Read Online Night Angel: The Complete Trilogy by Brent Weeks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brent Weeks
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modesty.”
“Modesty? You call women who run about on boats half-naked modest?” Lady Gyre asked. Logan looked enrapt by the idea.
“Not all of them are modest, of course. But to us, breasts are about as erotic as necks. It might be pleasant to kiss them, but there’s no reason to—”
“You go too far!” Lady Gyre said.
“On the other hand, a woman who shows her ankles is obviously hoping not to go below decks alone. Indeed, Lady Gyre,” he lifted an eyebrow and pretended to look at her ankles, though they were too far away and on the other side of table legs. “Sethi women would think you quite brazen.”
Catrinna Gyre’s face went ashen.
Before she could say anything, though, Logan laughed. “Ankles? Ankles? That’s so… dumb!” He wolf-whistled. “Nice ankles, mother.” He laughed again.
A servant arrived with the second course, but Solon didn’t even see him set it down.
Why do I do this?
It wouldn’t be the first time his sharp tongue had cut his own throat.
“I see that your lack of respect isn’t confined to striking Lord Gyre,” the duchess said.
Now
he’s Lord Gyre. So, the men weren’t stupid; they weren’t babying Logan; she’d probably ordered them not to hit Logan in practice.
“Mother, he was never disrespectful to me. And he didn’t mean to disrespect you, either.” Logan looked from his mother to Solon, and found stony gazes on each. “Did you, Lord Tofusin?”
“Milady,” Solon said, “my father once told me that there are no lords on the practice field because there are no lords on the battlefield.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “A true lord is always a lord. In Cenaria we understand this.”
“Mother, he means that enemy swords cut nobles as surely as they cut peasants.”
Lady Gyre ignored her son and said, “What is it that you want from us, Master Tofusin?”
It was a rude thing to ask a guest, and not least for addressing him as a commoner. Solon had been counting on the Gyres’ courtesy to give him long enough to figure out that very thing. He had thought that he could watch and wait, dine with the Gyres at every meal, and be afforded a fortnight or two before he announced any intention of his plans. He thought he might like the boy, but this woman, gods! He might be better off with the Jadwin seductress.
“Mother, don’t you think you’re being a little—”
She didn’t even look at her son; she just raised her palm toward him and stared at Solon, unblinking.
So that’s how it is.
Logan wasn’t just her son. For all that he was only a boy, Logan was Catrinna Gyre’s lord. In that contemptuous gesture, Solon read the family’s history. She raised her hand, and her son was still young enough, still inexperienced enough, that he went silent like a good son rather than punished her like a good lord. In that contempt and the contempt she’d greeted him with, Solon saw why Duke Gyre had named his son Lord Gyre in his own absence. The duke couldn’t trust his own wife to rule.
“I’m waiting,” Lady Gyre said. The chill in her voice made his decision.
Solon didn’t like children, but he loathed tyrants. Damn you, Dorian. “I’ve come to be Lord Gyre’s adviser,” he said, smiling warmly.
“Ha! Absolutely not.”
“Mother,” Logan said, a touch of steel entering his voice.
“No. Never,” she said. “In fact, Master Tofusin, I’d like you to leave.”
“Mother.”
“Immediately,” she said.
Solon didn’t move, merely held his knife and two-pronged fork—he was glad he remembered how the Cenarians used the things—over his plate, willing himself not to move.
“When are you going to let Lord Gyre act like Lord Gyre?” he asked her.
“When he’s ready. When he’s older. And I will not be questioned by some Sethi savage who—”
“Is that what the duke commanded you when he named his son lord in his absence? Let Logan be lord once he’s ready? My father once told me that delayed obedience is really
“Modesty? You call women who run about on boats half-naked modest?” Lady Gyre asked. Logan looked enrapt by the idea.
“Not all of them are modest, of course. But to us, breasts are about as erotic as necks. It might be pleasant to kiss them, but there’s no reason to—”
“You go too far!” Lady Gyre said.
“On the other hand, a woman who shows her ankles is obviously hoping not to go below decks alone. Indeed, Lady Gyre,” he lifted an eyebrow and pretended to look at her ankles, though they were too far away and on the other side of table legs. “Sethi women would think you quite brazen.”
Catrinna Gyre’s face went ashen.
Before she could say anything, though, Logan laughed. “Ankles? Ankles? That’s so… dumb!” He wolf-whistled. “Nice ankles, mother.” He laughed again.
A servant arrived with the second course, but Solon didn’t even see him set it down.
Why do I do this?
It wouldn’t be the first time his sharp tongue had cut his own throat.
“I see that your lack of respect isn’t confined to striking Lord Gyre,” the duchess said.
Now
he’s Lord Gyre. So, the men weren’t stupid; they weren’t babying Logan; she’d probably ordered them not to hit Logan in practice.
“Mother, he was never disrespectful to me. And he didn’t mean to disrespect you, either.” Logan looked from his mother to Solon, and found stony gazes on each. “Did you, Lord Tofusin?”
“Milady,” Solon said, “my father once told me that there are no lords on the practice field because there are no lords on the battlefield.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “A true lord is always a lord. In Cenaria we understand this.”
“Mother, he means that enemy swords cut nobles as surely as they cut peasants.”
Lady Gyre ignored her son and said, “What is it that you want from us, Master Tofusin?”
It was a rude thing to ask a guest, and not least for addressing him as a commoner. Solon had been counting on the Gyres’ courtesy to give him long enough to figure out that very thing. He had thought that he could watch and wait, dine with the Gyres at every meal, and be afforded a fortnight or two before he announced any intention of his plans. He thought he might like the boy, but this woman, gods! He might be better off with the Jadwin seductress.
“Mother, don’t you think you’re being a little—”
She didn’t even look at her son; she just raised her palm toward him and stared at Solon, unblinking.
So that’s how it is.
Logan wasn’t just her son. For all that he was only a boy, Logan was Catrinna Gyre’s lord. In that contemptuous gesture, Solon read the family’s history. She raised her hand, and her son was still young enough, still inexperienced enough, that he went silent like a good son rather than punished her like a good lord. In that contempt and the contempt she’d greeted him with, Solon saw why Duke Gyre had named his son Lord Gyre in his own absence. The duke couldn’t trust his own wife to rule.
“I’m waiting,” Lady Gyre said. The chill in her voice made his decision.
Solon didn’t like children, but he loathed tyrants. Damn you, Dorian. “I’ve come to be Lord Gyre’s adviser,” he said, smiling warmly.
“Ha! Absolutely not.”
“Mother,” Logan said, a touch of steel entering his voice.
“No. Never,” she said. “In fact, Master Tofusin, I’d like you to leave.”
“Mother.”
“Immediately,” she said.
Solon didn’t move, merely held his knife and two-pronged fork—he was glad he remembered how the Cenarians used the things—over his plate, willing himself not to move.
“When are you going to let Lord Gyre act like Lord Gyre?” he asked her.
“When he’s ready. When he’s older. And I will not be questioned by some Sethi savage who—”
“Is that what the duke commanded you when he named his son lord in his absence? Let Logan be lord once he’s ready? My father once told me that delayed obedience is really
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