The Red Knight (8 page)

Bear always got the good stuff, Talin mused groggily when he woke from the Pel-induced slumber. He’d never dreamed of nymphs before; they were delightful, and outrageously rude. He grinned, the warmth still lingering in his groin from the almost embarrassingly real dream. That was damn good Pel: strong—despite having been mixed with chocolate to take the edge off the bitterness.

He stretched out on the bench beneath the ancient wisteria knotted into the garden wall. It was one of his favourite hiding places, one he used quite often when he needed to escape the tedious demands of his so-called ‘duties’. He’d already swapped his fine robes and princely circlet in favour of a plain grey shirt, black breeches, and an old pair of boots. When Bear got back from wherever in the Void she’d gone to get wine, they would sneak into the city, and join in with the celebrations by way of visiting their favourite brothel. The drugs and wine were splendid; now all he needed was a tumble with one or two of Madame Medelle’s best before he had to come back and sit through yet another dull state feast. Why he had to be there while his father entertained a bunch of charmless knights was beyond him.

He immediately forgot all thoughts of escape when the dark haired woman wandered into the garden. Dressed like a Tamalak, he particularly liked the way the scarlet tunic was split to her waist, revealing the fitted hose and doeskin boots. She had long, black hair, held back from her lovely, if rather serious face, by a simple silver band. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he knew her from. He stifled a yawn. The Pel was still fogging his brain; it wasn’t like him to forget an attractive acquaintance. Whoever she was, she hadn’t seen him lying in the shadows and he wasn’t in any hurry to reveal his presence. It was terribly rude to spy on her, but she looked so content, he didn’t want to announce himself and spoil the moment for either of them.

He watched her until the sun dipped behind the walls and the layered shadows of the Arth were banished, one by one, as torches were lit, and the windows poured gold into the darkened garden. She opened her eyes, stretched and got up to leave. Talin was trapped by indecision. If he showed himself, he’d be in the awkward position of having to explain why he hadn’t made himself known earlier. He could stay hidden, and she would leave none the wiser, but then he wouldn’t find out who she was and that suddenly struck him as something he very much wanted to know. Damn it, he was the heir to the throne. He didn’t have to explain anything. Before she reached the door he stepped from the shadows, and cleared his throat.

“Good evening, my lady,” he said, and flashed what he knew to be a charming smile.

She looked more angry than surprised. He girded himself for a tongue lashing which would last just until she recognised who he was, and then the fawning and giggling would begin. Her hard expression softened. She looked him up and down and relaxed her stance. He waited for the apology and coy smiles that invariably followed chance meetings with his noble self.

Close up, she was even fairer than he’d thought. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to go into the city for a fumble after all. Being the heir to the throne had always proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac. Perhaps he could charm her out of that, very nicely fitted tunic, despite the Tamalak reputation for being a little on the cold side. He stopped his thoughts travelling too far down that road when he noticed she hadn’t bowed, or curtsied or even stammered an apology. He smiled again. She looked as though she expected
him
to speak. He felt a rare thrill;
she doesn’t know who I am
. That put bells on the hawk, and made the game much more interesting.

“Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he bowed.

She arched an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t lurk in the shadows, sir.”

“True enough. Although in my defence, I didn’t speak up because I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”

The corner of her mouth twitched into a tiny smile. He wasn’t sure he liked this game after all.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t scare you.” He added.

Her smile widened. “Rest easy, sir, you didn’t scare me.”

Was she laughing at him? That wasn’t the response he was used to.

Silence descended as he fumbled for something to say that wouldn’t betray who he was, or make him sound like a lack-wit.
Prince
Talin could talk about anything, he had a thousand conversations stored for when he met an awestruck subject, but he didn’t want to play the Prince card yet, it smacked of failure. The game was still on, although it had to be said, the cards were not falling in his favour at the moment. Despite that, he found he rather liked the equality; the honesty of the encounter. The awkward silence was refreshing compared to the gushing, false pleasantry his title engendered in almost everyone he met.

