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for Cortano's presence, had it not been for the calming influence of Jarrani di'Lorenza, Tyr'agnate of Sorgassa, Eduardo would not have accepted Alesso's word; would not have allowed himself to be mollified. Another gift from the very fine Serra Diora di'Marano: their alliance had almost splintered.
Eduardo di'Garrardi did nothing with patience. Having declared himself, it was weakness to recant, weakness to behave in any way with dignity and self-denial. Over a horse, it had been almost contemptible. But over a
woman
?
No, Cortano di'Alexes was not pleased.
She was sent from the room, and they, four powerful men, gathered, waiting upon a fifth. Not one of them was accustomed to be kept waiting, and in this case it wore on them all, adding to their irritation, their private thoughts, their differences and not the commonality which brought them here, to a place where the Sword of Knowledge could control all witnesses, could prevent all eavesdropping.
He had not told them.
He had almost done so; in the days after the Festival of the Sun, in the days after the word of her actions had swept across the dry nation like brushfire, his anger had been sharp enough, hot enough, a thing that consumed.
But there was so little
to
consume; it burned in a flash, and because the court of the Tor Leonne was what it was, it was gone by the time he could seek the counsel of the new Tyr'agar.
What might he have said?
My daughter was born with a curse
. Or, better yet,
my daughter's voice can command a man against his will
. Her death, certainly. He had wanted it—just for that moment; death and peace. But it was more than her death; it was Teresa's death—and that, too, Lady knew he had desired from time to time—and it would mean questions about his own knowledge, his own use of such a gift in the service of Marano. In the service of Marente's finest son.
Sendari par di'Marano sat upon cushions that were finer than even the Tyr'agar boasted; he sat beside waters that could have only come from the lake itself—with the inevitable grant of permission levered from the ruling Tyr—and wine that was both sweet and light. That fragrance, for he did not choose to imbibe, twisted 'round the scent of jasmine and spice, the scent of fruits cut and displayed in the cool night air, in such perfect proportion it could only have been planned. Opulence here, for those who knew how to appreciate it.
He did, and could, but distantly. Everything was at a distance now because things that were not were… costly. Cortano watched like a starving carrion creature.
Yet if there were only Cortano to be wary of, he might be more at ease.
"Forgive me, gentlemen."
Sendari rose at once; they all did.
"Lord Isladar," the Sword's Edge said, his voice thin but otherwise perfect. He inclined his head as if dealing with an equal, and not a ruling servant of the Lord of Night. "I will not take the trouble of offering you water; you never drink it."
"As you wish, Cortano, although you must know that I find these customs vaguely enticing. They linger at the edge of my mind the way all ceremony does: As a thing I might once have witnessed, might once have been drawn into or made captive by."
Just as
, the Widan thought sourly,
we are now, of course. Captives to flesh. Victims of mortality
.
Ser Cortano di'Alexes stiffened slightly, but Alesso and the Radann kai el'Sol seemed to take the comment in stride. They did not, not quite, see Lord Isladar as an equal; he was a
creature
, a thing of the night, a thing to be feared, certainly, in the right measure, but not to converse with, man to man. Not to take personally, although both men would have died before they trivialized either his danger or his importance.
Not to envy for his knowledge and his power and his eternity— merely a thing to be used, as any weapon can be that has sharp edges.
Much, Sendari thought again, like either he or Cortano. In the eyes of most there was no distinction between unknown and
Eduardo di'Garrardi did nothing with patience. Having declared himself, it was weakness to recant, weakness to behave in any way with dignity and self-denial. Over a horse, it had been almost contemptible. But over a
woman
?
No, Cortano di'Alexes was not pleased.
She was sent from the room, and they, four powerful men, gathered, waiting upon a fifth. Not one of them was accustomed to be kept waiting, and in this case it wore on them all, adding to their irritation, their private thoughts, their differences and not the commonality which brought them here, to a place where the Sword of Knowledge could control all witnesses, could prevent all eavesdropping.
He had not told them.
He had almost done so; in the days after the Festival of the Sun, in the days after the word of her actions had swept across the dry nation like brushfire, his anger had been sharp enough, hot enough, a thing that consumed.
But there was so little
to
consume; it burned in a flash, and because the court of the Tor Leonne was what it was, it was gone by the time he could seek the counsel of the new Tyr'agar.
What might he have said?
My daughter was born with a curse
. Or, better yet,
my daughter's voice can command a man against his will
. Her death, certainly. He had wanted it—just for that moment; death and peace. But it was more than her death; it was Teresa's death—and that, too, Lady knew he had desired from time to time—and it would mean questions about his own knowledge, his own use of such a gift in the service of Marano. In the service of Marente's finest son.
Sendari par di'Marano sat upon cushions that were finer than even the Tyr'agar boasted; he sat beside waters that could have only come from the lake itself—with the inevitable grant of permission levered from the ruling Tyr—and wine that was both sweet and light. That fragrance, for he did not choose to imbibe, twisted 'round the scent of jasmine and spice, the scent of fruits cut and displayed in the cool night air, in such perfect proportion it could only have been planned. Opulence here, for those who knew how to appreciate it.
He did, and could, but distantly. Everything was at a distance now because things that were not were… costly. Cortano watched like a starving carrion creature.
Yet if there were only Cortano to be wary of, he might be more at ease.
"Forgive me, gentlemen."
Sendari rose at once; they all did.
"Lord Isladar," the Sword's Edge said, his voice thin but otherwise perfect. He inclined his head as if dealing with an equal, and not a ruling servant of the Lord of Night. "I will not take the trouble of offering you water; you never drink it."
"As you wish, Cortano, although you must know that I find these customs vaguely enticing. They linger at the edge of my mind the way all ceremony does: As a thing I might once have witnessed, might once have been drawn into or made captive by."
Just as
, the Widan thought sourly,
we are now, of course. Captives to flesh. Victims of mortality
.
Ser Cortano di'Alexes stiffened slightly, but Alesso and the Radann kai el'Sol seemed to take the comment in stride. They did not, not quite, see Lord Isladar as an equal; he was a
creature
, a thing of the night, a thing to be feared, certainly, in the right measure, but not to converse with, man to man. Not to take personally, although both men would have died before they trivialized either his danger or his importance.
Not to envy for his knowledge and his power and his eternity— merely a thing to be used, as any weapon can be that has sharp edges.
Much, Sendari thought again, like either he or Cortano. In the eyes of most there was no distinction between unknown and
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