"I appreciate it," Morgan said as she began to wander about the chamber.
Miach put Adhémar's coin in his purse and left the chamber. Answers later; food first.
He ran up the steps and walked swiftly toward the kitchens. He passed many souls, but none took any notice of him. He had already reached the kitchen before he realized that he'd undone his spell below and hadn't taken the time to reweave it. He was face-to-face with Finlay the cook before he further realized that it was too late.
"My lord Mochnadhemiach!" the man said, clapping his hands together joyfully. "Your visit is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Nor unprepared for, as you can see." He waved a sweeping arm over what he'd been cooking that day. "We are always ready here for any size entourage."
"My friend Finlay," Miach said with an answering smile, "I vow I haven't eaten a decent thing in months. Since I was here this past summer, at least."
"You are here for long, I can hope? No one appreciates my efforts as you do."
Miach laughed. "I will readily admit that the fare is far superior to what I put up with in the mountains."
Finlay pursed his lips. "No offense to the king, of course, but his only requirement is that the offerings are hot."
"True enough," Miach agreed. "So, I suppose I am reduced to hoping for a good meal only occasionally. Happily that occasion is today. As for the length of my stay, I imagine it will be only for the night." He leaned over the table and motioned for the cook to do the same. "I'm here in disguise," he whispered.
Finlay looked at him with one raised eyebrow. "But I saw through your disguise, my lord."
"You have special talents."
Finlay seemed to need to consider the import of that. "How can I best serve?" he asked in a loud whisper. "Food? Supplies? Aid in your mage-like endeavors?" He paused. "My silence? "
"That first of all," Miach agreed. "Perhaps a bit of lunch for two, then supplies on the morrow, it possible. "
"For two?"
"Aye."
"Two?" Finlay asked, lifting one eyebrow questioningly.
"Two manly, hearty appetites."
"Oh," Finlay said, looking slightly disappointed. "I had hoped that perhaps you had… well… one does hope, you know…"
"My mother would have said much the same thing," Miach said with a laugh. "I'll wed eventually?"
"And your brother?"
"Who knows? He doesn't discuss that with me. I am too far from the throne for it to concern me, you know," Miach said as he watched Finlay prepare a basket filled with enough food for several people.
"But, my lord," Finlay said, looking faintly horrified and terribly interested, "you are thearchmage."
"Hmmm," Miach agreed. "You would think that would be inducement enough, wouldn't you?"
Finlay handed him the basket and a bottle of wine. "I would think so, my lord."
Miach paused. "You'll keep my presence here a secret. "
Finlay drew himself up. "Of course. "
"I knew I could rely on you. A good day to you and many thanks for the meal."
He left Finlay bowing and scraping and promising all manner of magnificent delicacies upon Miach's return. He walked quietly through the mostly empty palace, imagining how it might have been in the days of its glory, with shimmering lights reflecting on the marble floor, sweet music filling the air, and elves and men both making up the court of Iolaire the Fair. He wondered why it was Adhémar had no stomach for any of that. Then again, Adhémar didn't have any more to do with elves than necessary. Miach supposed that was probably for the best. His brother was skilled with a sword, not with the delicacies of diplomacy.
Well, Adhémar was happy where he was and Miach was more than happy to have Chagailt to himself when it suited him to come south.
He made his way back down the stairs, then pushed his way into the chamber of records. He walked in, set the basket on the table, then looked at Morgan.
