Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [125]
“You are a man of honor,” she said now. “Aliam has told me that, and I can see it for myself. You will not like this favor, and I sympathize. But I swear to you, the message is sent for help, not harm. I cannot ask any of your escort, Aliam’s sworn men, to take it; they have a specific loyalty to him that you do not, and I do not think a guest’s loyalty would prevent it. But it is your decision, of course.”
“You have no other way?” Andressat asked.
“Not that I can think of,” she said. “If I could go myself—but I am afraid to leave him.” Her voice dropped. “He talks of dying,” she said, almost a whisper. She laid the paper on the table beside the door, turned, and left.
His decision. Andressat looked at the table, once more surprised at Halveric’s wife. She had left him every option. He could open the message … he could show it to Aliam … he could leave it there, for her to find and dispose of … he walked to the table, picked it up, tapped it lightly against his other hand, and tucked it away in the inside pocket of his tunic. Whatever else she might be, and however different from the women he knew … he knew she loved and respected her husband, and wished him no harm.
Chaya
The King’s Squires escorting the Count of Andressat led the way into the palace court. Andressat’s courier had reached them in plenty of time; Kieri was at the head of the steps when Andressat dismounted. He knew Andressat well enough to recognize that the Count was uncomfortable.
“My lord Count,” Kieri said coming down the steps. “You are welcome here—I never expected to see you north of the Dwarfmounts. We are honored.”
“Sir King,” Andressat said, bowing low. “I would not trouble you if it were not a matter of grave import.”
“Then come inside,” Kieri said, “for it looks to rain again within a short time.” He noticed Andressat’s eyes widen at the carpets and tapestries—Andressat had prided himself on the textiles his estate produced. If Kieri had wanted revenge for all the slights Andressat had heaped on him, this would be ample, but in fact he wanted Andressat to enjoy the visit. The old man had a shrewd understanding of southern politics, and a dry wit Kieri had enjoyed whenever Andressat let it show. “Urgent as your news is,” Kieri said, “you will want to bathe and rest before sharing it, I’m sure—”
Andressat shook his head. “I have two things first, and then I will be glad of a brief rest. I do not, alas, have the endurance of the young.”
“Very well,” Kieri said, and led him into his smaller office. “Have a seat.”
Andressat sat down, then reached into his tunic, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. “It is a delicate matter,” he said. “I received this from Aliam Halveric’s lady—she asked me to carry it to you without his knowledge, which ordinarily I would not do. But Lord Halveric is not well—even as a visitor I could see that something is wrong there, and I do not know what.” He handed the paper to Kieri.
“Aliam not well?” Kieri said. “He was fine in the spring—” But a memory of Aliam’s letter came to him, and he frowned as he broke the seal. “And the other?” he said, beginning to read.
“I met your Captain Arcolin in Aarenis, in Fossnir, traveling with his sergeant, the blind one—”
“Blind!” Kieri said. He looked at Andressat. “He has no blind sergeant—who?”
“Stammel, the man’s name was. Some injury this past summer. The man seems well but for that; he rode without a leading rein; we traveled together from Fossnir to Valdaire. But I was supposed to tell Lord Halveric, and I forgot—I was shocked at his