Read Online By Divine Right by Patrick W. Carr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patrick W. Carr
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to the tally of evidence they weighed upon their scales.
Their gazes went through me as though I’d become as glass, but a moment later Gael answered. “Duke Orlan, of course, good servant.” She nodded toward the group over her wine goblet. “He stands half a hand taller than any of his kin, and he carries himself like a king.”
The instincts I’d honed for years reading people in the poor quarter came into focus, noting the way the duke moved, each motion a deliberate calculation to convey power at rest, an unshakeable confidence that accepted the presence of others but in no way required it.
“Such a striking man would hardly make for a good husband,” I muttered as I noted the artful gestures, but inside I plotted how to approach the group.
I shouldn’t have spoken aloud. “Do you play the game?” Gael asked.
I turned, found Gael and her sister staring at me. “A change in the wager, sister,” Kera said. “The servant’s first observation of the duke will be at least as good as yours was.”
“Done.” Gael smiled. She turned to me. “Tell us what you see.”
I shook my head. “It is not for a servant to weigh his betters on the scales, my lady.”
“Oh no, master servant,” she said with a hint of steel in her smile. “It is for servants to do as bid.” She stepped closer and her voice lowered as those striking blue eyes darkened from a sky at dusk to slate. “Tell us everything you see or my sister and I will expose you. You are no servant, and spies in the king’s court are frowned upon.”
She might have been bluffing, but I couldn’t chance it. “Very well.” I turned. The duke’s group had drifted closer to us to stand no more than a dozen paces away. “The duke stands to one side, with most of his back to the king allowing him to command nearly as large an audience without appearing disrespectful. Watch as he speaks, each motion of his hands designed to embellish his words. Even thecuffs of his sleeves, a fraction of an inch longer than normal, serve to accentuate his words. He stands at ease, a man who appears to care nothing for the opinion of lesser nobles who surround him. Yet observe how his eyes move quickly to each respondent, his expression carefully neutral, sifting their words for some insult.
“Such men in their prime are much concerned with surrounding themselves by those as beautiful, but they are jealous of their primacy. When their beauty fades they become embittered.”
There was more, but I stopped. The duke’s sword worried me. The scabbard holding it held all the useless decoration one might expect from a noble fixed upon appearances, but the plain hilt showed a deadly serious side to the duke.
Kera laughed, spilling her wine. “Do you yield, sister?”
I knelt to wipe the floor clean and rose to refill her goblet. I emptied my flagon into the rose-colored glass, keeping my gaze averted from them both. I rose as Lady Gael deposited more silver into her sister’s hand on a casual wager than I would earn in half a year.
“You misjudge in your presumption, servant,” Lady Gael said, turning to me. Steel crept into her voice and eyes, and fool that I was I could only think of how it enhanced her features, as if a veil had been removed. “I would never look upon the duke as a potential suitor.” Her gaze sharpened until it could have parted silk. “My family is liege to his. He has nothing to gain through such a marriage.”
I took an involuntary step backward. If Lady Gael or her sister repeated my assessment of the duke to him, I would be fortunate to escape with a striping.
Gael closed the space between us, her smile one of victory despite the wager she’d lost. “Your perception is nearly keen enough to be gifted and the practice of deferential obedience is not on you,” she whispered, her eyes darting over my shoulder. “By the time a servant is admitted to the throne room, they have practiced their subservience until they wear it like a
Their gazes went through me as though I’d become as glass, but a moment later Gael answered. “Duke Orlan, of course, good servant.” She nodded toward the group over her wine goblet. “He stands half a hand taller than any of his kin, and he carries himself like a king.”
The instincts I’d honed for years reading people in the poor quarter came into focus, noting the way the duke moved, each motion a deliberate calculation to convey power at rest, an unshakeable confidence that accepted the presence of others but in no way required it.
“Such a striking man would hardly make for a good husband,” I muttered as I noted the artful gestures, but inside I plotted how to approach the group.
I shouldn’t have spoken aloud. “Do you play the game?” Gael asked.
I turned, found Gael and her sister staring at me. “A change in the wager, sister,” Kera said. “The servant’s first observation of the duke will be at least as good as yours was.”
“Done.” Gael smiled. She turned to me. “Tell us what you see.”
I shook my head. “It is not for a servant to weigh his betters on the scales, my lady.”
“Oh no, master servant,” she said with a hint of steel in her smile. “It is for servants to do as bid.” She stepped closer and her voice lowered as those striking blue eyes darkened from a sky at dusk to slate. “Tell us everything you see or my sister and I will expose you. You are no servant, and spies in the king’s court are frowned upon.”
She might have been bluffing, but I couldn’t chance it. “Very well.” I turned. The duke’s group had drifted closer to us to stand no more than a dozen paces away. “The duke stands to one side, with most of his back to the king allowing him to command nearly as large an audience without appearing disrespectful. Watch as he speaks, each motion of his hands designed to embellish his words. Even thecuffs of his sleeves, a fraction of an inch longer than normal, serve to accentuate his words. He stands at ease, a man who appears to care nothing for the opinion of lesser nobles who surround him. Yet observe how his eyes move quickly to each respondent, his expression carefully neutral, sifting their words for some insult.
“Such men in their prime are much concerned with surrounding themselves by those as beautiful, but they are jealous of their primacy. When their beauty fades they become embittered.”
There was more, but I stopped. The duke’s sword worried me. The scabbard holding it held all the useless decoration one might expect from a noble fixed upon appearances, but the plain hilt showed a deadly serious side to the duke.
Kera laughed, spilling her wine. “Do you yield, sister?”
I knelt to wipe the floor clean and rose to refill her goblet. I emptied my flagon into the rose-colored glass, keeping my gaze averted from them both. I rose as Lady Gael deposited more silver into her sister’s hand on a casual wager than I would earn in half a year.
“You misjudge in your presumption, servant,” Lady Gael said, turning to me. Steel crept into her voice and eyes, and fool that I was I could only think of how it enhanced her features, as if a veil had been removed. “I would never look upon the duke as a potential suitor.” Her gaze sharpened until it could have parted silk. “My family is liege to his. He has nothing to gain through such a marriage.”
I took an involuntary step backward. If Lady Gael or her sister repeated my assessment of the duke to him, I would be fortunate to escape with a striping.
Gael closed the space between us, her smile one of victory despite the wager she’d lost. “Your perception is nearly keen enough to be gifted and the practice of deferential obedience is not on you,” she whispered, her eyes darting over my shoulder. “By the time a servant is admitted to the throne room, they have practiced their subservience until they wear it like a
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