Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [19]
"She is my step-mother, Uncle," Arya reminded him lightly. "You and I are not related by blood. She merely married my father."
"Of course." Greyt smiled and gave a little laugh. He rubbed the gold ring with a wolf's head around the fourth finger of his left hand-a nervous habit. The pause was an awkward one.
"You must be wondering why I have come," Arya prompted, raising the wine to her lips.
"Ah, and direct, I see," Greyt replied, driving into a new subject. "You do indeed show the Greyt spirit, though the Illuskan coloration doesn't fit us." He brushed her auburn hair with his fingers. "A product of that dull, pretty knight who stole my sister."
Arya didn't know how to reply.
"But please, speak. I am anxious to hear your tale." He finally sat, flinging his cape across the fur-covered couch. Then he raised the glass to his lips and smiled. "I do so love tales."
Arya opened her mouth to speak, but the doors slammed open and a white-garbed young man walked through the portal. A naked sword was in his hands.
Bars and Derst leaped to their feet, the roguish knight's hand going to a belt dagger, but Arya stopped them with a raised hand. The dusky-skinned man was also carrying a kerchief. He paused and his stance shifted to a defensive posture, from which he eyed the two men.
"Ah, Meris," Lord Greyt said from the couch. "Allow me to introduce my niece, Lady Arya Venkyr of Everlund. And, ah-well, her companions." He gestured to the dark-haired man. "My son-your step-cousin-Meris Wayfarer."
Arya noted the strange surname. Meris was not a legitimate son.
Meris sniffed, measuring and dismissing the two knights in a glance, then shifted his gaze to Arya. There his eyes stopped and rested. Taking his sword in one hand, he knelt and took her hand. "Charmed, cousin," he said. He kissed the back of her hand, and when his eyes met hers, they smoldered. "Passionately charmed."
Bars took a step forward, but Derst caught his shoulder and stopped him.
Arya bowed to Meris and turned her attention back to Greyt. Seeing her lack of interest, Meris's smile fell into an irritated frown. He slunk back and threw himself onto the couch opposite Greyt, where he drew a whetstone across his blade with a scraping snicker. The tone of the meeting changed entirely because of that little sound.
"But you were beginning your tale," Greyt said. "Please, do go on."
The doors swung open again and this time the gaunt steward Claudir glided in. "Lord Greyt, sir," Claudir said in his haughty tin voice. He stretched out the last word.
"What is it now?" Greyt snapped. He almost splashed wine on his leather-wrapped couch as he waved in annoyance.
"There appears to be a visitor at your door who will not identify himself and who says little." The steward sniffed. "Much of Quaervarr has turned out to see him and appears stricken dumb. Will you see him, my lord?"
Arya furrowed her brow, and she reached for the sword at her hip but did not draw it. Her companions had risen as well. Meris was oblivious, still sharpening his sword.
Greyt rolled his eyes and rubbed at his temples. "Must I be saddled with unceasing interruptions?" he asked with venom. "Meris, go see who in the Hells is stirring up trouble out there, won't you?"
Frowning, the dusky scout got to his feet, his sword still out. As he followed the steward out, he let it slide back into his scabbard with a clink of steel. The doors closed behind them.
As soon as they were gone, Greyt's gracious manner returned, along with his grin. "Pardon my outburst, Niece," he said. "As the lor-er, hero of Quaervarr, I'm constantly dealing with these odd occurrences, which always seem to occur at the least convenient of times.