And where before he was speechless, now, even knowing he was being baited, Trap couldn’t keep his mouth shut: “Do that,” he said, “and you’ll likely find yourself with a suite next to Bonafil come morning.”
Nott stared at him rigidly, his features suddenly seeming like ragged slashes carved out of rock. His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me, sir?”
“Merely advising caution, my lord duke.”
And still Nott stared at him, eerily expressionless while the aggression swelled between them until it seemed ready to burst into hideous disaster— the shouting of words that should never be spoken, the leveling of untenable threats, even the potential for violence. But in the end Nott held his temper, perhaps because he realized Trap had spoken truth. Finally he smiled tightly and said, “ ’Twas only jest, sir. You can’t think we would really do such a thing.”
And around him the others tittered nervously.
Trap turned away without comment. He’d made his point. Perhaps not in the best way possible, but made, nonetheless. And he had not humiliated himself utterly, nor been turned into a blustering fool by his own temper. It helped that, as he made his way up the aisle toward the main doors, a number of men stopped to offer their appreciation for what he’d said and even expressed surprise he’d had the courage to beard Nott, new as he was to the peerage. But of course, none were peers themselves.
Just before he reached the open double doors he found himself again face-to-face with Carissa, who had watched the entire interchange and whom he thought had been behind him. Now she smiled as if nothing untoward had occurred and said, “I was wondering if you might walk me back to my chambers, Duke Eltrap.”
He frowned. “Surely you’re not concerned about Rennalf, my lady?”
“Not at all, sir. I just wanted to enjoy the company of a friend . . . and avoid that of those I find distasteful.” Her gaze flicked to something over his shoulder as simultaneously Nott’s voice rose sharply above the mutter of conversation.
Trap grasped her intent immediately and frowned. “Don’t you think I’ve irritated him enough tonight?”
She snorted. “You are First Minister, Duke Eltrap. And the king’s favorite. Nott is the one who should be wary of giving offense. Though I fear he may be incapable of understanding that.”
“He’s a powerful man, ma’am. He could make a lot of trouble for Abramm. For me, as well.”
She eyed him speculatively. “I’ve never thought you the sort of man to be timid of trouble, sir.”
“Only of stirring it up for no good reason.”
She cocked a brow at him. “And keeping company with me is not a good reason?”
He felt the blood rush to his face. “It is an excellent reason, Your Highness,” he said.
“Well, then . . .” Her eyes laughed at him, for she knew that she had won.
They left the theatre and started up the switchbacking stairway that led to the palace’s main level, the smack of his boots upon the polished marble intermixing with the rasping rustle of her wide skirt and petticoats. As the voices of those lingering outside the theatre receded behind them, she said, “Well, sir, I’d say you’ve had a splendid first day. In addition to standing up to Nott’s arrogance as well as anyone I’ve ever seen, for a while now you’ve actually stopped being a king’s guard. Which proves there’s hope for you yet.”
He knew she meant him no malice, but her words stirred up all his doubts regarding his suitability for his new station, and prevented him from coming up with a suitable response. After they had walked in silence for a few more strides, she said, “You are displeased with your promotion?”
He could not answer her at first, and when he did, he chose his words carefully. “To be honest, my lady, I don’t know what I think about it. I have no knack for flattery, nor for hiding my thoughts—as has just been made obvious. Being a politician is a position to which I have never aspired. Truth be told, I almost feel as if your brother’s sold me out.”
She shrugged. “If you don’t like to think of yourself as a politician, then think of yourself as a statesman . . . for surely it is an honorable position. Or do you think the task of governing to be so unimportant it should be left only to the weak and dishonest to carry it out?”
The advice rendered him silent for a time afterward, for he had never thought of it in that light. She didn’t allow him to withdraw into his own musing for too long, though. As they reached the top of the stairway and continued along the hall there, she thanked him for walking with her. “I don’t know what is going on with Nott, but lately, I can hardly go anywhere without running into him. He actually asked me to breakfast with him this morning!”
“Did you accept?”
She smiled. “Why do you think I went with Madeleine on her ride?” She shook her head. “It’s almost like he’s wanting to court me or something.”
“Perhaps he is.”
“Why would he do that?”
Trap shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re the crown princess. Or perhaps it’s your wealth. Or the fact that you are a stunningly beautiful woman. . . .”
“Ah, there, see?” She smiled at him. “You do have a knack for flattery.”
“It wasn’t flattery, my lady. It was simple truth.”
“Simple truth, indeed. Look at me. I am an old woman.”
“Aye. You’re positively ancient.”
“Used up. Damaged goods, as they say.”
“A wreck. Nothing left at all. I can’t imagine any man wanting you.”
She cocked a brow at him. “Are you mocking me, sir?”
“Well, you know what the Words say: Answer a fool as his folly deserves. Or, in this case, her folly.”
“And now you’re calling me a fool?”
He couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. “No flattery, my lady. Just truth.”
She gaped at him. “Why, Duke Eltrap, I do believe your new position has gone to your head.”
