The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [90]
“We should talk to the Duke after dinner.” Creslin waits. “I will see you then.” He moves toward the door, but Megaera still says nothing.
He closes the door and turns down the corridor toward his quarters, followed by another pair of armed guards.
LIV
DESPITE THE ELEVATED boots he wears, Korweil is considerably shorter than Creslin. The Duke’s thin face appears pinched, and his deep-set eyes are bloodshot. “So you’re the one who may bring the wizards down on me?” He stands by the massive desk designed for a far larger predecessor.
“I may be a convenient excuse. They will do what they will and give the most plausible reason available at the time.”
“Excuses, excuses. At least Dylyss has taught you logic in addition to some reputedly fancy blade-work.”
Creslin senses a tightness in Megaera, a mounting anger. The Duke is trying to push them. “You know, Megaera, I believe your cousin is attempting to get a reaction from us.” His eyes flicker from her to the Duke. “Considering that you have few allies indeed, is a moment’s satisfaction worth the trouble that provoking us might cause?”
“You’re rather cool, Consort Creslin. And not terribly appreciative of one who has provided sanctuary for your recovery.”
“I am deeply appreciative, my lord.” Creslin’s bow is not quite sardonic. “And I have come to discuss how best we might serve you in departing this sanctuary.”
Megaera’s eyes flash from one man to the other. “Might we be seated around the table, cousin?”
“Certainly, certainly.” The Duke moves toward the nearest chair as if to offer it to Megaera. He stops short as Creslin’s fingers curl around the high back.
Megaera steps around both of them and takes the Duke’s chair. “If you two are ready . . .”
Creslin sits down in the chair he had thought to offer to Megaera and pulls it up to the circular table. Korweil steps behind one of the two remaining chairs and pours a glass of red wine from a green crystal decanter into a goblet.
“Would you like any?” He nods first to Megaera, then to Creslin.
“I think not, cousin.”
“No, thank you.”
“I see.” The Duke sips from the goblet, then sets it before him and eases himself into a chair. “What do you have in mind, Megaera?”
“I’d be interested in your ideas, cousin.”
The Duke shrugs. “Anywhere outside of Montgren that suits your fancy. Back to Sarronnyn, perhaps?”
“An amusing idea, but do you really think sister dear would like to see me back . . . unfettered?”
“Ah, yes. Ryessa might have some concerns about that.” His fingers steeple. “Perhaps Suthya?”
Megaera’s eyes fix upon the Duke.
“Ah. I see that might have some problems.” His forehead shimmers in the lamplight. Korweil takes his handkerchief and wipes the dampness away. “Do you have any suggestions, oh vaunted Storm Wizard?”
“Just one. It might solve everyone’s problem. Why don’t you name Megaera regent of Recluce?”
“I . . . what?” the Duke sputters, choking on the wine.
“Name Megaera as viceroy of Recluce, as your regent of the isle.”
Korweil wipes his face with the back of his sleeve, ignoring the napkin on the table and the handkerchief in his wide white belt. “It’s more than ten times the size of Montgren, and I’m supposed to name her regent?”
Even Megaera’s mouth is open.
“Yes.”
“But. . .?”
“She’s your cousin. She is the sub-Tyrant of Sarronnyn. You cannot afford to hold the island, not with every man you have needed against the wizards, and I doubt that either Sarronnyn or Westwind would mind sending a small detachment to support your interests on Recluce, given Megaera as regent.”
Korweil shakes his head. “No.”
“Why not?” Creslin’s tone is almost absentminded, as if Korweil’s comments are irrelevant.
“Recluce is Montgren.”
“They why isn’t your keep there?”
“I prefer Montgren for its . . . more convenient . . . location.”
“Practically next door to Fairhaven?”
Korweil wipes his forehead again.
“I think my dear cousin has forgotten how desolate most of Recluce is,” Megaera observes.
The Duke continues mopping his forehead.
“Or how difficult it might be.