‘Could I see it, please?’ she begged.
‘Oh, I suppose so.’ He reached inside his doublet, took out a rather bedraggled grey kitten and sat it on the floor in front of her. The kitten had mackerel stripes, a spiky tail, large ears and an intently curious look in its blue eyes. It took a tentative step toward its new mistress.
Danae squealed with delight, picked up the kitten and hugged it to her cheek. ‘I love it!!’ she exclaimed.
‘There go the draperies,’ Mirtai said with resignation. ‘Kittens always want to climb the drapes.’
Talen skilfully fended off Sparhawk’s exuberant little daughter. ‘The cold, Danae,’ the boy warned. ‘I’ve got a cold, remember?’ Sparhawk was certain that his daughter would grow more skilled with the passage of time and that it wouldn’t be very long until Talen would no longer be able to evade her affection. The kitten had been no more than a gesture, Sparhawk was certain – some spur-of-the-moment impulse to which Talen had given no thought whatsoever. It rather effectively sealed the young man’s fate, however. A few days before, Sparhawk had idly wondered where he had made the mistake that had permanently attached his wife’s affection to him. He realised that this scruffy-looking kitten was Talen’s mistake – or at least one of them. Sparhawk mentally shrugged. Talen would make an adequate son-in-law – once Danae had trained him.
‘Is it all right, your Majesty?’ Talen was asking the queen. ‘For her to have the kitten, I mean?’
‘Isn’t it just a little late to be asking that question, Talen?’ Ehlana replied.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said impudently. ‘I thought I’d timed it just about right.’
Ehlana looked at her daughter, who was snuggling the kitten against her face. All cats are born opportunists. The kitten patted the little girl’s cheek with one soft paw and then nuzzled. Kittens are expert nuzzlers.
‘How can I say no after you’ve already given it to her, Talen?’
‘It would be a little difficult, wouldn’t it, your Majesty?’ The boy sniffed loudly.
Mirtai rose to her feet, put her dagger away and crossed the room to Talen. She reached out her hand, and he flinched away.
‘Oh, stop that,’ she told him. She laid her hand on his forehead. ‘You’ve got a fever.’
‘I didn’t get it on purpose.’
‘We’d better get him to bed, Mirtai,’ Ehlana said, rising from her chair.
‘We should sweat him first,’ the giantess said. ‘I’ll take him to the bathhouse and steam him for a while.’ She took Talen’s arm, firmly.
‘You’re not going into the bathhouse with me!’ he protested, his face suddenly aflame.
‘Be quiet,’ she commanded. ‘Send word to the cooks, Ehlana. Have them stir up a mustard plaster and boil up some chicken soup. When I bring him back from the bathhouse, we’ll put the mustard plaster on his chest, pop him into bed and spoon soup into him.’
‘Are you going to just stand there and let them do this to me, Sparhawk?’ Talen appealed.
‘I’d like to help you, my friend,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but I’ve got my own health to consider too, you know.’
‘I wish I was dead,’ Talen groaned as Mirtai pulled him from the room.
Stragen and Ulath arrived from Emsat a few days later and were immediately escorted to the royal apartment. ‘You’re getting fat, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said bluntly, removing his ogre-horned helmet.
‘I’ve put on a few pounds,’ Sparhawk conceded.
‘Soft living,’ Ulath grunted disapprovingly.
‘How’s Wargun?’ Ehlana asked the huge blond Thalesian.
‘His mind’s gone,’ Ulath replied sadly. ‘They’ve got him locked up in the west wing of the palace. He spends most of his time raving.’
Ehlana sighed. ‘I always rather liked him – when he was sober.’
‘I doubt that you’ll feel the same way about his son, your Majesty,’ Stragen told her dryly. Like Platime, Stragen was a thief, but he had much better manners.
‘I’ve never met him,’ Ehlana said.
‘You might consider adding that to your next prayer of thanksgiving, your Majesty. His name’s Avin – a short and insignificant name for a short and insignificant fellow. He doesn’t show very much promise.’
‘Is he really that bad?’ Ehlana asked Ulath.
‘Avin Wargunsson? Stragen’s being generous. Avin’s a little man who spends all his time trying to make sure that people don’t overlook him. When he found out that I was coming here, he called me to the palace and gave me a royal communication to bring to you. He spent two hours trying to impress me.’
‘Were you impressed?’
‘Not particularly, no.’ Ulath reached inside his surcoat and drew out a folded and sealed sheet of parchment.
‘What does it say?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t read other people’s mail. My guess is that it’s a serious discussion of the weather. Avin Wargunsson’s desperately afraid that people might forget about him, so every traveller who leaves Emsat is loaded down with royal greetings.’
‘How was the trip?’ Sparhawk asked them.
‘I can’t really say that I’d recommend sea travel at this time of year,’ Stragen replied. His icy blue eyes hardened. ‘I want to have a talk with Platime. Ulath and I were set upon by some brigands in the mountains between here and Cardos. Bandits are supposed to know better than that.’
‘They aren’t professionals,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Platime knows about them, and he’s going to take steps. Were there any problems?’
‘Not for us,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘The amateurs out there didn’t have a very good day, though. We left five of them in a ditch, and then the rest all remembered an important engagement somewhere else.’ He went to the door and looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door and looked around, his eyes wary. ‘Are there any servants or people like that in any of your rooms here, Sparhawk?’ he asked.
‘Mirtai and our daughter is all.’
‘That’s all right. I think we can trust them. Komier sent me to let you know that Avin Wargunsson’s been in contact with Count Gerrich down in Lamorkand. Gerrich’s taking a run at King Friedahl’s throne, and Avin’s not quite bright. He doesn’t know enough to stay out of the internal squabbles in Lamorkand. Komier thinks there might just possibly be some sort of secret arrangement between them. Patriarch Bersten’s taking the same message to Chyrellos.’
‘Count Gerrich’s going to start to irritate Dolmant if he doesn’t watch what he’s doing,’ Ehlana said. ‘He’s trying to make alliances every time he turns around, and he knows that’s a violation of the rules. Lamork civil wars aren’t supposed to involve other kingdoms.’
‘That’s an actual rule?’ Stragen asked her incredulously.
‘Of course. It’s been in place for a thousand years. If the Lamork barons were free to form alliances with nobles in other kingdoms, they’d plunge the continent into war every ten years. That used to happen until the Church stepped in and told them to stop.’
‘And you thought our society had peculiar rules,’ Stragen laughed to Platime.
‘This