And now his smile became an open grin as she shook her head and after a moment responded with a grin of her own. Not long after that they drew up to her door, which the footman was already opening.
“Here you are, Highness,” Trap said. “Delivered safe and sound to your quarters, with not a warlock in sight.”
“Thank you, sir.” She gave him a courtly nod, but then, rather than sweeping into her room, she laid a hand on his arm, looking up at him with those piercing Kalladorne eyes. “I do not think my brother made a mistake, sir,” she said quietly. “I believe you are fully deserving of your new title and that you will be a most able First Minister.”
C H A P T E R
11
Abramm followed the narrow service passage behind the theatre’s side door out onto the midpoint of the ramp leading down to the south gallery. Just as he stepped out onto it, he saw someone moving into the gallery at its lower end. Guessing it was Madeleine, he sent Philip to get her, then turned to Channon and held out his hand for the cane the man had carried all afternoon and evening.
Abramm knew he shouldn’t be here. He’d pushed his body far past reasonable already. Sitting upright for the last hour had been difficult, and he’d been on the verge of capitulating to his advisors’ continual suggestions that he rest, when he’d seen Lady Madeleine. After fearing all afternoon that she’d left for the Western Isles upon her return from Treasure Cove, he couldn’t let this opportunity slip away without talking to her.
White-stuccoed walls loomed around him now in a downsloping hall lit by kelistars resting on candlesticks and wall-sconce brackets. Ranks of wall hangings alternated with night-darkened windows on one side and their corresponding mirrors along the other. A thick Sorian rug of royal blue and gold served as runner down the long corridor, empty and silent but for him and Channon— until some ten strides behind them he heard a door close, followed by approaching footsteps. “Whoever it is,” he told Channon, “get rid of them.”
His captain turned away and A
bramm continued down the ramp, leaning heavily on his cane now, gritting his teeth against the pain. Already he was feeling light-headed and faintly nauseated, ruefully acknowledging the likelihood he’d have to be carried back to his apartments. Behind him low voices echoed, their words indiscernible but the irritation in their tones clear. He thought he recognized Leyton Donavan’s voice but did not turn around to see lest he encourage the man to hail him.
More than halfway down the ramp, prudence finally won over curiosity, and he abandoned his plan of meeting Madeleine in the gallery. Balancing with the cane, he sank awkwardly onto one of the many padded benches lining the long hall. His side was no worse than a throbbing ache, but it was a fiery agony to bend his leg at all. Dropping his back against the wall, he waited, knowing he had felt worse pain and berating himself for going soft.
Best think of something else.
He had sat there for what seemed a considerable amount of time, sifting through the day’s events and the many repercussions that were sure to come from them, when doubled footfalls approached up the ramp, signaling the return of Philip with Lady Madeleine. Hearing them, he opened his eyes and sat forward, seeing that Maddie still carried her bound copy of theWords and her folio of notes. He also noted she had apparently not bothered to change out of her riding apparel all day, for she still wore the blue wool jacket and split skirt that was her favorite.
When she reached him, she dropped him a curtsey and came up frowning. “You look like death itself, sir!” she blurted with her usual direct approach. “Why are you not returning to your chambers to rest?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Because these ill-advised clandestine meetings we keep having seem to be the only way I’m able to talk to you of late.”
She flushed, the color spreading up to her hair and down to the scooped neckline of her gown. “You could’ve summoned me.”
“I tried. No one knew where you were.” He gestured now at the padded bench beside him. “Please sit with me awhile.”
Her frown deepened, but she sat—perched upon the bench’s edge as if ready to flee at a moment’s notice. “I was at the University library,” she said.
“Ah. That explains everything, then.”
Her chin came up. “I can’t help it if your people are inept,” she said tartly, and he found himself rejoicing to see what appeared to be the return of the old Maddie.
“Unless, of course, you influenced their not finding you.” As adept as she was at making speaking cloaks, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could work one to baffle the eye as well as the ear. Indeed, her face positively flamed.
“I was reading,” she said. “I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“And naturally forgot all about the ceremonies of today and your part in them—”
“I’m through with those ceremonies. It only stirs things up and”—her gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly upon the book and folio—“makes things worse for you.”
He regarded her wordlessly, waiting for her to go on. But now she watched her fingers pick at a crack in her folio, having gone back to that frustrating nervousness that had characterized his last two encounters with her. He grew aware again of the scars running tightly down his cheek and wondered if they were putting her off more than she wanted to admit.
She stilled her hands with a sigh and laid book and folio flat upon her lap. Then she lifted her face. “Briellen received a double portion not only of beauty but of the social graces I lack. She’ll have your courtiers eating out of her hands in a day, whereas I only seem to put them off more and more. The less they see of me, I figure, the easier it will be for both of you.”
His heart fell at the implication of her words.
“And anyway,” she finished awkwardly, “I had no idea you’d want to speak to me.”
“No idea? After what you found today?”
“What could I tell you that the others couldn’t?”
“Well, for one, I’d like a look at the dragon fetish you found. Dragons do have special interest for me these days.”
