I stepped into the room and bent down to lift up two or three of the papers. Some were proposals for increases in taxes for certain nobles; the fourth was a list of people "to be watched." I looked at him in surprise. "You found these just lying around?"
"Yes," he said, sitting back on his cushion. The morning light highlighted the smudges of tiredness under his eyes. "He did not expect to be defeated. Your brother and I rode back here in haste, as soon as we could, in order to prevent looting; but such was Galdran's hold on the place that, even though the news had preceded us by two days, I found his rooms completely undisturbed. I don't think anyone believed he was really dead--they expected one of his ugly little ploys to catch out 'traitors.'"
I whistled, turning over another paper. "Wish I could have been there," I said.
"You could have been."
This brought me back to reality with a jolt. Of course I could have been there--but I had left without warning, without saying good-bye even to my own brother, in my haste to retreat to home and sanity. And memory.
I glanced at him just in time to see him wince slightly and shake his head. Was that regret? For his words--or for my actions that day?
"What you said last night," I demanded, "about battles and me being used to them. What did you mean by that?"
"It was merely an attempt to make you laugh."
"I did laugh," I admitted, then frowned. "But did you intend some kind of courtly double meaning? Hinting that I'm used to battles in the sense that I lost every one I was in? Or merely that I get into quarrels?"
"Neither." His tone was flat. "Forgive my maladroitness."
"Well, I get into quarrels," I said, suddenly desperate to explain, to accuse. "Except with--"
There came a tap outside the opposite doorway then.
I shut my mouth; and for a moment, there we were, in silence, me wishing I could run but feeling I ought not to. There was--something--I had to do, or say, though I had no idea what.
So I watched him rise, move the few steps to the other tapestry, and lift it. I did not see whoever was outside--I realized he was shielding me from sight. I could not hear the voice beyond, but I heard his: "Please inform Lady Trishe I will be along shortly. Thank you." He dropped the tapestry back into place and stood with his back to it, looking at me across the width of the room. "It seems," he said, "that seeking your opinion will not cease to embroil us in argument, whatever the cause. I apologize. I also realize trying to convince you of my good intentions is a fruitless effort, but my own conscience demanded that I make the attempt."
I couldn't think of any reply to make to that, so I whirled around and retreated into the library, my insides boiling with a nasty mixture of embarrassment and anger. Why did I always have to bring up that war--and pick a fight? What kind of answer was I looking for? I thought grimly. And the worst thing was, I wouldn't dare to go near that room again, despite his offer at the beginning of the encounter--an encounter which was thoroughly my own fault.
"Yes," he said, sitting back on his cushion. The morning light highlighted the smudges of tiredness under his eyes. "He did not expect to be defeated. Your brother and I rode back here in haste, as soon as we could, in order to prevent looting; but such was Galdran's hold on the place that, even though the news had preceded us by two days, I found his rooms completely undisturbed. I don't think anyone believed he was really dead--they expected one of his ugly little ploys to catch out 'traitors.'"
I whistled, turning over another paper. "Wish I could have been there," I said.
"You could have been."
This brought me back to reality with a jolt. Of course I could have been there--but I had left without warning, without saying good-bye even to my own brother, in my haste to retreat to home and sanity. And memory.
I glanced at him just in time to see him wince slightly and shake his head. Was that regret? For his words--or for my actions that day?
"What you said last night," I demanded, "about battles and me being used to them. What did you mean by that?"
"It was merely an attempt to make you laugh."
"I did laugh," I admitted, then frowned. "But did you intend some kind of courtly double meaning? Hinting that I'm used to battles in the sense that I lost every one I was in? Or merely that I get into quarrels?"
"Neither." His tone was flat. "Forgive my maladroitness."
"Well, I get into quarrels," I said, suddenly desperate to explain, to accuse. "Except with--"
There came a tap outside the opposite doorway then.
I shut my mouth; and for a moment, there we were, in silence, me wishing I could run but feeling I ought not to. There was--something--I had to do, or say, though I had no idea what.
So I watched him rise, move the few steps to the other tapestry, and lift it. I did not see whoever was outside--I realized he was shielding me from sight. I could not hear the voice beyond, but I heard his: "Please inform Lady Trishe I will be along shortly. Thank you." He dropped the tapestry back into place and stood with his back to it, looking at me across the width of the room. "It seems," he said, "that seeking your opinion will not cease to embroil us in argument, whatever the cause. I apologize. I also realize trying to convince you of my good intentions is a fruitless effort, but my own conscience demanded that I make the attempt."
I couldn't think of any reply to make to that, so I whirled around and retreated into the library, my insides boiling with a nasty mixture of embarrassment and anger. Why did I always have to bring up that war--and pick a fight? What kind of answer was I looking for? I thought grimly. And the worst thing was, I wouldn't dare to go near that room again, despite his offer at the beginning of the encounter--an encounter which was thoroughly my own fault.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Court Duel ]
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