“Are you here for the feast?” He cringed the moment the words left his mouth. It suddenly occurred to him that without a crown to prompt a favourable reaction, he might actually be rather dull. It was a sobering thought. She must have sensed his embarrassment, and rather than mock his failed attempt at making polite conversation, she smiled and played along.

“Aye, I am. How about you?” she said.

Before he could answer, Bear staggered into the garden. Talin sighed. Late or early, Iris was never where you wanted her, when you wanted her.

“Tal, is that you,” she asked in a loud whisper. “Tal?”

She was already drunk, and set on becoming more so—if the half dozen bottles of wine cradled in her arms were anything to go by.

“Here, let me help you.” Talin rushed over and whispered in his friend’s ear; “She doesn’t know who I am, keep it that way.”

Bear winked, dumped the bottles on him and went over to the woman. Talin held his breath, unsure what his friend would say or do.

“Good evening, lovely lady. Allow me to introduce myself,” she sketched a deep and somewhat unsteady bow. “My name is Iris Berwick, but my friends,
of whom there are many
, call me Bear, and you are…?”

It wasn’t often that Alyda was mistaken for a noblewoman and as amusing as flirting with the gentleman was, she really should introduce herself. Of course, she knew from past experience that as soon as she did, his attitude would change. He’d either run a mile, challenger her to an arm wrestling contest, or want to talk about the war in Suvia, which was a pity in this case. He was good looking—tall, sandy haired, a bit soft round the middle, but nothing that a little exercise wouldn’t sort out and she knew precisely the kind of exercise she’d like to put him to. The thought made her smile, but she put it from her mind; he and the woman were probably lovers. And in truth, they made a handsome pair. She was big, voluptuous, with sparkling eyes and a head of wild, ebony curls.

“Good to meet you, Bear. My name’s Ali. I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“What? Oh. You mean me and him? Asha’s paps! He’s like my brother—the one I wouldn’t fuck.” She laughed so hard she almost fell in the fountain. “Oh my, no. I mean, I don’t mind a bit of strange from time to time, but I couldn’t possibly with
him
. He’s my oldest, dearest friend, and I think we’re related—isn’t that right, Talin?”

Talin grunted and folded his arms. “I really couldn’t say. You’ve done that thing where you’re nice,
and
a bitch all in the same breath, it confuses me.”

“As you can see, Lady Ali, he’s not the most erudite fellow, but that isn’t his fault. Gods love him.” She gave Talin a hearty, drunken hug. “I’ll not hear the poor idiot blamed. Y’see, he was dropped on his head when he was a babe and it’s left him a little slow.”

“Pleased to meet you, Talin.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Ali.”

“Oh I see,” said Bear. “Its all coy smiles and lingering eye contact, is it? Fine then.” She scooped up a bottle of wine, had second thoughts, and picked up two more. “I’m going. I can see where I’m not wanted. I’ll send Medelle your apologies, Talin.” She tossed a tangle of curls over her shoulder and staggered from the garden, clutching her spoils.

“Where’s your woman, Corvinius?” Princess Matia snarled from behind a smile. “I thought the lanky cunt would be here by now, swaggering around like she owns the place.”

Rufus chuckled. For all that her venom burned, being drunk dulled the sting of Matia’s scorpion tongue.

“She’s a Knight Captain of the Royal Guards. It’s our duty—nay, our god given right, to swagger, Highness.”

Matia smiled sweetly. “
Our?
Oh, forgive me Rufus, I’m so accustomed to you whoring yourself like an oversexed game cock, that I sometimes forget you’re a Knight Captain, albeit a rusty one.”

Matia was such a vicious little poppet. He fancied that one day, probably in the not too distant future, instead of kissing her slender neck, he’d be forced to break it and do both him and Jerim a favour.

“That reminds me—with ‘Lyda being here, I won’t be able to attend to you tonight.” He winked. “She needs her turn with the game cock.”

