made no difference. “You may go then, Underwarhast.”
As Vesprit shifted phase and flew off, Hazmul turned to the other Bright One who had come in during their conversation and waited quietly in the sidelines. “Now, about the king’s brother . . .”
CHAPTER
6
At dusk, just after the banquet ended, everyone went out on the terrace and balconies to view the fireworks shot off over the bay. Then Abramm started the coronation ball by dancing a solo round with Lady Madeleine, again serving as stand-in for his absent bride-to-be. She was as stiff and cool as she’d been at dinner, hardly looking at him, hardly talking, hardly even touching him. As soon as her duty was done, she made herself part of the crowd and, throughout the remainder of the evening, managed to elude him every time he tried to seek her out—though occasionally he did catch her looking at him from across the room. Eventually she disappeared altogether, and though he feared at first that she’d retired for the night, on further consideration, he decided she had more likely escaped to the royal gardens, lit up tonight in concert with the ball.
Hoping to catch her there, he set out on a stroll with Trap Meridon, ostensibly to discuss the day—the ball had been afire with talk of all that had happened in connection with his coronation—and his plan to visit Graymeer’s tomorrow. They hadn’t gone far before Channon quietly reported that Maddie was in the tea garden, giving direction to Abramm’s strolling.
As they came out on the uppermost terrace of the multileveled tea garden, an armsman stepped from the concealing shadows and directed Abramm’s eye to the cloaked figure standing below them at one of the garden’s mid-level overlooks. Lights glimmered in the surrounding foliage and lit the overlook’s railing. Below her, nestled at the
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, then.”
It was not a direct dismissal, but one Vesprit should have read as such. Still he stayed, concern flickering through his essence.
“What is it now, Underwarhast?”
“What about Abramm himself, sir? Shall we continue our work on him at the same pace or intensify?”
Hazmul snorted. “Of course not! What have you been doing for the last four thousand years?”
The warm lemon of surprise flared across Vesprit’s form. “I’ve spent all of it in the deep south, sir. There haven’t been too many with the Light. And I thought the rule was that whenever they have a success we’re to immediately pound them with a counterattack.”
“That is only one of several relevant guidelines, all of which must be considered together: flexibility, variability, and target awareness are also in view here. If we become so predictable he knows what we’re doing, we’ve lost our advantage. He’s on to us now, ready for another attack. So we’ll let him think he’s won for a time, while we turn our efforts in other directions.”
Vesprit’s saffron glow deepened with understanding and approval. “I see, sir.”
“I’m thinking it would be profitable to play on Lady Madeleine’s feelings for him. She’ll try to ignore them, of course, but we won’t let that happen. In fact . . . if we can tease his to the fore, as well . . . why, that would be perfect.”
“Perfect, sir? I thought she was a danger to us. That she made him too strong.”
“That was before the coronation. Now she is merely her sister’s rival for his attentions. . . . If she can win him, and we can provoke him to act upon his feelings . . .”
“Oh yes. I see, sir. It’s brilliant!” Vesprit’s sudden flush of awe was so profoundly stimulating, Hazmul had to struggle for a few moments to keep his host’s aura placid. At length he gave a brief nod, as if Vesprit’s reverence made no difference. “You may go then, Underwarhast.”
As Vesprit shifted phase and flew off, Hazmul turned to the other Bright One who had come in during their conversation and waited quietly in the sidelines. “Now, about the king’s brother . . .”
CHAPTER
6
At dusk, just after the banquet ended, everyone went out on the terrace and balconies to view the fireworks shot off over the bay. Then Abramm started the coronation ball by dancing a solo round with Lady Madeleine, again serving as stand-in for his absent bride-to-be. She was as stiff and cool as she’d been at dinner, hardly looking at him, hardly talking, hardly even touching him. As soon as her duty was done, she made herself part of the crowd and, throughout the remainder of the evening, managed to elude him every time he tried to seek her out—though occasionally he did catch her looking at him from across the room. Eventually she disappeared altogether, and though he feared at first that she’d retired for the night, on further consideration, he decided she had more likely escaped to the royal gardens, lit up tonight in concert with the ball.
Hoping to catch her there, he set out on a stroll with Trap Meridon, ostensibly to discuss the day—the ball had been afire with talk of all that had happened in connection with his coronation—and his plan to visit Graymeer’s tomorrow. They hadn’t gone far before Channon quietly reported that Maddie was in the tea garden, giving direction to Abramm’s strolling.
As they came out on the uppermost terrace of the multileveled tea garden, an armsman stepped from the concealing shadows and directed Abramm’s eye to the cloaked figure standing below them at one of the garden’s mid-level overlooks. Lights glimmered in the surrounding foliage and lit the overlook’s railing. Below her, nestled at the
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