Page 77 of Demon of the Dead


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Náli climbed to the top of the stool beside his bed, turned, and flopped backward across the mattress, which let out a pleasing whoof as goose down gave beneath his weight. “I’ve realized something.” His voice was very flat, every last drop of sass squeezed out of him after a full day of – shudder – entertaining nice young eligible ladies. “It wasn’t the magic that killed my father – it was the unhealthy plethora of tea parties.”

Klemens snorted as he stoked up the fire and got it crackling again.

“Not that I have anything against tea,” Náli said. “Or parties. Or even young ladies. I rather like a few of them.”

None of the fathers had been in attendance, all off to Aeres for war councils, gone to offer advice, pledge their swords, or, most likely in the case of the coastal lords, put forward arguments as to why the North should abstain from battle. They hadn’t been at the palace for the siege. Perhaps sight of a burned Aeres and a still-in-disrepair palace would change their minds; or perhaps Erik would shout and Oliver would say something cutting and they’d be bullied into complying. Náli wished he was there to witness it.

But, no. He’d spent the day sipping tea, munching dry sandwiches the size of coins, and making small talk with those men’s daughters.

There were a few ambitious ones – the forceful Gerta who’d made décor suggestions and complained of the overall gray theme of the Keep. Agata, daughter of the governor of White Cap, thirty and still unmarried, desperate to marry before her old father kicked off and left her destitute. Twenty-three-year-old Amma, all fulsome curves and winks and sly smiles who, quite frankly, terrified him. He liked girls as people, sure, but he had no idea what to do with one…

Nevermind the fact that he was hopelessly in love with his Guard captain.

Mattias had avoided direct eye contact all day, letting Klemens step forward and serve as his right hand each time he’d had need of a discreet cup of wine. Though not as crushing as the formal ball would be, the day had been a firm reminder that he had a whole life – what little life his magic would allow – of this ahead of him: begetting heirs, taking tea, glad-handing his people, while the love of his life stood stiffly against the wall, until Náli’s inevitable death, and Mattias’s subsequent future of robed loneliness out in the wilderness. That any of his five devoted Guardsmen should waste away apart from society, that they should die a spiritual death once Náli died physically…it was unthinkable. Devastating, when he considered Mattias.

Klemens was still puttering about on the other side of the room; the cast-iron arm squeaked as the kettle was swung over the flames. The wardrobe doors thumped as nightshirt and robe were collected. Klemens himself appeared as he laid the folded garments out on the bed beside him, his expression casual, his gaze anything but as it flicked over to rest, briefly, on Náli’s face.

“What?” Náli asked, instantly curious.

He smoothed the silk of the robe sleeves; laid out the fur-trimmed over-robe beside it. “You seemed to get on well with Lady Brigida.”

“Yes. She’s my favorite.”

It seemed as if his mother grew the ranks at each of these events, but Brigida was a familiar face, the one he’d known the longest. Two years his senior, her mother had died in childbirth and she’d come accompanied by an elderly aunt who smiled a lot and drank a lot, and didn’t get too fussed about the matchmaking, content to be away from home in a grand keep with other ladies for company. As her father’s only offspring, Brigida had served as daughter and son both. Her father was the lord of a small, but prosperous merchant territory on the east coast, Last Harbor, and he’d brought Brigida up in his study, teaching her sums and bookkeeping, taking her down to the wharves with him to meet the merchants and ship captains. A tall girl, taller than Náli, she was trim and dark-haired, her face ruddy from the cold, salty sea air of her homeland. She was quiet, but not mousy; confident, but without the brashness of a shieldmaiden. She chuckled at Náli’s fits of fancy and her eyes betrayed her disapproval of his mother’s haranguing.

They were friends.

If he must marry, she would be his choice…but he loathed the idea of saddling her so.

Lost in his thoughts, he’d forgotten Klemens still stood over him until he said, fingers playing with the fur collar of the over-robe, “She’s not the braying sort like Lady Estrid, nor a meek sort like Miss Raneigh.”

“No,” Náli agreed.

“And she’s agreeable to look upon. She’s got” – he lifted both hands and held them apart – “suitable hips for providing heirs.”

Oh. Oh, this was interesting. Náli didn’t try to suppress the grin that slipped across his face, and Klemens froze at sight of it, caught-out. “You’ve been examining her hips, have you?”

Klemens face didn’t change, but his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “As your Guard, it’s within my duties to advise you.”

“Advise me on the shape and breadth of Lady Brigida’s hips? Someone’s been very attentive to his duties.”

He exhaled. “My lord…”

“Oh no, no. Don’t let me inhibit you. Shall I walk her around the garden tomorrow so you can get a look at all her angles?”

Klemens frowned. “These women aren’t broodmares, my lord.”

He felt his lips twist, the grin morphing into a sneer. “And yet here I am, prized stallion. How am I supposed to view them, Klemens, if not physically? You were the one who brought up her hips.”

“I only thought–”

“To advise me? Yes, I know. Advise me on this, then: how am I to convince the one person I want to take to bed to actually go along with it rather than quoting honor and protocol at me? Because it doesn’t matter if I marry my most favorite girl of all if I’m in love with someone else and always will be.” The last was said with a bitterness that seemed to boil out into the room and taint the air. He swore it had a scent.

Klemens’ face shuttered. “Very well, my lord. I shall see you in the morning.” He went out, shutting the door behind him.

Náli sighed when he was gone, massaging the tension from between his brows, listening to the pop and crack of the built-up fire. “Another day of offending everyone I know,” he muttered, and sat up.

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