Masquerades - Kate Novak [149]
If these two were Thistle's advisors, Victor knew he might have an uphill battle for the lady's affection. Lady Thistle, however, proved to be as charming as her bodyguards were sullen. She was dressed in mourning, but her golden hair shone in the afternoon light, and her face was flushed with excitement. She wore the green feather brooch that had once been her grandmother's.
Victor expected Thistle to try to show him how mature she was, and she did not disappoint him. Once she'd led the croamarkh out onto the veranda overlooking the city, she asked if he would prefer tea or wine. After the other three visits he'd made today, Victor really felt like wine, and he was really curious to see what effect it might have on-Thistle, but the looks on the faces of the halfling bodyguards cooled his desires. He asked for tea. Thistle rang for a servant and ordered a tea tray, then motioned for Victor to take a chair opposite her. The servant who returned with the tea tray politely disappeared back into the castle, but Thistle's two bodyguards remained standing behind her, like attack dogs restrained only by their mistress's will.
The talk was irritatingly small, as it always was when dealing with other nobles. It started with stilted condolences on each other's losses and then shifted to the weather. They discussed in a guarded way their latest shipments in from Thay or caravans from Amn. They speculated on whether or not the Night Mask threat had abated or even disappeared entirely. Thistle expressed the opinion that if it were so, they owed it all to Alias. Victor agreed completely, giving him a chance to appear more aggrieved as he added that he wished the price had
not been so high. In the end, to the apparent alarm of both halflings, Victor got what he'd really come for, a dinner date with Thistle for the next evening.
Victor rose to leave just as a message arrived for Thistle, so Olive was assigned the task of escorting the croamarkh from the castle. Victor paused at the door and turned to the halfling. "I know you're hurt by what happened to Alias," he began.
Olive scowled. "How nice of you to remember her."
Victor took a deep breath and pressed on, "She knew the risks, and all of Westgate is in her debt. I want to propose a statue in her honor. Would you like that?"
Olive was silent for a moment, then asked, "Lord Victor, have you mistaken me for a child?"
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I missed something."
Olive sniffed. "Yes, you did," she agreed coolly, "and now I miss something as well. If you'll excuse me."
Victor bowed and stepped outside. Olive shut the door firmly behind him. He's sorry, he says, the halfling thought cynically. "If I find out he had anything to do with Alias's death, he'll be sorry, all right," she muttered as she stalked down the hall.
Even if he weren't involved in Alias's death, Victor Dhostar was a vain jackass. Statue, indeed! He may have deceived Alias, but he was not going to ensnare Thistle, Olive resolved. Not if she had anything to say about it.
Unfortunately, Thistle made Alias's impulsive nature seem positively reasonable. When Olive returned to the veranda, the young noblewoman was in a heated discussion with Miss Winterhart.
"I felt a bttle sorry for him," said Thistle. "He's like one of those tragic figures in a sad, romantic opera. He strives to break up the Night Masks, yet on the eve of his triumph, he loses both his father and his love."
"Triumph!" Winterhart laughed in an imperious tone that in any other household might have gotten her bounced down the front steps. "What triumph?"
"Why, over the Night Masks," Thistle responded, flustered by Winterhart's attitude. "Everyone agrees that since everything has quieted down so, the Faceless must be dead and the Night Masks in chaos."
"Really?" Winterhart exclaimed. "Did you think thieves observed a period of mourning?" She looked at Olive. "Is she