Cethe (45 page)

about a wager?”

“A wager?” Wariness appeared in the captain’s gaze.

“I wager that when I walk into the royal dining room, the woman on my arm wil be more beautiful than the woman on yours.

What do you say?” He grinned at the expression on Remy’s face. “Shal we find out the truth, Captain Remy? Who do women find

more al uring: the knight or the demon?”

Michael was late. Severyn sat at the head table, the sulking king on his left and Miss Eldering on his right. Away from the

intimidating presence of her aunt, Miss Stefanie did not seem so shy or reserved as in their previous meetings. She greeted him with

pretty charm and clearly enjoyed being led up the side of the long room on his arm. Nor did she lack for conversation. If Severyn

hadn’t so much on his mind, he might have even enjoyed himself.

Captain Remy made his appearance, escorting the Honorable Miss Elizabeth Castleton, one of Lothmont’s acknowledged

beauties. Under the interested stares of the assembly, he lingered before leaving her in her chair and going to his own.

Miss Eldering leaned toward Severyn conspiratorial y. “Lizzie shal be in ecstasy for a week over this, Your Highness.” Her

laughter was light and infectious. “Imagine! Escorted to dinner by the dashing Captain Remy! Surely it is the coup of the night! Al

our friends wil be terribly jealous!”

“Ah, but you are here with a prince,” he pointed out.

“Very true.” She gave him a sunny smile. He was suddenly reminded of Annie. “Stil , the Goddess has yet to make her

appearance.”

“The Goddess?” He could not help smiling at her. She wasn’t the least bit like Stefn, he decided.

“Lady Locke.” Her voice was hushed, reverent, her green eyes wide and fil ed with admiration. “The Archbishop did not come

this year, but of course, she would not miss the bal . Oooh! There she is!”

Lady Charity Westcott-Locke made her appearance, dressed al in red, her dark hair piled high. Long, graceful y curling

tresses escaped to caress her bare shoulders. No less decorative was her escort. His usual black and white made a dramatic foil for

the deep color of her gown, its dark crimson hue matched by his ruby earring, flashing and winking with each turn of his head.

Michael!

Severyn glanced at his fiancé and found her enraptured.

“So that is Lord Arranz!” breathed Miss Eldering. “Oh, my goodness! He looks so dangerous!”

On Severyn’s other side, Arami roused from his sulk long enough to sneer to his scowling wife, “I’d love to be a fly on the wal

when it gets back to your brother who his wife was fancying.”

“I don’t recal issuing him an invitation,” was Eleanor’s tight-lipped response. Her gaze scorched Severyn, who smiled weakly.

Arami smirked, delighted to have annoyed her.

While the entire room stared, Michael brought Lady Locke to her chair beside a dazzled Miss Eldering. As if no one else in the

room existed, he saw her seated, bowed over her hand, and murmured something that made her smile. Then, in the ringing silence,

he strol ed off to his own place at the most distant table.

Severyn, like everyone else, watched him go, and, like everyone else, could not help but see his brother’s retainers seat a

duke’s son among wealthy commoners and mid-level clerics. He turned to Arami, meaning to complain, but the king was busily

gulping down his wine and cal ing for more. Deprived of pelthe, Arami would simply drink himself into a similar stupor. When he was

in one of his moods there was no stopping him. And lately, it seemed, he more often in one of his moods than not. Eleanor, however,

saw Severyn’s expression and interpreted it correctly. Her mouth tilted into a tiny smile and, satisfied she’d had the last laugh, she

turned to the nobleman on her other side and engaged him in conversation.

When Severyn was king, there would be no more official slights or insults. The secretary who put Michael Arranz anywhere

but at his right hand would be out of a job within a heartbeat.

Another glass of wine vanished down the king’s royal throat. Conversation had started up again, but there were frequent,

covert glances toward their table.

“Arami… ”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” retorted his brother, beckoning to a hesitant servant impatiently.

“You’l be too drunk to give your address.”

“Why don’t you give it? You’d make a better king, anyway! Everyone says so.”