The Princess threw back her head and laughed, but her dark eyes were hard, and promised vengeance for the slight. He enjoyed provoking her; he liked the way her small breasts swelled in their silk cage as she fought to control her temper. Corvinius called a servant over who was carrying a jug of wine. The boy re-filled his goblet, slopping wine over his hand in the process.

“Oaf!” Corvinius hissed, and backhanded him across the face.

The boy mumbled an apology, and backed into the crowd.

“I don’t think your half-breed whore will mind a stained cuff,” said Matia, clearly amused.

“None of my whores concern themselves with what I wear, unless… you’re not trying to tell me something, are you, Princess?”

“You’re drunk, so I’ll let that go, but have a care Corvinius, you’re not indispensible.”

He raised his glass and took a long drink, savouring the rich, full-bodied taste, and the look of impotent rage on her face. “Oh, but I am, Highness.”

He was convinced he’d done a marvellous job of keeping Lady Ali amused. She’d laughed at his stories, and teased him about the truth of some of his more outrageous claims. He had enjoyed himself immensely, despite being shocked by quite how much of his life was defined by being a prince. It had proved most enlightening, if a little depressing and yet, despite his best efforts, she still insisted on leaving.

“I really have to go,” she said, just when he thought he’d convinced her to stay.

Other than his parents and Bear, nobody denied him anything, ever. He was at a loss and a little angry, and yet, strangely pleased with how the evening had gone.

“I hope you’re leaving because you have to and not because you want to?” he asked, wary of what an honest answer might be, but also excited by the prospect of being liked for who, rather than what, he was.

“Yes, it’s because I have to. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my parents.”

“If only I could say the same. I hope we’ll meet again, Ali.”

“I’d like that.” She smiled, but stayed an inch beyond the point at which they might be close enough to kiss and forget the world for an hour or so. “Farewell, Talin.” She said, and left his mother’s garden.

He was sure, no,
he hoped
, he heard a hint of regret in her voice.

Alyda slipped into the hall through a side entrance. She was relieved that there was still a long queue of guests waiting to be announced. She hadn’t been looking forward to explaining to Trease why she was late for a feast being held to honour her and her Company.

The first person she spotted was Corvinius. He was talking to Princess Matia, Prince Jerim’s Guthani wife. She was there in her husband’s stead because he was ‘too ill’ to travel according to the official story. Alyda didn’t go over. In part it was because she was appalled by the Prince’s shameful behaviour in Suvia and wasn’t sure she’d be able to feign politeness if his name was mentioned, but that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t rush to greet her lover.

She’d expected to be pleased to see him after all the months away, but now, watching him drunkenly flirt with Matia, she realised that she didn’t feel much at all.

It was no secret that Corvinius had the morals of a tomcat; that had never been an issue between them. He was charming and handsome and asked nothing of her that she wasn’t prepared to give.

The relationship had worked for both of them, but over the last year he’d changed. His sharp wit had turned vicious, he’d become jealous, and increasingly bitter about the bad reputation of the 5th. He reserved his most savage criticism for Commander Trease, who he blamed for denying him a field command. It suddenly struck her that she no longer cared for Corvinius, hadn’t for a very long time, if truth were told. It only remained to tell him so. And when she’d done that, she would find Talin and carry on where they’d left off in the garden.

“The Lady Nusrama Falrin Na’ Stenna, and Sir Konstantin Stenna!” The Court Herald declaimed.

Alyda brushed down her tunic before going over to greet her parents. It had been almost a year since she’d seen them, but her mother never changed. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and even though she was wearing a voluminous Shemisana gown, she was youthfully lean and moved with grace. Alyda kissed her on both cheeks. Age hadn’t been as kind to her father. His back was bent from years of hunching over plans and drawings, but the old warrior turned engineer was still head and shoulders above most people in the room. His wavy hair was thinning and more silver than gold these days, but his bright green eyes were as lively as she remembered.