“Yes, I know.” Her gaze returned to the books in her lap. “But you were busy today, and . . .” She trailed off.
“Back there in the theatre, I had the distinct impression you were waiting to talk to me.”
“I was. But when I saw you, I knew this wasn’t the time.” She looked up at him. “Truly, sir, you do look awful. You should be—”
“Resting. I know. And I will happily oblige you once you satisfy my curiosity.” He paused. “And what were you doing just now in the gallery?”
She flushed and her chin jerked up. “I was looking for a painting. But really, sir, it can wait.” She must’ve seen the annoyance in his expression, for she added quickly, “It was just some things I learned in the history of the Western Isles I was reading today.”
History of the Western Isles? His heart sank even further. She really does mean to go.
“Did you know they were colonized by the old Ophiran Empire?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And that the Ophirans protected their borders and far-flung fortresses with guardstars?” He nodded and she continued. “There was a guild of Terstans that created and installed them. . . .”
“Yes. I learned that in Hur.”
“Ah. Of course.” Her brief burst of excitement died back to the awkward tension he was coming to despise. Why wouldn’t she tell him what was wrong? What had happened to that refreshing directness that had so long both befuddled and beguiled him? And why was she so set on leaving just when he needed her most? It made no sense at all.
Before he even realized what he intended, he burst out, “Light’s grace, Maddie! I don’t know what’s gone wrong between us, but I don’t want you to leave!” She looked up at him in surprise and he barreled on. “I need your eyes and your wit and your spirit. It would be like losing—” He scrambled to find an appropriate comparison. “Like losing Warbanner.”
And that, he saw from the souring of her expression, was not the thing to say at all.
“Yes,” she said coolly, “I imagine he would be a great loss.”
“He would be . . . but . . . but you would be a greater one.” Oh, Eidon, I am making a mess of this. “I know I have plenty of capable researchers. But none that can . . .” And here he trailed off, partly from the embarrassment of recalling what he’d said to her last night at this point, partly because he had just come up against something he couldn’t articulate.
Her face could not have been more expressionless. “That can what?”
“See things the way you do,” he said helplessly.
She looked down at her hands, apparently unmoved by his appeal. And why not? He’d done little more than beg her to stay. And could think of no more to add. “Can’t you stay a little longer, at least?”
And still she looked at her hands, clasped together, motionless atop the Book of the Words. She sat there, silently, and he felt the moments ticking by, timed by the beat of his heart.
At length, she let out a long, shuddering breath and said, “Briellen is not going to understand the rumors that have sprung up around us, sir. If I stay, it would be best if we had nothing to do with each other.” And now, finally, she glanced up at him. “Which shouldn’t be that difficult. I’ll simply put all my comments in writing and have my assistant make the verbal reports to you.”
He frowned at her, not at all pleased with such an arrangement but seeing no good reason to refuse it. It was certainly better than the alternative. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”
Her eyes dropped back to her hands, now more clenched than clasped. “It is,” she whispered.
When she didn’t move and seemed disinclined to say more, he returned to their earlier subject: “So then, what painting were you looking for?”
“The one of Avramm’s coronation.” Her eyes came up again as she seemed to seize upon this opportunity to discuss something relatively benign. “I was reading an account of the eve
nt this afternoon and recalled there was a painting depicting it. I wanted to see how the two compared.”
He cocked a bemused brow. “And you just had to rush down here to see it now, though the place is deserted and the light bad?”
Her fingers began to pick at the folio crack again. “I have my own light. And I was down here anyway, so why not?”
“You were hiding, weren’t you?”
A grimace twitched her lips. “Oh, very well, yes. I saw Leyton coming down the ramp and just didn’t feel like facing him tonight.” She looked around as if in sudden realization. “I can’t think why he’s not here now.”
“I sent him away.”
Dismay flooded her face and he could almost hear her groan.
“He can hardly hold you accountable, my lady. You were obviously trying to escape me.”
“That’s not the way he’ll see it,” she muttered. She sat silent a moment, then sighed. “I really was interested in the painting, though.”
“Well, I can help you there. You ran right by it. It’s not a painting, you see. It’s a wall hanging.” He gestured toward one of the pieces down the left wall not far from where they sat.
Her eyes sparked with interest and she leaped up, then remembered herself. “May I have your leave, sir?”
“Of course.” As she hurried down the ramp toward the object of her interest, he drove himself to his feet, trying not to wince and gasp as he did, and giving thanks Channon had provided him with a very stout cane. Right now it was bearing almost all his weight. The first few steps were the worst.
The ancient tapestry hung from ceiling to floor and was nearly as wide as it was high. Its colors were muted and dark, its lines blurred with age, its style the rough, clumsy technique of the ancients. A man wearing a robe of fur knelt on a square rock amidst a grove of tall dark trees. Another man held a stylized crown over his head as a group of nobles looked on.
She shook her head. “That’s not at all like what was described. Is this the only one?”
“The only one I know of.” He stepped closer, frowning at it. “It’s awfully dirty, though. Maybe if all that mold were removed it would look different.”
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