What?" I yelled. And I opened my mouth to complain , but I recalled a certain interview, not long ago, that had ended rather abruptly when a candleholder had--ah--changed hands. Grimacing, I said in a more normal voice, "When did this happen?"
"That's the joke on us." Bran laughed. "They've been at it as long as we have. Longer, even."
I looked from father to son and read nothing in those bland, polite faces. "Then…why…didn't you respond to our letter?"
As I spoke the words, a lot of things started making sense.
I thought back to what Ara's father had said, and then I remembered Shevraeth's words about the purpose of a court. When I glanced at Prince Alaerec, he saluted me with his wineglass; just a little gesture, but I read in it that he had comprehended a good deal of my thoughts.
Which meant that face, as usual, gave me away--and of course this thought made my cheeks burn.
He said, "We admire--tremendously--your courageous efforts to right the egregious wrongs obtaining in Remalna."
Thinking again of Ara's father and Master Kepruid the innkeeper, I said, "But the people don't welcome armies trampling through their houses and land, even armies on their side. I take it you've figured out some miraculous way around this?"
Bran slapped his palm down on the table. "That's it, Mel--where we've been blind. We were trying to push our way in from without, but Shevraeth, here, has been working from within." He nodded in the Prince's direction. "Both--all three of 'em, in fact."
I blinked, trying to equate with a deadly plot an old, imperious voice whose single purpose seemed to be the safety of her clothing. "The Princess is part of this, too?"
"She is the one who arranged your escape from Athanarel," Shevraeth said to me. "The hardest part was finding your spy."
"You knew about Azmus?"
"I knew you had to have had some kind of contact in Remalna-city, from some of the things you said during our earlier journey. We had no idea who, or what, but we assumed that this person would display the same level of loyalty your compatriots had when you first fell into our hands, and I had people wait to see who might be lurking around the palace, watching."
Questions crowded my thoughts. But I pushed them all aside, focusing on the main one. "If you're rebelling, then you must have someone in mind for the throne. Who?"
Bran pointed across the table at Shevraeth. "He seems to want to do it, and I have to say, he'd be better at it than I."
"No, he wouldn't," I said without thinking.
Bran winced and rubbed his chin. "Mel…"
"Please, my dear Lord Branaric," the Prince murmured. "Permit the lady to speak. I am interested to hear her thoughts on the matter."
Rude as I'd been before, my response had shocked even me, and I hadn't intended to say anything more. Now I sneaked a peek at the Marquis, who just sat with his goblet in his fingers, his expression one of mild questioning.
"That's the joke on us." Bran laughed. "They've been at it as long as we have. Longer, even."
I looked from father to son and read nothing in those bland, polite faces. "Then…why…didn't you respond to our letter?"
As I spoke the words, a lot of things started making sense.
I thought back to what Ara's father had said, and then I remembered Shevraeth's words about the purpose of a court. When I glanced at Prince Alaerec, he saluted me with his wineglass; just a little gesture, but I read in it that he had comprehended a good deal of my thoughts.
Which meant that face, as usual, gave me away--and of course this thought made my cheeks burn.
He said, "We admire--tremendously--your courageous efforts to right the egregious wrongs obtaining in Remalna."
Thinking again of Ara's father and Master Kepruid the innkeeper, I said, "But the people don't welcome armies trampling through their houses and land, even armies on their side. I take it you've figured out some miraculous way around this?"
Bran slapped his palm down on the table. "That's it, Mel--where we've been blind. We were trying to push our way in from without, but Shevraeth, here, has been working from within." He nodded in the Prince's direction. "Both--all three of 'em, in fact."
I blinked, trying to equate with a deadly plot an old, imperious voice whose single purpose seemed to be the safety of her clothing. "The Princess is part of this, too?"
"She is the one who arranged your escape from Athanarel," Shevraeth said to me. "The hardest part was finding your spy."
"You knew about Azmus?"
"I knew you had to have had some kind of contact in Remalna-city, from some of the things you said during our earlier journey. We had no idea who, or what, but we assumed that this person would display the same level of loyalty your compatriots had when you first fell into our hands, and I had people wait to see who might be lurking around the palace, watching."
Questions crowded my thoughts. But I pushed them all aside, focusing on the main one. "If you're rebelling, then you must have someone in mind for the throne. Who?"
Bran pointed across the table at Shevraeth. "He seems to want to do it, and I have to say, he'd be better at it than I."
"No, he wouldn't," I said without thinking.
Bran winced and rubbed his chin. "Mel…"
"Please, my dear Lord Branaric," the Prince murmured. "Permit the lady to speak. I am interested to hear her thoughts on the matter."
Rude as I'd been before, my response had shocked even me, and I hadn't intended to say anything more. Now I sneaked a peek at the Marquis, who just sat with his goblet in his fingers, his expression one of mild questioning.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Crown Duel ]
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