The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [47]
“I know of no immediate threat, milady, but I consider this forest unsafe,” he answered. “Most of the men who accompanied us from Dunmrogh have gone beyond the wood in the west. What you see here is all I know who remain alive.”
“Where is Frete Stephen?”
Neil glanced at Aspar.
“He was taken by the slinders,” the holter said stiffly. “He and Ehawk.”
Anne gazed off into the forest as if searching for the two men, then returned her gaze to the holter.
“Do you believe that they are dead?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” Anne said. “Holter White, a word with you in private, if you don’t mind.”
Neil watched in mild frustration as his charge and the holter stepped away from the rest. He found it difficult not to watch them, and so he turned his attention back to the duchess.
“Glenchest is well?” he asked.
“Glenchest is as beautiful as ever,” she replied.
“And untouched by the present conflict?”
“Untouched, no. Nothing is untouched by my brother’s rash actions. But I do not think he has ever considered me a threat.”
“Should he?” Neil asked.
The duchess smiled sweetly. “Some publish that I am a threat to virtue,” she replied. “And I do hope that I am the enemy of boredom and ennui, wherever I find them. But my brother knows I have not the faintest design on the throne and all the ridiculous tedium that goes with it. I am content merely to be left to my own amusements.”
“Then you don’t favor one claimant over another?”
The duchess put one hand up to stifle a yawn. “I had forgotten, Sir Neil, that being beautiful and young does not prevent you from being—at times—something of a bore.”
“My apologies, Highness,” Neil said, recognizing full well that she hadn’t answered his question. That might be a good sign; the duchess was very clearly in control of the situation. She could afford to let him know her intentions even if he wouldn’t like them.
Glancing over, he saw that Anne’s conversation with the holter had ended, and Aspar White was now approaching.
“Duchess,” Aspar said, affecting a rather crude bow.
“Holter. How are you and your young creature?”
“Well enough, y’r grace. And you?”
“I have a bit of an appetite,” she murmured, “for wild game. I don’t suppose there’s any convenient, is there?”
“Ah—” Aspar said.
“I generally prefer something tender and milk-fed,” she added, “or at least not long off the teat. But sometimes one wants something that’s been well seasoned, don’t you think?”
“I don’t—with the slinders and all, most game has—ah, your grace—”
“Aunt Elyoner,” Anne said, “leave the poor man be. There’s no use to torture him that way. He has to go now. He’s just trying to make his farewells.”
“Is that true?” Neil asked the holter. “Then you convinced her?”
Clearly relieved to take the conversation in a different direction, Aspar scratched his jaw and returned his regard to Neil.
“Well, no, not exactly,” he said. “Her Highness thinks it best if Winna and I go after Stephen.”
“I wish I’d had a word or two in that,” Neil said flatly.
The holter’s expression darkened, but Anne broke in before he could reply.
“He didn’t convince me of anything, Sir Neil,” Anne said. “I’ve my own reasons for sending him after Frete Stephen.” So saying, she went back to her mount.
Neil straightened, feeling suddenly out of his depth again. Queen Muriele had often put him at a disadvantage by not telling him enough. Now, it seemed, Anne was to be the same sort of mistress.
“I’m sorry,” he told Aspar. “I’ve not known you long, but I do know you better than that. I’m not fighting on the terrain I favor, Aspar White. It makes me edgy.”
“I understand,” Aspar said. “But you’re more suited to this sort of thing than I am. I know nothing of courts, or coups, or fighting with armies. I’m of no use to you when it comes to putting her on the throne. Grim, I don’t even understand everything that’s going on out here in the forest, but I do know that it’s my place. Her Majesty canns that, too, I reckon.”
Neil nodded and took his arm. “You’re