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The room was a parlor decorated in pale green and cream, perfect for the emerald-eyed brunette on the sofa, less perfect for the striking blonde beside her. A swarthy nobleman lounged in an armchair. It was a room meant for chatter and flirtation. The fourth man, with his battered clothes and ravaged face, was wrong here. He stood before the cold hearth, hands jammed into pockets.
“We erred in letting you join us, Ralon,” Delia of Eldorne said coldly. “Last fall you said you would be Rogue in a matter of weeks. You are still not master among the thieves. You tell us, leave the killing of a certain Prince to you. Now the Provost has your people who were to handle the matter, and Jonathan is alerted to his danger.”
“I was betrayed!” Ralon of Malven was rigid with fury. “No one knew Cooper would—”
“I’m not finished!” Delia rapped out. “Explain this!” She thrust a parchment at him.
The drawing was clearly one of Ralon. Beneath it was written:
WANTED BY MY LORD PROVOST
FOR TREASON AGAINST THE CROWN
ONE CLAW, BORN RALON OF MALVEN
REWARD: ONE THOUSAND GOLD NOBLES
It described him in detail. “How did they learn my name?” he whispered in horror.
“That is immaterial,” Princess Josiane said coldly.
“You’re useless to us,” Alex of Tirragen pointed out. “More than useless—you are a danger.”
“No!” Claw yelled. “You need me—”
The door slammed open. Alex stood, sword unsheathed; Claw’s hands were filled with two sharp knives. Roger of Conté swept in, followed by a frightened guard. “My lady, I couldn’t stop him, not him—” the guard stammered.
“Return to your post,” ordered Delia, and he obeyed. Delia, who’d once been Roger’s mistress, rose to curtsey to the Duke. “Roger, this is a pleasant surprise—”
“I wanted no independent action on your parts.” They stared at him, seeing he was in a rage, and were suddenly afraid. “Do you think you assisted me? Now the King-to-be watches me; my Lord Provost suspects me. And I find I owe this happiness to you four”.
Delia sank prettily to her knees, skirts billowing. Reaching up, she touched his hand. “Forgive our enthusiasm, dear lord,” she murmured. “We meant to bring you to your rightful throne—”
“Enough.” He dragged her to her feet. “You cherished dreams once of becoming my consort. Unless you wish to be the consort of Carthaki snake-breeders, you will await my orders.” He threw her into Alex’s hold and turned to Josiane.
“Josiane of the Copper Isles, I have known you only since my return from the dead, but I understand you well. Jonathan courted you to spite Alanna of Trebond. Still, you might have kept him, with some restraint on your part. Now you want to punish him, and so you meddle with things that do not concern you. I am not your pawn. Stay out of my affairs. If you wish to be a part of this, you will await my commands—either here, or on the river bottom. Do not cross me again!”
He looked at the thief. “Ralon of Malven. The present Rogue is worth twenty of you. Your choice of tools is bad, Delia. He’ll betray you when he’s done with the thieves.”
Turning to Alex, the fury in Roger’s sapphire eyes faded to puzzlement. “I am surprised at you, my former squire.”
“I told them to do nothing,” Alex shrugged. “I said you’d have different plans. They thought matters could be...hastened. Frankly, I didn’t think it was important enough to bother you for.”
Roger smiled grimly. “You might have been right. The trouble with ambitious plots is that those who are not involved get wind of them—as they did this time. That person, or those persons, took what they heard to Jonathan, and he took their information to my Lord Provost. But you—I know you are not a plotter, and I know you are not ambitious. What do you want from this?”
Alex met his eyes for a long moment; then, smiling slightly, he bowed. He knew Roger would guess what he desired of any plan to take Jonathan from the throne.
Roger tugged his beard. “We shall see. Perhaps...You haven’t changed. As for you others,” he said, looking at them, “no more plots. No more assassins. Steal nothing for me, bribe no servants for me. My plans are my own, and you will await my instructions. I warn you this once.”