The conversation in their immediate vicinity abruptly died away. Acutely conscious that Arami’s voice was rising, Severyn

laughed. “Don’t be an ass, brother. It’s too much responsibility for me, thank you!” He nodded to the hovering servant who sprang

forward to replenish the king’s glass.

Arami’s lip twisted. “Damn right,” he snarled and tossed off the glass in a single gulp.

The last guest was seated. Severyn held his breath as Arami lurched to his feet. The entire hal fel silent. The guests looked

expectantly toward their king, who inelegantly wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He looked blearily around. “Ladies and Gentlemen,

welcome to the annual Greening fete. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Thank you for coming.”

He sat down. Severyn fought the impulse to rise and quickly take over. Instead, he lifted his hands and politely applauded.

After a moment, others took it up. Arami simply stared gloomily out over the assembly and had another glass of wine.

After dinner, Severyn shook off the attentions of several lords and went in search of Michael. He found his friend outside the

bal room, accepting a smal , leather pouch from Captain Remy. The Archbishop’s personal aide bowed when Severyn joined them,

but quickly made his excuses and hurried away.

“I, for one, have always appreciated the brief dinner address,” Michael greeted the prince, his lips twitching.

“Arami excel ed himself tonight,” Severyn muttered. “And what the hel ? Why was Remy giving you money?”

Michael’s grin was positively wicked. After learning about the wager, Severyn laughed aloud. “Fifty gold? Good God, Mick! Do

you mean to beggar the poor man?”

“What could he do? Claim his lord’s wife inferior to some ordinary maiden?”

Severyn chortled. Seizing Michael by the arm, he drew him through the crowd and out onto the terrace. There, beyond the

hearing of nearby guests, he said in a low voice, “Seriously, Mick. Arami is getting bad. I’ve heard no end of complaints tonight.

More worrying stil is the way the Church is stepping in to fil the gaps. We may have to move sooner than I’d planned.”

“We may not have to do anything. After tonight’s display, the Advisori may even ask for a Declaration of Incompetence.”

“Who would have the courage to propose it? By law, I cannot, and even if someone takes the risk, nothing less than a

unanimous vote wil do. The Church has enough lapdogs among them to keep them impotent.”

Michael sat down on a bench beside the balustrade, gazing down the gentle, manicured slope to the lake. In the east, the sky

was brightening.

“What happened to Miss Eldering?”

“Whisked away by her aunt. Lady Scott-Eldering did inform me, however, that Miss Eldering wil enter half-mourning next

month and, hence, be available for sedate social amusements.”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself tonight,” was his unsympathetic friend’s response. “She is very… ” he broke off,

yawning. “ …pretty. Ugh. Surely it’s permitted to go home and to bed? I swear that is dawn I see coming.”

Severyn couldn’t help yawning himself. He looked back into the bal room. There was no sign of the festivities letting up. Arami

had gone back to ground, of course. Severyn knew he should stay and cover the host responsibilities, but: “Let’s go. It’s Arami’s

party, damn it. I’m tired of playing clean-up.”

Michael didn’t argue. He fol owed Severyn down the terrace steps and onto the lawn, circling around the palace to the stables.

Before they got there, however, Michael slowed and stopped.

“Something’s not right,” he said slowly. “It’s been bothering me since dinner.”

“What?”

“Remy. He was uncommonly interested in my romantic affairs.” Michael frowned thoughtful y at the path. “And there was

something else, something about him. Something familiar.”

“Perhaps you’ve met before and just don’t remember.”

“Forget meeting him? Not likely!”

“Aha. Does our unlucky earl have competition?” Severyn grinned at Michael’s expression. “He is a handsome devil.”

Michael laughed. “I’d sooner take a snake to bed,” he replied with feeling. “And speaking of snakes, I wonder what kept His

Eminence from attending tonight? Charity didn’t know much. Only that he had planned to attend, but was cal ed away at the last

moment on Council business.”

“I can’t say I missed him.”

They walked on, reaching the stables. Severyn’s unannounced appearance sent the grooms and stableboys into a tizzy, but in

short order, his carriage was brought around.

