Read Online 06 - Rule of Thieves by C. Greenwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. Greenwood
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seemed undamaged. Where had it come from? Why had it been returned? Had the thieving Fists not realized what they had?
My eager questions were answered with the silent shrugs and gestures that appeared to be Eisa’s standard means of communication. It was maddening that I could get no explanation for the theft of my belongings or their sudden reappearance.
I slipped the dragon scale augmenter around my neck, relieved once more to have access to my magic. Next, I returned all my knives to their proper places, while Eisa looked on with an air of impatience. I didn’t need my newly returned powers to see she wanted me to do something. She moved to the door, beckoning me to follow. I cast a hesitant glance at the bow. I could hardly carry it around the keep with me, but I was reluctant to leave it behind so soon after regaining it. Quickly, I thrust it beneath my blankets where, with any luck, it would be safe from prying eyes. Then I hurried after Eisa, who had taken off down the corridor we’d traveled earlier in the day.
Eisa didn’t take me to the Praetor’s audience chamber this time but to a great noisy hall. Here, the castle’s common residents crowded around trestle tables laden with food. Children and dogs played on the rush-strewn floor, their cries and barks mingling with the hum of conversation throughout the hall and rising to the rafters high above. At the far end of the room, there was a table on a dais, where I saw the Praetor eating with other finely dressed persons who were doubtless too exalted to crowd elbow to elbow with the folk at the low tables.
The aroma of food filled the air, making my stomach rumble. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. A day ago? Two?
Since Eisa had disappeared, I weaved my way alone through the busy room. I glanced fleetingly toward the high table, where I had caught a glimpse of Terrac. He belonged there, now he commanded the Iron Fists. But I was fairly certain a person of my status would not be welcome to sit down and eat with the Praetor, even had I wished to. Instead, I chose an empty seat at a long table full of strangers who, by their shabby dress and grubby appearances, appeared to be rough laborers. The house servants at least were clean and had their tidy liveries, but these people looked lowlier than they.
Someone shoved a basket of bread at me, and I tore into it ravenously. A plate of savory mutton arrived, and I wolfed it down as well. It wasn’t until I had satisfied the empty ache in my stomach that I began to slow down.
Now I remembered to thank the woman on my right, who had been passing me the food. An affable middle-aged woman, she introduced herself as Lorea, a laundress. She liked to talk, and despite finding me slow to reveal much about myself, she readily shared with me the private business of everyone around us.
That suited me fine. Indeed, I was glad to find such an unguarded source of information. I devoted my ears to her stream of chatter and my eyes to observing the people across the room at the Praetor’s table. Interrupting her gossip, I asked who they were. The Praetor I knew enough of, but what about the rest?
Lorea eagerly informed me that the young lady at the Praetor’s left hand, the sole female in that company, was Lady Morwena. A distant cousin of the Praetor, she had come to the castle only a year ago and was not well liked by anyone, not least of all the servants.
“She can be mild as milk one day,” explained Lorea, “but unpredictable as the Salaunian Sea the next.”
I studied this Lady Morwena with interest, thinking if she was a cousin to the Praetor, she was also a distant relation of mine. There was no physical resemblance between us, and I expected none as I favored my mother’s remote Skeltai ancestry. But I did see similarities between her and the Praetor. She shared his deep black hair, although hers was sleek and loosely curled. She had his nose also, which curved slightly downward like the beak
My eager questions were answered with the silent shrugs and gestures that appeared to be Eisa’s standard means of communication. It was maddening that I could get no explanation for the theft of my belongings or their sudden reappearance.
I slipped the dragon scale augmenter around my neck, relieved once more to have access to my magic. Next, I returned all my knives to their proper places, while Eisa looked on with an air of impatience. I didn’t need my newly returned powers to see she wanted me to do something. She moved to the door, beckoning me to follow. I cast a hesitant glance at the bow. I could hardly carry it around the keep with me, but I was reluctant to leave it behind so soon after regaining it. Quickly, I thrust it beneath my blankets where, with any luck, it would be safe from prying eyes. Then I hurried after Eisa, who had taken off down the corridor we’d traveled earlier in the day.
Eisa didn’t take me to the Praetor’s audience chamber this time but to a great noisy hall. Here, the castle’s common residents crowded around trestle tables laden with food. Children and dogs played on the rush-strewn floor, their cries and barks mingling with the hum of conversation throughout the hall and rising to the rafters high above. At the far end of the room, there was a table on a dais, where I saw the Praetor eating with other finely dressed persons who were doubtless too exalted to crowd elbow to elbow with the folk at the low tables.
The aroma of food filled the air, making my stomach rumble. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. A day ago? Two?
Since Eisa had disappeared, I weaved my way alone through the busy room. I glanced fleetingly toward the high table, where I had caught a glimpse of Terrac. He belonged there, now he commanded the Iron Fists. But I was fairly certain a person of my status would not be welcome to sit down and eat with the Praetor, even had I wished to. Instead, I chose an empty seat at a long table full of strangers who, by their shabby dress and grubby appearances, appeared to be rough laborers. The house servants at least were clean and had their tidy liveries, but these people looked lowlier than they.
Someone shoved a basket of bread at me, and I tore into it ravenously. A plate of savory mutton arrived, and I wolfed it down as well. It wasn’t until I had satisfied the empty ache in my stomach that I began to slow down.
Now I remembered to thank the woman on my right, who had been passing me the food. An affable middle-aged woman, she introduced herself as Lorea, a laundress. She liked to talk, and despite finding me slow to reveal much about myself, she readily shared with me the private business of everyone around us.
That suited me fine. Indeed, I was glad to find such an unguarded source of information. I devoted my ears to her stream of chatter and my eyes to observing the people across the room at the Praetor’s table. Interrupting her gossip, I asked who they were. The Praetor I knew enough of, but what about the rest?
Lorea eagerly informed me that the young lady at the Praetor’s left hand, the sole female in that company, was Lady Morwena. A distant cousin of the Praetor, she had come to the castle only a year ago and was not well liked by anyone, not least of all the servants.
“She can be mild as milk one day,” explained Lorea, “but unpredictable as the Salaunian Sea the next.”
I studied this Lady Morwena with interest, thinking if she was a cousin to the Praetor, she was also a distant relation of mine. There was no physical resemblance between us, and I expected none as I favored my mother’s remote Skeltai ancestry. But I did see similarities between her and the Praetor. She shared his deep black hair, although hers was sleek and loosely curled. She had his nose also, which curved slightly downward like the beak
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