He raised a hand. Slowly blood-colored fire—the fire of magic—collected in his palm. With a savage gesture he hurled it at a small table, which exploded into chips of burning wood and molten pieces of brass and porcelain.
In the silence that followed, Roger whispered, “Don’t think to disobey me.” Turning, he walked out.
Delia was ashen. “But his Gift was bright orange...”
Alex picked up a cooling bit of glass in his handkerchief. He looked it over and began to smile.
six
Homecoming
The travelers set out from Port Caynn immediately after landing, eager to reach their destination. Riding slowly, to reaccustom themselves after several weeks out of the saddle, they would be in Corus before nightfall. They halted shortly after midday at an inn Alanna and Raoul remembered, where the squires had often stopped on trips to Caynn. The food was good, the place so quiet that a rest seemed in order. Buri and Thayet napped; the men played chess. Alanna took Faithful to sit under a courtyard tree, scratching his ears and enjoying the sun. She was half drowsing when she heard an approaching rider.
Someone in a hurry, the sleepy Faithful remarked. Alanna nodded, refusing to open her eyes. The buzz of summer crickets was soothing after days of waves and gulls. Never would she board a water vessel again!
Curious, she peeped through her lashes; the rider entered the yard. With a yell she leaped up, dumping Faithful to the ground. “George!”
The thief grinned and grabbed her. His brawny arms closed tight; she was lifted, spun, then well kissed. Alanna looked up into dancing hazel eyes. “How did you know we were here?” she asked, wiping teary eyes on his sleeve.
“Stop that, lass,” he whispered. “Messenger birds, remember? You’re thin. Haven’t you been eatin’, my hero?”
“I was seasick.” She grinned. “It was the only way to get home in time. Are you all right? You look worn.”
George kissed her again, taking his time to convince her of his health. He released her, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “Now your Dragon can kill me—I’ll die happy.”
“You know about Liam?”
He chuckled. “Sweet, everyone knows the Lioness and the Dragon were prowlin’ Sarain. I heard two songs about you this week.”
“Have you counted her fingers yet, Cooper?” Liam walked toward them, his eyes pale crystal.
George smiled. “I never thought you wouldn’t take care of her, Dragon.” He held out a hand, keeping a grip on Alanna. “I assume you’re used to bein’ sung about.”
Liam’s eyes darkened to blue-grey; he shook the offered hand with a smile. “They’ll have more to sing about, I guarantee.”
George stared past Liam, eyes wide. “Bless me, Crooked God,” he whispered.
Thayet and Buri emerged from the inn, still yawning. Alanna knew what had caught George’s attention: the afternoon sun sank into Thayet’s midnight hair while it turned her skin a deep cream. Thayet would look good anywhere, Alanna thought, with only a touch of envy. “Princess Thayet jian Wilima, may I present George Cooper? George, this is Princess Thayet of Sarain, and her guard Buriram Tourakom.”
“Don’t bother,” muttered Buri. George released Alanna to bow and kiss Thayet’s hand. “He won’t remember anyway.”
George straightened and winked at the K’mir. “I’m awed, Buriram Tourakom, but I’m rarely that awed.”
Charmed in spite of herself, Buri smiled. “Alanna told us about you,” she said gruffly. “We’ve been warned. It’s Buri, anyway.”
“I told you I’d bring them back,” Raoul said.
George looked at Alanna and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll never doubt you again, lad.”
“Ye would be the first,” Coram announced. He and Raoul had brought the horses around.
George laughed. “Were I you, I’d treat my wife-to-be’s cousin and king better than that.” The two men gripped each other’s arms in greeting.
George exchanged his tired horse for a fresh one, joining them for the ride to Corus. His presence made the journey pass quickly. He refused to relay the news, but had no trouble wheedling tales of their adventures from Buri and Thayet. Alanna was not fooled. The past months had taken a toll on George: he was thinner, small lines fanned out from his eyes and framed his broad mouth. She wondered precisely what had been going on. Where was his court—Scholar, Solom, Marek, Rispah, and the others? If she asked now, she knew he would laugh and ask the questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Has he always been this obstinate?” she asked Faithful.
