until she saw the beginnings of another smile take shape on Faisix’s features.
The back of her neck prickled with apprehension. Faisix, like a man manipulating chess pieces, was eliminating her options through a series of carefully planned moves. Small, petty arguments would soon be welded together into another, wider purpose; and rather than allow Faisix to arbitrate to his advantage a second time, Elienne gave her seething temper free rein. Even Taroith started in surprise as her small hand crashed down on the tabletop in exasperation.
“Must you peck the issue to death like crows?” she said in sharp annoyance. “The Prince has but days to establish his rights to succession. You do him no favor by wasting his time over trifles.”
“Missy—” Garend snapped over stunned silence.
“ Lady . I’m not your relative.”
“Missy, his Grace is, at this moment, disgustingly inebriated. His condition is so deplorable that he is incapable of bedding anything but himself. For a good many hours to come, he is unlikely to wish anyone’s company, far less that of a well-born maiden.”
Acidly suspicious, Elienne was not so easily put off. “Does his Royal Grace usually drink himself senseless? That doesn’t sound to me like the behavior of a man who might face execution in seven days’ time. I think the Prince had help, outside help, with his indulgence.”
Immediate protest arose from the Select, but the most dramatic response came from Faisix. He pushed himself forward in his chair. White anger tautened the lines of his face, and his voice cut like a whip through the general outcry. “Silence!”
The Regent settled back. More calmly he said, “My Lady, your words are both treasonous and ridiculously ill-founded. You have neither voice nor vote in this Council. Disrupt these proceedings again, and I’ll have you sent from the room.”
“You’re afraid I might smell the fish beneath all this finery.” Elienne started at the sudden grip of a hand on her arm. She shrugged the clasp off, then turned and met the bland, round face of the door steward.
“Escort her out,” said Faisix with incisive finality. “And keep her with you until this Council adjourns. She must be available afterward for physical examination.”
Elienne slid her chair back. She bent over with a muffled exclamation and fussed with the fit of her shoe—the position placing her head within inches of Taroith’s knee, well inside his sphere of influence should he wish mental contact. Her tactic was rewarded. Taroith’s response came as a light touch upon her mind. I’ll forestall the Regent. Wait patiently. Don’t stir up any more trouble.
Elienne finished with her shoe, rose, and walked out of the room without a backward glance. Left standing by himself, the steward stumbled awkwardly over her chair in his haste to follow, and with varying degrees of disgruntlement the Select of Pendaire’s Grand Council resumed debate.
Chapter 4
Prince’s Consort
ELIENNE wanted time to herself, which meant shedding the presence of the steward who had been assigned escort duty. She watched the man emerge from the council room; he shut the door firmly behind himself and leaned on it, puffing. After appraising the paunch that strained the seams of his white and gold livery, Elienne judged he was not a man who loved exertion. She tailored her methods to suit.
The mammoth oval expanse of the Grand Council Chamber was quite empty, yet the ornate decor held splendor enough to rouse a stranger’s curiosity. Elienne feigned a country girl’s ignorant enthusiasm and, with apparent innocence, began to rove the room and admire.
The steward grunted like an unhappy sow, but the effect was irresistible. He pushed his bulk away from the door and followed while Elienne wandered the length and breadth of the room. No detail was too slight for her interest, though nothing commanded her attention quite long enough for her to linger. When the lower level
The back of her neck prickled with apprehension. Faisix, like a man manipulating chess pieces, was eliminating her options through a series of carefully planned moves. Small, petty arguments would soon be welded together into another, wider purpose; and rather than allow Faisix to arbitrate to his advantage a second time, Elienne gave her seething temper free rein. Even Taroith started in surprise as her small hand crashed down on the tabletop in exasperation.
“Must you peck the issue to death like crows?” she said in sharp annoyance. “The Prince has but days to establish his rights to succession. You do him no favor by wasting his time over trifles.”
“Missy—” Garend snapped over stunned silence.
“ Lady . I’m not your relative.”
“Missy, his Grace is, at this moment, disgustingly inebriated. His condition is so deplorable that he is incapable of bedding anything but himself. For a good many hours to come, he is unlikely to wish anyone’s company, far less that of a well-born maiden.”
Acidly suspicious, Elienne was not so easily put off. “Does his Royal Grace usually drink himself senseless? That doesn’t sound to me like the behavior of a man who might face execution in seven days’ time. I think the Prince had help, outside help, with his indulgence.”
Immediate protest arose from the Select, but the most dramatic response came from Faisix. He pushed himself forward in his chair. White anger tautened the lines of his face, and his voice cut like a whip through the general outcry. “Silence!”
The Regent settled back. More calmly he said, “My Lady, your words are both treasonous and ridiculously ill-founded. You have neither voice nor vote in this Council. Disrupt these proceedings again, and I’ll have you sent from the room.”
“You’re afraid I might smell the fish beneath all this finery.” Elienne started at the sudden grip of a hand on her arm. She shrugged the clasp off, then turned and met the bland, round face of the door steward.
“Escort her out,” said Faisix with incisive finality. “And keep her with you until this Council adjourns. She must be available afterward for physical examination.”
Elienne slid her chair back. She bent over with a muffled exclamation and fussed with the fit of her shoe—the position placing her head within inches of Taroith’s knee, well inside his sphere of influence should he wish mental contact. Her tactic was rewarded. Taroith’s response came as a light touch upon her mind. I’ll forestall the Regent. Wait patiently. Don’t stir up any more trouble.
Elienne finished with her shoe, rose, and walked out of the room without a backward glance. Left standing by himself, the steward stumbled awkwardly over her chair in his haste to follow, and with varying degrees of disgruntlement the Select of Pendaire’s Grand Council resumed debate.
Chapter 4
Prince’s Consort
ELIENNE wanted time to herself, which meant shedding the presence of the steward who had been assigned escort duty. She watched the man emerge from the council room; he shut the door firmly behind himself and leaned on it, puffing. After appraising the paunch that strained the seams of his white and gold livery, Elienne judged he was not a man who loved exertion. She tailored her methods to suit.
The mammoth oval expanse of the Grand Council Chamber was quite empty, yet the ornate decor held splendor enough to rouse a stranger’s curiosity. Elienne feigned a country girl’s ignorant enthusiasm and, with apparent innocence, began to rove the room and admire.
The steward grunted like an unhappy sow, but the effect was irresistible. He pushed his bulk away from the door and followed while Elienne wandered the length and breadth of the room. No detail was too slight for her interest, though nothing commanded her attention quite long enough for her to linger. When the lower level
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