“I’l give you a ride to your hotel,” he said, when Michael started to climb into it. “Maybe I’l stop at the club on the way back

and have a bit of breakfast.”

The bridge was mostly empty when the carriage pul ed out onto it. Their running lights reflected in the dark water on either

side.

“I think I’l go to Shia,” Michael said.

Severyn had fended off several of these intentions since the aborted wedding. “Why not go home for a week or two, instead?

I should pay a visit to Messerling, now that I think of it. We could travel together.”

Severyn waited, hoping to hear Michael agree, but, instead, his friend was silent.

“Healing Arami was the first time I’ve used my power since the business in Fornsby. It tired me out more than I expected.”

“How could that be? Witch power alone is sufficient for healing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s been almost three months since I was last with Stefn.” Michael frowned thoughtful y. “I wonder if there’s more to

the Bond than we know.” He sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “Sometimes, Sev, I feel like I’m making my way blind

through the darkness with this thing, not knowing what to expect, relying only on folk-stories and family legend. The last time I was

in Withwil ow, Locke hinted there might be a third Chronicle, one concerning the nara exclusively. I wonder?” The quiet voice trailed

off into silence.

Severyn wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The line of Michael’s throat, the clean, hard curve of his jaw… Before he knew

what he was doing, Severyn was on his feet. Leaning across the space between them, he kissed Michael squarely on the mouth.

“Mmg!” Michael sat up straight, eyes flying wide open.

Reason reclaimed the prince who felt a sudden rush of heat and embarrassment. He sat down hastily. His heart was pounding

as if he’d run a mile at top speed.

“S-Sev?”

“N-never mind,” muttered Severyn, aghast at his own action. “I-I… It’s the party. Too much to drink.”

They rode in uncomfortable silence the remainder of the way back to the hotel.

Once the war ended, St. Aramis magnanimously extended to the surviving nara his mercy and forgiveness. Although the

bishops advised against it, he gave many their lands back and restored their titles. If he could be faulted for anything in his

shortsightedness, it is for his great generosity of spirit and extending the Light of Loth’s forgiveness where it was undeserved.

from:
The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume II
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1349

A week passed, but there was no word from Severyn. Michael final y sent a note to the palace, something noncommittal, with

no mention of the kiss in the carriage. He received no answer.

He could stil remember the shock on Severyn’s face afterwards. What had he been thinking? Why had he done such a thing?

They were both half-drunk. Did he think Michael was angry or, more likely, was Severyn ashamed of himself?

“I’m going to Shia,” Michael announced suddenly.

Jeremy sighed, propping his boots up on the ottoman and swal owing the last of his whiskey. Outside, rain beat against the

windows and thunder rol ed across Lothmont. Spring had arrived in the central val ey with a vengeance; endless rain and flooding

downriver. Inside the Fairhands Club, however, Michael, Jeremy and Auron were cozy and wel -fed, having just finished an excel ent

supper.

“Are you going to tel Severyn? What the devil is going on with you two, anyway? Did you have a fal ing out?”

“Not real y.” Michael didn’t want to talk about it.

“We can ride up together,” suggested Auron.

“I’l have to stop at Blackmarsh first. Annie writes that Father’s health is even worse than usual. As she reminds me, an eldest

son must occasional y do his duty.”

“For Miss Annabel, I would consider duty a pleasure!”

Michael bared his teeth. “Come within arm’s reach of her, Auron, and I’l end your chances of fatherhood forever.”

Auron grabbed a nearby periodical to shield his lap. “Now, now, Mick. You know I hold your saintly sister in the highest regard.

”

Michael shrugged. “She fancies Forry anyway.”

“Forry? That stick?” Auron was stricken. “You cannot be serious!”

“And why not?” demanded Jeremy. “Forry’s a nice, respectable sort of fel ow, with a good title and a prosperous parish.

Women like that sort of thing.”

“Alas. It’s true. Money is al . Men such as myself may be wel -endowed with looks, intel ect and charm, but without a