"Is Nees another goat?"
"No! Nees the bard!"
"Nees?" Pjerin frowned. He couldn't remember a bard named Nees and, with Ohrid right on the border, they didn't get many walking out so far.
"You know, Papa, the one who was here when it rained so much and she sang me stories and she kept making Aunty Olina mad by smiling at her."
Then he remembered. Olina had been in a mood; at her most challenging and ready to remove the evening from the Circle altogether. The bard had said quietly, I wouldn't. You'll lose. To his surprise, Olina had studied the younger woman for a long moment, nodded, and blunted the edge of her tongue. He'd been the only one close enough to hear the exchange but—if even Gerek had picked up on it-—the results had obviously been noticed by the rest of the keep. That wasn't likely to make Olina happy if she found out. "You mean, Annice, Ger."
"Yeah. Nees."
Frankly, the bard hadn't looked like the sort who could give Olina a run for her money. Although she'd worn the same annoying air of cocky independence that marked every bard he'd ever seen, the expression in her eyes had been contemplative rather than combative. Hazel eyes, the kind that turned almost green when… He shook himself free of the memory. It had ended up an interesting night all around. "So the bard sang you new stories, did she?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, maybe you should tell me a story tonight."
"No." Gerek snuggled into Pjerin's side, fingers playing with a damp spot caused by a spout of bathwater accidentally rising to meet a shirt. "You tell me about the dragon who wanted to be a boy."
"But you've heard that one a thousand times, Ger."
"So?"
Pjerin smiled, inhaled the clean scent of his child, and began. "Once upon a time, there was a dragon who wanted to be a boy…"
The knock on the heavy oak door of the tiny room he used for a study was so faint, Pjerin thought at first he'd imagined it. When it sounded again, he threw his hair back over his shoulder and turned to face it, calling, "Come." He hated ciphering and anything would be a relief from the columns of figures Bohdan had insisted he go over tonight.
Almost anything, he amended a moment later. "What do you want?"
Albek stepped apologetically into the room, a pottery carafe in one hand, two heavy mugs in the other. "I saw you were still up. I thought we might…"
"Have a drink together? Don't be an ass." He dragged the chair around to face the other man and scowled. "What my aunt does is her own business, but I don't drink with Cemandians. Get out!"
"I was hoping, that is, I hoped that until Olina went to sleep…"
Pjerin's scowl deepened. "I thought you got along with Olina?"
"I do." Albek's smile had picked up a slight twist of desperation. "But I can't… get along with her… again. Not so soon."
"You're limping."
"Nothing permanent. I assure you I can still leave in the morning."
"Good." Pjerin exhaled noisily and shook his head. It wasn't pity, exactly. It was just that Albek wore an expression he'd seen in his mirror more than once before he'd finally found the strength to tell her no and make it stick. "She'll go exactly as far as you let her, you know."
"I know." The Cemandian trader's tone was distinctly tart.
In spite of himself, Pjerin almost smiled. "She won't look for you in here."
Albek shifted his weight and winced slightly. "My thought as well."
"What's in the jug?"
"Mulled wine. Your cook has a very fine touch with it."
"I know. How old are you?"
The question seemed to take the other man by surprise. "Twenty-six."
Pjerin glanced down at his accounts and then jerked his head at the other chair. "Sit. If you can. I suppose we can find something to talk about that won't have us at each other's throats."
"Is it done?"
"It is." Albek closed and latched the door. He pulled the tapestry back down into place, his fingers lightly caressing the stag as it fell beneath the hounds, then he turned and walked briskly across the room to Olina's bed.
Clothed only in shadows and the thick, black fall of her hair, the firelight licking golden highlights on her skin, she watched him approach. "I'm amazed he even let you in. He doesn't like you, you know."
"I know. But I gave us something in common."
"What?"
"You," he told her, pausing on the hearth, close enough to the bed to read her features but more than an arm's length away. The heat of the blazing fire was uncomfortably hot on his legs but, until he had her reaction, it posed the lesser danger of being burned.
To his surprise, she began to laugh. "Were you hiding from me, then? Taking refuge with someone who would understand?"
"Why…" he began, and stopped as it suddenly became clear. "That was why you let me know about the two of you."
"I thought you might be able to make use of it. Was it enough for him to open his door to you?"
"Not quite. I also lied about my age. As soon as he saw me as younger than himself…" Albek spread his hands and, now that he knew it was safe, moved to the side of the bed.
"You became someone to protect, if only for a short while." She slid her legs to one side so he could sit. "Very clever. And the drug?"
"Already in the mug. Once it relaxed him, I had no trouble."
Olina rubbed her bare thigh against his side, and studied him through half closed eyes. "And did you take advantage while you had the opportunity? He is very beautiful."
"My tastes do not lean toward taking advantage." His fingers lingered on the curve of her hip. Blocked from the heat of the fire by the rest of her body, the skin was smooth and cool like silk. He had seen a rope made of silk once; it had been far stronger than any made of a coarser, more common fiber. "As you very well know." The oblivion he needed had been too long conditioned. "But may I ask you something?"
She looked amused. "Ask."
It wasn't a question he should be asking, but he found he couldn't help himself. "The due is your blood, your family; doesn't it bother you that we've just arranged to have him executed?"
"This from the man who brought me the way to be rid of him? Who said he could recognize waste when he saw it and that he had a way to help me to the life I desired?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"
Why indeed. "My Queen would not be happy if you were suddenly overcome with remorse." Which was true.
Olina laughed. "When I finally have a chance to hold real power? Don't be ridiculous, Albek."
He inclined her head, acknowledging her point. "I was deep in his memories. Sometimes, it's unsettling."
"And now it's my turn?"
"There are still a few loose ends that must be tucked neatly out of the way." Albek leaned forward and picked a pewter goblet off the pedestal table beside her bed; its contents prepared before he left to find Pjerin. "And as you are as little likely to voluntarily surrender control as your nephew…" He offered her the wine.
She wrapped her fingers around his, trapping them within her grip as she drank. Then she held them a moment longer just to prove she could. "So." Releasing his hand, she reached out further and laid her palm against his cheek, turning his head slightly so that she could catch his gaze with hers. "Once again I will be in your complete control." Beneath the rough stubble of whiskers, she could feel the heat of blood rising in his face. "Don't abuse the privilege."
Albek swallowed. "I wouldn't," he said, with complete sincerity, "dream of it."
Lilyana glanced up as the door to her solar opened. When she saw who moved wearily into the warmth of the small room, she motioned for her attendant to leave them alone.