Realms of Shadow - Lizz Baldwin [108]
Out on the balcony-or rather, just beneath it, where he was clinging by his fingertips-Glarasteer Rhauligan rolled his eyes. Did all of these nobles learn their bombast at the same school? Or did the Lord of Traitors answer their prayers by filling their minds with the same grand speeches of self-righteous "for the good of the realm I do this" blurf?
"If you truly cared for the good of Cormyr," Lord Summertree replied coldly, "You'd court Alusair and set your son to wooing the Mage Royal-and win or lose their charms, you'd gain yourself ample opportunity to fill their ears with the policies and stances you think the realm should adopt."
"Take that spitfire to wife? Harness my son to a commoner?"
"Oh, stop squeaking, my lord. Barely two centuries have your kin held nobility-and right now you scarcely seem suited to it. We were all commoners, once. As for taming princesses-think of it as better sport than sticking your lances through stags and a few scrawny boar. Twould keep you busy, at least, and-"
"And out of your regard? That much I can do, my lord! Good day to you!" Lord Helmstone's parting wish was delivered at a roar as he whirled and stormed out, back-handing a wine-bearing manservant out of his way so fiercely that one of Summertree's best decanters clanged off the passage wall.
Its owner waved the servant away with a reassuring smile, firmly closed the door, set its lock bar in place, and strode to his desk.
Lord Summertree was not in a writing mood at this moment, it seemed. He went around behind his chair, kept going-and with surprising speed for a man so muscular and of graying years-snatched aside the tapestry that concealed the door to his cloak closet. His sword was half drawn as he stared into the wide eyes of the still-sweating Mage Royal.
He asked pleasantly, "I trust you heard everything you wanted to. Have you a good reason to give me why I shouldn't just run you through with this good blade right now-as I would any sneak-thief?"
Caladnei cleared her throat. "Are you not afraid of my Art?"
Summertree smiled back at her wryly. "Shouldn't you be afraid of mine?"
The larger of the two ornate rings on his left hand winked, and a singing, glowing aura appeared around the noble. He stepped back and drew his sword. In silence they both watched a radiance that matched Summertree's shield awaken in his blade, and start to silently race along its bright, sharp edges.
"No," the Mage Royal said flatly, tossing her head. "I know you stand loyal for the Crown-and so I have nothing to fear."
Summertree raised an eyebrow. "I know not where you stand," he replied gently, lifting his sword so that its tip was a whisker away from the cotton cloaking her breast, "so I think you do."
The blade lifted, to menace her throat. "Who is Caladnei, really?" the noble asked, his voice almost a purr. "How do any of us know if Vangerdahast really chose you-or if he did, what he intends for our fair realm? Who's he truly loyal to, and whom do you serve? I ask again: why shouldn't I just run you through now, as many of the hotheads among we who bear titles desire me to do?"
Steel flashed as Glarasteer Rhauligan stepped into the room. "Because, my Lord Summertree," he said firmly, "to do so would be the act of a traitor-a man I would be forced to cut down, even in his own manor, for so cruel a murder and deliberate treason against the Crown."
Everran Summertree was not accustomed to being surprised by the silent approaches of strangers-least of all in his own study, and with daggers poised in their hands to throw in his direction. If the old lord was astonished, Caladnei was even more so.
"Who are you?" they said, more or