The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [38]
“The Wexrohzen. I promise you, you’ll find no better bread, butter, pork, or ale in the world than right there.” He slapped his rotund belly. “And I’ve looked.”
“Not even in Kaithbaurg?”
“Fancier. Not better. Too many dumplings.”
“This hardly seems the place for the queen,” Neil said, lowering his voice. “Too busy, too crowded.”
“William stayed several times,” Aradal said. “Muriele was with him at least once, and I don’t think she complained.”
Neil felt a hand settle on his shoulder.
“It’s perfectly fine,” Muriele told him.
“Majesty…”
“As I told Geoffrysen, we’re in the archgreft’s care now.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
And so they entered the Wexrohzen, and the music dropped away as every head in the hall turned toward them.
Aradal raised his voice. “Welcome, all, Her Majesty Queen Muriele.”
To Neil’s surprise, a great shout went up, and flagons were raised as the crowd answered with a welcome.
Aradal patted his shoulder and leaned close to his ear. “They don’t, after all, know who will win the war,” he said.
“I suppose they don’t,” Neil replied, but he already was frowning as some commotion seemed to be moving toward them, and space suddenly was cleared on the dance floor.
And in that space stepped a man with close-cropped red hair and a sharp beard. He wore a sable tunic displaying a lion, three roses, a sword and helm.
The hairs on Neil’s neck pricked up, because he knew the man.
The fellow lifted his chin and addressed Muriele.
“Your Majesty, I am Sir Alareik Wishilm af Gothfera, and your knight and I have unfinished business.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NATURE OF A SWORDSMAN
ANNE FOUND Cazio in the hen yard of the monastery, thrusting and stamping on the packed, swept earth. The chickens at the edge of the yard clucked protests but kept a respectable distance.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, and Anne waited a moment, watching his graceful movements. If she hadn’t seen him kill so many people with those deft, clever movements of his feet, she might think he was practicing some sort of dance.
She remembered the first time she had seen that dance, when two armed and armored knights had attacked her. Against such machines of war, Cazio had stood little chance, yet he’d put himself between her and them, anyway, and since then he’d never stopped.
But it hadn’t just been her, had it? Austra had been there, too.
The color of the sunlight seemed to change, becoming less like gold and more like brass.
He is Austra’s love, but he is my man, she thought.
“Cazio,” she said.
He stopped in midaction, turned, and saluted her with his sword.
“Majesty,” he said.
For a moment she felt breathless and silly. Her attempt to seduce him flashed vividly in her mind’s eye.
She cleared her throat. “I’m told it requires three days to walk the faneway of Mamres, and as you know, I am pressed to return to Eslen.”
He nodded, an odd look on his face, but didn’t answer. She felt a flash of pique. Surely he understood what she was getting at. Did she have to make everything clear?
Apparently.
“You need to start walking the faneway today,” she said. “Within the hour.”
Cazio sheathed his sword.
“I don’t want to,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
But he didn’t sound apologetic.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You said I could walk it if I wished,” he replied. “I don’t wish.”
Now she thought she understood his tone. “You’re angry?”
He paused, then stared her in the eye. “I’m offended,” he replied. “When has my sword failed you? When have I not defeated your enemies with my own strength and skill?”
“You would have failed yesterday if I hadn’t helped you.”
You will fail when he comes. You will die; I have seen you dead. But she couldn’t say that.
He flushed brightly. “Maybe so,” he admitted. Then: “Probably. But I am a dessrator, Majesty. I am not a killer or a mere swordsman but an artist. Would you give a singer a different voice? A painter a different pair of eyes?”
“If they could make better work, yes.”
“But it wouldn’t be theirs, would it?”
“Cazio, with the skills you already have and the blessing of Saint Mamres, you could be invincible.