“I see.” The Fyrst was quiet for a few moments. “Yes,” he finally said. “We extend our Hospitality to them, the staff, and”—he looked at the vice admiral—”to your sailors also.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Vice Admiral Havram said as he also bowed, looking as though he wanted to keep his officers and crews as far away as possible from the elf city.
A small smile flitted across the Fyrst’s face. “Do not fear, Vice Admiral.” He signaled and Eorl Pellan moved back to the dais. “My commander will make sure that your sailors understand the do’s and don’ts of shore leave.” He looked at the eorl. “Bring the ships’ officers here, Pellan.” He cast a glance at Suiden. “And His Highness’ soldiers.” The commander bowed and strode out of the hall, gathering certain of his guard.
“Sir?” Lieutenant Falkin murmured, and Uncle Havram hesitated, obviously torn between staying with me and going with Pellan. He then sighed and shook his head. “Nay, Lieutenant. The ship captains will take care of what’s necessary.” He caught the Fyrst’s gaze on him and waved a hand in my direction. “My brother’s child, Your Grace.”
“You are connected,” the Fyrst remarked, looking back at me. He then raised his hand once again, and the major-domos’ elfin twin stepped forward. “My chamberlain will see you all to your rooms.” He looked at the ghosts ranged behind me, then back at the chamberlain. “The west side of the fourth level.”
As the chamberlain bowed, I wondered if the quarters were as far away from the Fyrst’s rooms as one could get in the keep—and His Grace’s brows flew up.
“I see.” He shot a look at Laurel. “I will send for you once you’re settled, honored Faena. There’s much I would discuss with you.”
No one said anything as the chamberlain led us through the double doors out of the audience hall, back to the main stairs, and up to the fourth floor, collecting servants as he went. I kept my eyes on Javes in front of me, only catching out of the corner of my eyes the mosaics, bas-reliefs, and tapestries on the walls, an impression of shapes, colors and textures. The chamberlain reached a set of double doors (”More Gifted wood?” my uncle murmured) and opened them with a flair, revealing a large common room—a miniature hall really—with a fireplace at the end and several doorways covered by heavy curtains on each side.
“We’ll have to double up some,” Chancellor Berle said, counting doorways. The haunts followed us in as the chamberlain oversaw the lighting of the fire.
“Peat moss,” the Faena said, seeing Uncle Havram’s interest in the fireplace.
“Oh, aye.” The vice admiral’s mouth quirked. “Well, if wood’s so precious and all, I suppose they wouldn’t burn it.” He didn’t wait for the Faena’s reply but looked back at the chancellor. “Do not worry about Falkin and me, Berle. We and the other officers will sleep on our ships.”
There were two windows at either side of the fireplace, the sun low enough to blaze through them, but even so the servants went through the common room, lighting candles. Soon the scent of beeswax, lightly perfumed with myrtle, filled the air. Several more servants entered with fresh towels, bed linens, pomanders containing a medley of dried petals, spices and oils, and fresh flowers that they arranged in vases around the common area and in the sleeping chambers. Water was also brought in, poured into a large kettle and placed on the fireplace hob to heat. The chamberlain upended a small bag into the kettle and, as the water warmed, the smell of roses was added to the room.
“Nice rugs,” Esclaur said, looking down at the colorful carpets covering a floor of gray slate. “Perdans?”
“No, our own,” the Faena replied. “As I’ve said before, Border textiles rival in quality what both Iversterre and Tural produce.”
A couple of servants appeared with trays containing pitchers and chalices, and when they walked by I could smell mulled wine. Noses twitched and we turned our heads to watch them place the trays on a table near the fireplace. More servants followed behind them with a tray containing cheeses, different kinds of fruit and fresh bread, still steaming from the oven.
“A little something to tide us over until dinner,” Doyen Allwyn said. “Looks good.”
There were sounds of assent.
The servants finished and the chamberlain once again swept through the rooms to make sure that they were up to the keep’s standards. Satisfied, he herded the servants out before him and, after promising to come get us in time for dinner, he bowed and shut the doors after him with a gentle snick.
As one, everyone turned and looked at Laurel Faena, who looked back at us, his face calm, his tail lashing back and forth.
Uncle Havram held up his hand as several people inhaled, silencing them before they spoke. He then lowered his brows at Laurel. “What game are you playing, Ambassador?” he asked, his voice very soft.
“No game, honored vice admiral—Oof!”
I dimly heard shouts and the scraping back of chairs and tables as I knocked Laurel down and we rolled around on the floor—me trying to get a fist, a knee, a foot, a fingernail into a tender spot. Laurel, though, was taller, with a longer reach and almost half again my weight, and in a few moments he was staring down at me, his paws pinning my arms to the rug as he sat on my legs.
I arched my back, trying to dislodge him. “Let me bloody up, you double-dealing, pox-rotted, mangy son of a flea-bitten bitch.”
Laurel rumbled, his ears flattening against his skull.
“Let him up, Sro Cat,” Suiden said, coming into view over Laurel’s shoulders.
Laurel slowly got off of me, his ears still flat. I also stood, not bothering to straighten either hair or clothes, and Suiden clamped a hand on my shoulder to keep me from going after the Faena again.
“It’s no game,” Laurel repeated as he spared a brief glance around and located his staff behind Lieutenant Falkin, lying against the wall. He started to move towards it, but Falkin didn’t budge. They eyed each other.
“What the hell do you call it, then?” Havram asked. He gestured for Falkin to step aside. “You swear up and down that you’ll keep Rabbit away from this Maggot—”
“Magus,” Laurel corrected, picking up his staff.
“Whatever,” my uncle said, waving the distinction away. I shifted so I could see the Faena. “But when we get here, it comes out that he’s the one who sent you in the first place.”
“No, he didn’t,” Laurel said. “I was sent by the High Council.”
“Do not shave words and dice meanings with me, cat,” Havram said, his voice still soft. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Yes, honored vice admiral.” Laurel shot a glance at me, and then away. “I know.”
My uncle’s voice grew softer. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Yes, it bothers me—”
“You lied,” I said, “and have been lying from the beginning.”
Laurel sighed and began to untangle his beads. “No, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell all.”
“Do you think that’s better?” I asked. “That it makes it all right?”
“No. I’m not justifying. Never to justify.” Laurel looked at me and this time didn’t look away. “But perhaps to explain.”
“What’s there to explain?” I shoved my hair out of my face. “How funny you found it to dupe the human?”
“Dupe you?” Laurel rumbled back. “Are you with the Magus?”
Well, no, I wasn’t. “But—”
“I have done what I’ve sworn I’d do. Your indentures are dissolved, by order of the Fyrst.”
“At least until the High Council meets,” Javes murmured, his yellow wolf eyes fixed on the mountain cat.
“Perhaps it would be best if we were to all sit down and discuss this,” Doyen Allwyn said as both Laurel and I opened our mouths.