Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [18]
“I might,” I said. “It depends on the query.” I watched suspicion creep into his expression and rolled my eyes. “Elua’s Balls, man! I’ll not lie, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Do you seek my post?”
“Your post?” Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. I stared blankly at him. “The captaincy of the Dauphine’s Guard? Why in the world would I want that?”
“Well, the last man to share her highness’ bed did,” de Monluc observed. “But I reckon you might have reasons of your own.” He studied me with his cool, blue gaze. “You’ve enemies at Court. Taking command of the Dauphine’s Guard and creating your own personal army would be a shrewd step. It would afford you a measure of protection.”
I returned his gaze. He looked away, taking a sip of ale. It didn’t matter. I could see the aching lines of pain and sorrow beneath the distrust. “You’re one of them,” I said. “You don’t wear the black armband, but you are, aren’t you? You lost family at the battle of Troyes-le-Mont.”
“It didn’t . . .” De Monluc paused. “My father. I was ten.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
He was silent a moment. I waited.
“I’m not one of them,” he said at length. “Not one to reckon a man should be judged by the deeds of his forebears. I talked to men who served under you in Alba, Urist and some of his fellows. They thought well of you.”
“I thought well of them,” I said.
Claude de Monluc glanced at me. “So do you want it or no?”
“Are you good at your job?” I asked.
He straightened, stung. “I am. I earned this post, my lord, and I am loyal to her highness. These men . . .” He gestured. “They’re off duty, your highness. We completed drills this morning. There is no license here, if that’s your thought. We know our duty. Any one of us would lay down our lives to protect the Dauphine.”
There were shouts of agreement from a few guardsmen within earshot who forgot to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping.
“Is he good at his job?” I asked them.
“Too good, my lord,” one called amid rumbles of laughter and agreement.
“A strict taskmaster?” I asked. “Willing to share every hardship? Given to painstaking measures of precaution when it comes to the Dauphine’s safety?”
“By the seven hells, is he ever!” Alfonse said fervently.
I raised my brows at Claude de Monluc. “Well, then. I have no interest in your post, Captain.”
He flushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “After Maslin de Lombelon’s ambitions, and with the gossip surrounding me, I don’t blame you for wondering . . .” A thought struck me. “Do you and your men drill on horseback?”
“What?” De Monluc looked startled. “No, only on foot. We’re guards, not cavalry.”
It was Maslin’s name had made me think of it. We had a long history. He had been the second in command of the Dauphine’s Guard, and, briefly, Sidonie’s lover. After they had quarrelled, he’d set out to find me in Vralia, determined to prove to her that he loved her more than I did. Instead, he’d found out a great deal about himself, including the fact that his feelings for Sidonie were a dubious mixture of yearning, ambition, and idealized romanticism.
And that I, on the other hand, truly did love her.
“You should,” I said. “The men who attacked me in Vralia were mounted. Maslin thought he could handle them, but good as he is with a sword, he doesn’t fight well in the saddle.”
“And yet he saved your life, did he not?” de Monluc asked in confusion. “Or so I heard.”
I hadn’t said any more than that publicly, reckoning it was true enough in its own way. “He did,” I said, lowering my voice. “Of a surety, I would likely have died if he’d not been there. But let us say I had more of a hand in my own salvation than Maslin would have liked.” I laughed at the memory. “He told me that he was hoping I’d have to spend the rest of my life knowing I owed every breath I drew to him.”
“He said that?” De Monluc stared. “And you think it’s funny?”
I shrugged. “In its own way, yes. Anyway, ’tis a serious weakness. What if Sidonie were attacked in the middle of a hunting party or riding from some pleasure jaunt?