The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [117]
“Yah.”
Stephen’s eyes widened. “You don’t care! You care more about the trees than you do about the people.”
“Don’t talk for me, Stephen,” Aspar cautioned.
“You talk, then. You tell me.”
“Read the letter,” Aspar said, to change a topic he wasn’t sure about himself. “Then we’ll reckon where to go from here. It may be that we should have another talk with the praifec.”
Stephen frowned at him, but took the letter from Leshya’s hand. When he examined the seal, he smiled grimly.
“Indeed,” he said. “We may well want to have another conversation with Praifec Hespero. This is his seal.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT THE BALL
FRALET ACKENZAL?”
Leoff looked up at the young man who stood at his door. He had blue eyes and wispy yellow hair. His nose bent to one side, and he seemed a bit distracted by it.
“Yes?”
“If it please you, I’ve been sent to conduct you to the lady Gramme’s affair.”
“I . . . I’m quite busy,” Leoff said, tapping the music notation on his desk. “I’ve a commission . . .”
The man frowned. “You did accept the lady’s invitation.”
“Well, yes, actually, but—”
The fellow wagged his finger as if Leoff were a naughty child. “Milady made it quite clear that she would be most insulted if you did not attend. She’s had a new hammarharp brought in just for you.”
“I see.” Leoff cast his gaze desperately around the room in the vague hope that he would see something that would get him out of this predicament.
“I’ve not much to wear,” he attempted.
The man smiled and beckoned to someone unseen. A round-faced girl dressed in servant’s garb appeared, bearing a bundle of neatly folded clothes.
“I think these will fit you,” the man said. “My name is Alvreic. I’m your footman for the night.”
Seeing no escape, Leoff took the clothes and went to his bedchamber.
Leoff watched the slowly turning saglwics of a malend on the side of the canal and shivered, both from the cold and the memory of that night near Broogh. A full moon, pale in the daylight, rose just behind it, and in the clear air he heard the distant barking of dogs. The autumn smell of hay was gone, replaced by the scent of ash.
“I had rather thought the ball was to be held in the castle,” Leoff ventured.
“Is the coat not warm enough?”
“It’s a beautiful coat,” Leoff said. It was, for it was quilted and embroidered with leaves on the high collar and wide cuffs. He just wished it were as warm as it was pretty.
“The lady has excellent taste.”
“Where are we going, may I ask?”
“Why, Grammeshugh, of course,” Alvreic replied. “Milady’s estate.”
“I thought the lady Gramme lived in the castle.”
“She does, most of the time, but she does have the estate, of course.”
“Of course,” Leoff repeated, feeling stupid.
He felt as if he were in one of those dreams where one kept getting farther and farther from one’s goal, gradually forgetting altogether what that goal was.
He still remembered his intention had been to avoid the party. After Artwair’s warning and the strange night with the queen, any connection to the lady Gramme seemed foolish.
So he’d decided to pretend he’d forgotten her invitation. That had clearly failed, so his next-best hope had been to make a brief appearance and then quietly excuse himself. Now somehow he’d left the castle, passed down through the gates of the city, and onto a narrowboat headed back out across Newland. It would be night soon, and the city gates would close—it would be tomorrow before he could get back to his rooms.
He should simply have refused to go, but it was too late for that. Now he could only hope the queen didn’t find out.
The world darkened, and Leoff huddled against it. For him, there was no longer anything innocent about the night. It hid things, but unfairly it did not hide him. On the contrary, it seemed as if he were prey for everything out there, and he felt hunted. He even slept with a lamp lit, these nights.
Presently he noticed a line of cheerful lights ahead, and as they drew nearer saw lanterns strung along the side of the canal. They led up to a quayside pavilion,