“Better, much better,” Metran went on, shuffling forward to sink into one of the chairs. His attendant hovered close by. The other soldier, Kim saw, had placed himself by the door with Vart. Paul had withdrawn towards Jennifer by the window.
“Where,” Loren asked, “is the King? I sent Vart to advise him I was here.”
“And he has been so advised,” Gorlaes answered smoothly. Vart, in the doorway, snickered. “Ailell has instructed me to convey his greetings to you, and your—,” he paused to look around, “—four companions.”
“Four? Only four?” Metran cut in, barely audible over a coughing fit.
Gorlaes spared him only the briefest of glances and went on. “To your four companions. I have been asked to take them under my care as Chancellor for the night. The King had a trying day and would prefer to receive them formally in the morning. It is very late. I’m sure you understand.” The smile was pleasant, even modest. “Now if you would be good enough to introduce me to our visitors I can have my men show them to their rooms… and you, my friend, can go to your richly deserved rest.”
“Thank you, Gorlaes.” Loren smiled, but a thin edge like that of a drawn blade had come into his voice. “However, under the circumstances I count myself responsible for the well-being of those who crossed with me. I will make arrangements for them, until the King has received us.”
“Silvercloak, are you implying that their well-being can be better attended to than by the Chancellor of the realm?” There, too, Kevin thought, his muscles involuntarily tensing: the same edge. Though neither man had moved, it seemed to him as if there were two swords drawn in the torchlit room.
“Not at all, Gorlaes,” said the mage. “It is simply a matter of my own honor.”
“You are tired, my friend. Leave this tedious business to me.”
“There is no tedium in caring for friends.”
“Loren, I must insist—”
“No.”
There was a cold silence.
“You realize,” said Gorlaes, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, “that you offer me little choice?” The voice came up suddenly. “I must obey the commands of my King. Vart, Lagoth…” The two soldiers in the doorway moved forward.
And pitched, half-drawn swords clattering, full-length to the floor.
Behind their prone bodies stood a very calm Matt Sören, and the big, capable man named Coll. Seeing them there, Kevin Laine, whose childhood fantasies had been shaped of images like this, knew a moment of sheer delight.
At which point a lithe, feral figure, shimmering with jewelry, swung easily through the window into the room. He landed lightly beside Jennifer, and she felt a wandering hand stroke her hair before he spoke.
“Who makes this noise at such an hour? Can a soldier not sleep at night in his father’s palace without— why, Gorlaes! And Metran! And here is Loren! You have returned, Silvercloak—and with our visitors, I see. In the very teeth of time.” The insolence of his voice filled the room. “Gorlaes, send quickly, my father will want to welcome them immediately.”
“The King,” the Chancellor replied stiffly, “is indisposed, my lord Prince. He sent me—”
“He can’t come? Then I must do the family honors myself. Silvercloak, would you…?”
And so Loren carefully introduced them again. And “A peach!” said Diarmuid dan Ailell, bending, slowly, to kiss Jennifer’s hand. Against her will, she laughed. He didn’t hurry the kiss.
When he straightened, though, his words were formal, and both of his arms were raised in a wide gesture of ritual. “I welcome you now,” he began, and Kevin, turning instinctively, saw the benign countenance of Gorlaes contort, for a blurred instant, with fury. “I welcome you now,” Diarmuid said, in a voice stripped of mockery, “as guest-friends of my father and myself. The home of Ailell is your home, your honor is ours. An injury done you is an injury to ourselves. And treason to the Oak Crown of the High King. Be welcome to Paras Derval. I will personally attend to your comfort for tonight.” Only on the last phrase did the voice change a little, as the quick eyes, malicious and amused, flashed to Jennifer’s.
She flushed again, but he had already turned. “Gorlaes,” he said softly, “your retainers appear to have collapsed. I have been told, in the few hours since I’ve been back from South Keep, of entirely too much drinking among them. I know it is a festival, but really…?” And the tone was so mild, so very reproachful. Kevin fought to keep a straight face. “Coll,” Diarmuid went on, “have four rooms made ready on the north side, please, and quickly.”
“No.” It was Jennifer. “Kim and I will share. Just three.” She resolutely avoided looking at the Prince. Kimberly, watching him, decided that his eyebrows went higher than they had any right to go.
“We will, too,” said Paul Schafer quietly. And Kevin felt his pulse leap. Oh, Abba, he thought, maybe this will do it for him. Maybe it will.
“I’m too hot. Why is it so hot everywhere?” Metran, First of the Mages, asked, of no one in particular.
The north side of the palace, opposite the town, overlooked a walled garden. When they were finally alone in their room Kevin opened the glass doors and stepped out onto a wide stone balcony. The moon, waning, was high overhead, bright enough to illuminate the shrubs and the few flowers below their room.
“Not much of a garden,” he commented, as Paul came out to join him.
“There’s been no rain, Diarmuid said.”
“That’s true.” There was silence. A light breeze had finally come up to cool the evening.
“Have you noticed the moon?” Paul asked, leaning on the parapet.
Kevin nodded. “Larger, you mean? Yes, I did. Wonder what effect that has?”
“Higher tides, most likely.”
“I guess. And more werewolves.”
Schafer gave him a wry look. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Tell me, what did you think about that business back there?”
“Well, Loren and Diarmuid seem to be on the same side.”
“It looks that way. Matt’s not very sure of him.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Really. What about Gorlaes? He was pretty quick to call in the marines. Was he just following orders, or—”
“Not a chance, Paul. I saw his face when Diarmuid made us guest-friends. Not happy, my friend.”
“Really?” Schafer said. “Well, that simplifies things at least. I’d like to know more about this Jaelle, though. And Diarmuid’s brother, too.”
“The nameless one?” Kevin intoned lugubriously. “He of no name?”
Schafer snorted. “Funny man. Yes, him.”
“We’ll figure it out. We’ve figured things out before.”
“I know,” said Paul Schafer, and after a moment gave a rare smile.
“Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” came a plaintive cry from off to their left. They looked over. Kim Ford, languishing for all she was worth, swayed towards them from the next balcony. The leap was about ten feet.
“I’m coming!” Kevin responded instantly. He rushed to the edge of their own balcony.
“Oh, fly to me!” Kimberly trilled. Jennifer, behind her, began almost reluctantly to laugh.
“I’m coming!” Kevin repeated, ostentatiously limbering up. “You two all right there?” he asked, in mid-flex. “Been ravished yet?”
“Not a chance,” Kim lamented. “Can’t find anyone who’s man enough to jump to our balcony.”
Kevin laughed. “I’d have to do it pretty fast,” he said, “to get there before the Prince.”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer Lowell said, “if anyone can move faster than that guy.”