Were those footsteps on the other side of the door? Yes. But they didn’t hesitate; they just went on. And so did Lanius. He tugged Cristata’s tunic up and off over her head, then bent to kiss her breasts and their darker, firmer tips. Her breath sighed out.
But when he put his arms around her again, he hesitated and almost recoiled. He’d expected to stroke smooth, soft skin. Her back was anything but smooth and soft.
She noticed his hands falter, and knew what that had to mean. “Do you want to stop?” she asked. “Do you want me to go?”
“Hush,” he answered roughly. “I’ll show you what I want.” He set her hand where she could have no possible doubt. She rubbed gently.
Before long, he laid her down on the floor and poised himself above her. “Oh,” she whispered. She might have been louder after that, but his lips came down on hers and muffled whatever noises she would have made… and, presently, whatever noises he would have.
Afterwards, they both dressed quickly. “That’s—what it’s supposed to be like, I think,” Cristata said.
It had certainly seemed that way to Lanius. Now, of course, he was screaming at himself because of the way he’d just complicated his life. But, with the afterglow still on him, he couldn’t make himself believe it hadn’t been worth it. They kissed again, just for a heartbeat. Cristata slipped out of the storeroom. When Lanius heard nothing in the hallway, he did, too. He grinned, a mix of pleasure and relief. He’d gotten away with it.
Grus turned to Estrilda. “The cooks did a really good job with that boar, don’t you think?” he said, licking his mustache to get all the flavorful grease.
His wife nodded. Then she said, “If you think it was good, shouldn’t you tell Ortalis and not me?”
“Should I?” The king frowned. “You’re usually harder on him than I am. Why should I say anything to him that I don’t have to?”
“Fair is fair,” Estrilda answered. “You… did what you did when he… made a mistake. When he goes hunting, he’s probably not making that particular mistake. And shouldn’t you notice him when he does something well?”
“If he did things well more often, I would notice him more.” Grus sighed, then nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I wish I could tell you you weren’t, but you are. The meat is good, and he made the kill. I’ll thank him for it.”
On the way to Ortalis’ room, he asked several servants if the prince was there. None of them knew. He got the idea none of them cared. He didn’t suppose he could blame the women. The men? Ortalis seemed to have a gift for antagonizing everyone. That’s not good in a man who’ll be king one day, Grus thought. Not good at all.
He knocked on Ortalis’ door. When no one answered, he tried the latch. The door opened. The sweet smell of wine filled the room, and under it a gamier odor that said Ortalis hadn’t bathed recently enough. Grus’ son cradled a wine cup in his lap like the son he’d never had. An empty jar of wine lay on its side at his feet. One with a dipper in it stood beside the stool on which he perched.
Ortalis looked up blearily. “What d’you want?” he slurred.
“I came to thank you for the fine boar you brought home,” Grus answered. “How long have you been drinking?”
“Not long enough,” his son said. “You going to pound on me for it?” He raised the cup and took another swig.
“No. I have no reason to,” Grus said. “Drinking by yourself is stupid, but it’s not vicious. And if you do enough of it, it turns into its own punishment when you finally stop. Once you sober up, you’ll wish your head would fall off.”
Ortalis shrugged. That he could shrug without hurting himself only proved he wasn’t close to sobering up yet. “Why don’t you go away?” he said. “Haven’t you done enough to make my life miserable?”
“I said you shouldn’t hurt women for the fun of it. I showed you some of what getting hurt was like. You didn’t much care for that,” Grus said. “If you’re miserable on account of what I did… too bad.” He’d started to say I’m sorry, but caught himself, for he wasn’t.
His son glared at him. “And didn’t you have fun, giving me my lesson?”
“No, by Olor’s beard!” Grus burst out. “I wanted to be sick afterwards.”
By the way Ortalis laughed, he didn’t believe a word of it. Grus turned away from his son and strode out of the room. Behind him, Ortalis went on laughing. Grus closed the door, dampening the sound. Praising Ortalis’ hunting wouldn’t heal the rift between them. Would anything? He had his doubts.
Not for the first time, he wondered about making Anser legitimate. That would solve some of his problems. Regretfully, he shook his head. It would hatch more than it solved, not just with Ortalis but also with Estrilda and Lanius. No, he was stuck with the legitimate son he had, and with the son-in-law, too. He wondered if Crex, his grandson, would live to be king, and what kind of king he would make.
Wonder was all Grus would ever do. He was sure of that. By the time Crex put the royal crown on his head and ascended to the Diamond Throne, Grus knew he would be gone from the scene.
I haven’t done enough, he thought. Bringing the unruly Avornan nobles back under the control of the government was important. He’d taken some strong steps in that direction. He’d fought the Thervings to a standstill, until King Dagipert gave up the war. King Berto, gods be praised, really was more interested in praying than fighting. But letting the Banished One keep and extend his foothold in the land of the Chernagors would be a disaster.
And, ever since Grus’ days as a river-galley captain down in the south, he’d wanted a reckoning with the Menteshe, a reckoning on their side of the Stura River and not on his. He hadn’t gotten that yet. He didn’t know if he ever would. If his wizards couldn’t protect his men from being made into thralls after crossing the Stura, if they couldn’t cure the thralls laboring for the Menteshe, how could he hope to cross the border?
If he couldn’t cross the Stura, how could he even dream about recovering the Scepter of Mercy? He couldn’t, and he knew it. If he got it back, Avornis would remember him forever. If he failed… If he failed, Avornis would still remember him—as a doomed fool.
CHAPTER TEN
Outside the royal palace, snow swirled through the air. The wind howled. When people had to move about, they put on fur-lined boots, heavy cloaks, fur hats with earflaps, and sometimes wool mufflers to protect their mouths and noses. King Lanius didn’t think the Banished One was giving the city of Avornis a particularly hard winter, but this was a nasty blizzard.
It was chilly inside the palace, too. Braziers and fires could do only so much. The cold slipped in through windows and around doors. Lanius worried about the baby monkeys. Even the grown ones were vulnerable in the wintertime. But all the little animals seemed healthy, and the babies got bigger by the day.
Lanius didn’t worry about them as much as he might have. He had other things on his mind—not least, how to go on with his affair with Cristata without letting Sosia find out about it. Cristata, he discovered, worried about that much less than he did. “She’ll learn sooner or later, Your Majesty,” she said. “It can’t help but happen.”
Knowing she was right, Lanius shook his head anyhow. They lay side by side in that same little storeroom—this time on one of the carpets, which they’d unrolled; the floor was cold. “What would happen then?” the king said.
“You’d have to send me away, I suppose.” Cristata had few illusions. “I hope you’d pick somewhere nice, a place where I could get by easy enough. Maybe you could even help me find a husband.”