Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [49]
“This place is usually taken,” Rubrik said with satisfaction. “It’s very popular with those with the silver for absolute privacy. There’s a small bedroom for each of us, beds fit for a prince, cozy little parlor, private bathing room, and they’ll bring dinner over from the inn. If we’re going to have to wait out a storm, this is the way to do it.”
The rooms were tiny, but the beds were as soft as promised; Karal had the absurd feeling that he was sequestered in a doll house, but the place was comfortable, no doubt about that. The cottage would be hideously confining for a long stay, especially for three adults who did not know each other very well.
By the time they’d each taken a turn at soaking in the huge bathtub, however, Karal was quite prepared to agree with Rubrik’s earlier statement. For waiting out a storm, this was the best of all possible venues. He was the last to take his bath, and when he got out, the smell of fresh muffins and hot tea greeted his nose.
He followed his nose to the parlor, where a servant from the inn had just set a tray on the table. Ulrich looked up at his entrance and chuckled at his expression. “Evidently our innkeeper has several young men of your age,” the Priest told him. “His cook sent this over before I could even ask Rubrik to find a servant to get you a snack.”
Rubrik turned around in his chair and grinned at Karal’s expression. “Your master reminded me that young men your age are always hungry, and I pointed out this simple fact to our host. He is good at taking hints.”
Karal entered the parlor and took the third chair in front of the newly-lit fire just as the storm broke outside. A crash of thunder shook the cottage, and rain lashed the roof in a sudden torrent, making Karal very glad that they were all inside, and not out on the road.
The windows in this pseudo-cottage were small, and not very satisfactory for storm watching, so Karal contented himself with listening to the thunder and the rain pouring down on the roof, as he helped himself to muffins and tea. He’d always enjoyed watching flames dance in a fireplace, anyway. It would be nice to spend a couple of nights here, if it came to that. Ulrich could use the rest, and he had some papers Ulrich had suggested he study that he hadn’t had the time for.
But Rubrik is never going to wait that long, he decided, listening to the conversation with one ear. He wants us in Haven as soon as possible. I wonder what could be so urgent?
Ulrich had turned the tables on their escort, and was asking personal questions of him. Rubrik didn’t seem at all reluctant to answer them now, although he had not been so forthcoming before this. Perhaps he had decided that not only was Ulrich worthy of trust as an envoy, he was to be trusted with other things as well.
Ulrich had just asked him—with the Priest’s customary tact and delicacy—how he had come to be injured. Karal stopped listening to the rain outside, and devoted his full attention to the conversation.
“That is—an interesting question,” the envoy replied measuringly.
“I hope you’ll forgive such impertinence,” Ulrich told him, with sincerity that was obvious, “but I couldn’t help but think, since from the scar it is a recent injury, that it occurred in the war with Ancar. I thought perhaps it might have a bearing on why you are our escort, and not—someone else. And I wondered if something in that tale might account for your astonishingly good command of our tongue.”
“It’s not all that impertinent. I find stares a great deal ruder. And oddly enough, it does have something