“I understand that you have a banking agreement with the Qarant, Ambassador,” one said after we’d been introduced. He peered at Laurel over the edge of his glass as he took a swallow, and I saw a tortoise peeking out of his shell.
“No, honored sir,” Laurel replied. “Not a banking agreement. We’re trading partners.”
“I see,” the tortoise said. His head extended further. “What do you trade?”
“All kinds of goods. Smithery and other crafts. Some grain, fruit. But mainly textiles.” Laurel pointed to the woven strips decorating his staff. “Cloth, rugs, and the like. There are some who say our carpets rival Perdans.”
“Indeed.” The tortoise’s head was fully extended and he had risen up on all four legs. “I would like to speak with you further on this, Ambassador—”
“Talking business at the king’s reception, my lord?” Lord Gherat said from behind us, his smile not reaching his eyes.
I expected the tortoise to snap back into his shell, but instead his head lowered and his mouth gaped open, showing powerful jaws as the lord smiled back. “Why, Gherat, I’m amazed at how you always manage to find us out. Are you going to tattle?”
“Perhaps.” Gherat turned to me, putting his back to Laurel and Javes. “However, I’m here to bring Lord Rabbit to his cousin the king before he faints from the heat.” He smiled again, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “We don’t want, ah, Sweet Cheeks here falling down and getting any more splinters.”
“Yes, my lord.” I waited a moment, then raised my brows at him. “The king, my lord?” I smiled back.
“When you’re ready.”
Javes gave a deep laugh and Laurel chuffed as Gherat’s smile and crinkles disappeared. Without saying anything more, the Lord Treasurer turned and moved into the throng and, with a brief bow to my companions, I followed.
Chapter Thirty-one
Lord Gherat took me to another side room, going past two guards to rap at the door, which was opened by another guard. “Let him in!” a voice called and the guard moved back. Stepping to the threshold, I saw Jusson sitting on a divan surrounded by lordlings. Standing behind him was Lord Commander Thadro. He turned an impassive face towards me. Apparently I’d not impressed him when he saw me in the receiving line.
On the other hand, Jusson was smiling. “Come on in, Rabbit.” Squashing the thought that I’d rather be reliving my first week of training with my old sergeant, I entered. Hearing the door close, I looked behind me but I had entered alone—Gherat had stayed on the outside.
“Come in, cousin, and sit down,” Jusson said.
I found an empty chair in front of the divan and sat. Jusson waved at someone (who looked like one of the major-domos) who poured wine, this time dark red, into a glass goblet. I watched as the outside of the glass beaded with water.
“Have you ever had bloodwine, Rabbit?” Jusson asked as the servant handed me the glass.
“No, Your Majesty.” There was silence, and then I realized that was my cue. I took a sip and the cold flavors of red wine, oranges, lemons, limes and honey exploded in my mouth. “It’s very good, Your Majesty.” I took another sip and set the glass down on a side table. Jusson raised a brow and I recognized another cue. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, it’s just that—” The other brow went up and I laughed. “It’s just that I’ve already had several glasses of wine and nothing much to eat this evening.”
Jusson waved again and a plate appeared before me.
“No meat, am I correct?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” I wondered who the royal spies were.
“You have permission to address me by my name in this room, cousin.”
“Thank you, Jusson.”
Jusson smiled and settled back into the divan, watching me eat. This time it was my turn to feel like the fattened Festival goose. Jusson chuckled and I looked up in mid-chew. He grinned at me. “Tell me, Rabbit—such an interesting name! You look nothing like one. How did you come by it? Is it a nickname?”
I swallowed. “No, sire—”
His brow rose again.
“—Jusson. My ma—” Someone snickered.
“Lady Hilga,” he said.
“Yes, sire—Jusson. She said it was because I was so quick and could hide in plain sight, though how she could tell that on my Nameday two weeks after my birth I don’t know.” I took a sip of my wine. “I figure it was because after six children, she and my da—”
“Lord Rafe.” There were more snickers.
“They now go by Lark and Two Trees.” I took another sip of wine. “Anyway, I think by the time they got to me, they ran out of names.”
Jusson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Six brothers and sisters? Such a large family.”
“There are eight of us total, cousin. I’ve a little sister.”
“My word. What’s she named? Squirrel?” one of the lordlings asked, and the others laughed.
I said nothing, thinking of how the lovely Freston ladies might respond to an ankle chain like Sro Kenalt’s. The Lord Commander glanced at the lordling, then returned his impassive stare to me.
“So, what’s your sister’s name, cousin?”
I gave the king a slow blink. “Sparrow, sire.”
“Does she sing?”
That caught me by surprise. The image of my sister at her first Solemn Assembly singing the invocation arose—and how even crabby old Rises With The Dawn joined in at the fiat. “Yes, sire.”
“Then perhaps your, ah, ma was right in naming you so,” the king said. The lordlings snickered again.
“Yes, sire.”
“Jusson, Rabbit. Or cousin.”
“Yes, cousin.”
The king smiled again, his black eyes intent. “So, anyway, Rabbit, tell me. Why does my cousin have on his hand the same marking the Faena cat does—a marking that he didn’t have a couple of days ago?”
My mouth parted as I stared at him.
“Answer my question, Rabbit.”
“Your Majesty—”
“You weary me, cousin, with your insistence on my titles.”
“Yes, Jusson. Tell me, how old are you?”
Jusson blinked and sat back. “What does my age have to do with anything?”
“I’d imagine that it has a lot to do with everything, cousin.” Jusson frowned and I watched the gold in his black eyes flare. Stubborn idiot, Laurel rumbled. Go ahead and tell the man what he wants to know.
Not man, I thought. Dark elf.
Laurel’s rumble turned into a growl. Man, elf—he is king here. Tell him before he cuts your idiot head off. He roared the last words and I winced. Dropping my eyes down, I saw I still held the plate. I set it aside and stared at my palm.
“I nearly killed a man,” I said, “so Laurel Faena placed the rune there to keep me from losing control again.”
“How did you almost kill him?”
“I lost my temper and summoned something I didn’t know I could.”
“Witch,” one of the lordlings muttered, and started to make a sign against evil.
Jusson gave the lordling a narrowed look and he stopped midgesture. “The doyen who traveled with him has attested to Lord Rabbit’s orthodoxy. Do you dispute it?”
“Uh, no sire,” the lordling said as I blinked at the realization that the king had spoken with Doyen Allwyn.
Jusson turned his attention back to me. “However, it’s no wonder people are unsettled, cousin. The entire city shook with thunderclaps a couple of days ago when you first took—sick. Even now I can ‘feel’ whatever it is hanging dense about you. Then yesterday I received a message from”—he picked up a sheet of paper that was next to him on the divan—”Magus Kareste, who writes that a runaway apprentice”—Jusson scanned down the page—”has been traced to the Royal City. He says that it would behoove both Iversterre and the young man if we found him and returned him to his master.” Jusson lowered the paper and looked at me. “For this apprentice is untrained and, as he comes into his powers, can cause unwitting harm to himself and those around him.” I suddenly remembered that it was rather important to breathe.