"And what of you?" she asked. "Are you going to divulge your secrets this morning or will I need to pass another dreadful night on that horrible bed?"
He laughed and came over to draw her arm through his. "Dreadful indeed. Come, my dear, and let us find luncheon. I will tell you all you want to know after that. "
She soon found herself yet again on that comfortable bench, with a hot fire nearby and the promise of a fine repast to come. But apparently Nicholas wasn't going to wait for victuals to arrive before he said his piece.
"I need a favor," he said, without preamble.
"Anything, of course," Morgan said, before she thought better of it. It wasn't in her nature to promise before determining the lay of the land, but how was she to deny this man any whim he might have? Besides, he wouldn't have sent for her if he hadn't needed her.
Nicholas studied her in silence for several moments, then rose. He walked to a table set against a wall, rummaged about through stacks of papers, and came up with a key. This he used to open a plain wooden box that sat on the windowsill, in the company of several other ordinary wooden boxes. He drew forth something wrapped in cloth and brought it back with him. Resuming his seat, he laid his burden on his knees.
"There is a history behind this," he said, "but the knowing of it will not aid you at present."
"If you say so," she said, looking with interest at what Nicholas held in his hands.
Nicholas smiled at her briefly, then pulled back several folds of cloth, finally revealing a slim dagger. The morning sunlight that streamed in through the window burned fiercely along the blade, as if the metal had been freshly forged. The hilt was studded with rubies and emeralds and surrounded by graceful swirls of gold and silver. The blade was a tracery of flowers and leaves, worked in a most elegant and pleasing fashion.
Morgan reached out toward it. Nicholas caught her hand before she touched the metal.
"It is not an ordinary blade," he warned.
"I've handled sharper, I'll warrant." After all, she was a connoisseur of all things deadly. She reached out and started to take the knife.
But she had scarce touched it before a faint hint of magic had already run up her arm. She jerked her hand back in revulsion.
"'Tis a mage's blade," she choked out. She scrubbed her hand against her leg, but the feeling of magic was still on her skin. "It is covered with magic! "
"Is it?" he mused, fingering the hilt of the blade. "I suppose it might be. "
"It is vile," she said in revulsion.
"Why are you so opposed to magic?" he asked. "I daresay it could be quite useful in the right situation."
"It's cheating," she said promptly. "And unmanly. I find it to be quite a prissy way to be about your business, muttering and waggling fingers when you could just be wielding a sword."
Nicholas smiled. "Now, that is Weger speaking through you."
"And he was perfectly correct," she said. "Never rely on magery was his first lesson." And it was one she had had no trouble learning. She trusted what she could see and what was solid under her hand. Anything else was suspect. "A sword," she repeated with a knowing nod. "There's something to rely on."
"I suppose so. "
Morgan looked with disfavor upon the blade. "Why do you keep such a thing? "
"Because I am the keeper of many secrets," Nicholas said mildly.
"Well, if I were you, I would rid myself of that particular secret."
"I agree," he said. He patted the blade on his knees. "And that is the favor I need from you. I need you to take this blade to Neroche for me. To the king."
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"You did say anything," he reminded her.
"I didn't meanthatkind of anything!"
Nicholas only smiled. "The king will need this blade."
Morgan scrambled for something to say. She was almost certain she could not, for any price, touch that blade again. Carrying it all the way to the king was out of the question. "Why don't you take it to the king yourself ? "
