Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [109]
Arhys hesitated, the levity draining from his face. He rubbed his forehead, and then his jaw and hands. “I don’t quite know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Illvin said, “Cattilara would have it that the princess had slipped you a love potion, and you were not in control of yourself. For all my impatience with her fancies, I . . . hoped that it might be so. Because the alternative was much worse.”
“What, that I’d fallen in love with Umerue?”
“No. That wasn’t what I was thinking.”
Ista’s gaze upon him sharpened. “What were you thinking?”
Illvin’s face grew introspective, grave. “Because she’d had the same effect on me. At first. Then she saw Arhys and forgot me. Dropped me to earth like a sack of bran. And . . . my wits came back to me. I finally remembered where I’d seen her before, except that it wasn’t quite her—Arhys, do you recall my little trip down to Jokona about three years ago, when I went disguised as a horse dealer? The time I brought back Goram and the ground plan of Castle Hamavik.”
“Yes . . .”
“I bought some stock from the lord of Hamavik. Paid too much, which made him happy and loquacious and inclined to take me for a fool. He treated me to dinner at his seaside villa, by which I might have guessed how much he’d skinned me if I hadn’t known already. He showed off all his best possessions to me, including, briefly, his wife. A princess of Jokona, granddaughter of the Golden General himself, he told me, as if she were a pretty bit of blood stock he’d done a sharp trade for. Which I gather he must have, for the Regent Dowager Joen is not reputed to spend her children cheaply. Five gods, but he was a repulsive old goat. Golden she was, but she was the saddest silent mouse of a woman I’d ever seen. Drab. Fearful. And she didn’t speak more than six words of Ibran.”
“Not the same princess, then,” said Arhys. “The prince of Jokona has a pack of sisters. You mistook one for another, perhaps. Umerue’s tongue was bold and witty.”
“Yes. She made bilingual puns. Yet unless she has a twin sister of the same name, I’d swear her for the same woman.” Illvin sighed, then his brow wrinkled. “Catti went ripping up to the princess’s chambers in a fury, and I went charging after her. I was afraid of—I knew not what, but I thought, if nothing else, I might somehow warn you, and prevent a scene.”
“My faithful flank man.”
“This went beyond the bounds of duty, I thought. You were going to owe me, and I meant to collect, too. I begged Catti to at least let me go in first, but she ducked under my elbow. Our tumbling entry could not have been more ill timed. Speaking of bold tongues.”
Dead men, Ista noted, couldn’t blush. But they could at least look shamefaced.
“Even I couldn’t blame Catti for going into a frenzy,” Illvin continued. “But if that overdecorated dagger had been sitting at the bottom of that pile of gear instead of atop it, I might have grabbed her quicker. She went straight for the princess, screaming. Wanted to cut her face off. For understandable reasons.”
“I remember that part,” said Arhys slowly, as if unsure. “It comes back . . .”
“You pushed the golden slut out of the way, I seized Catti’s knife hand, and between us we might have saved the moment if you hadn’t tripped, lunging out of bed. Were you in such a whirl of lust that you couldn’t wait to undress? If I’d had such an opportunity—never mind. But the best swordsman in Caribastos, hobbled by his own trousers—five gods, Arhys! Catti wouldn’t have had the strength to drive that big blade home if she had been trying for you, if you hadn’t toppled into us with your ankles twisted up.” His indignation faded, and his excited voice