Dragon Rose(42)

I wondered then what on earth she would have made of Theran Blackmoor…or he of her.

No doubt they could have gotten along well enough, once she got past the bitter disappointment over losing Adain. But I had a feeling they would have had very little to say to one another. Hers was a sunny disposition, but she was not one to think deeply on things, and I thought Theran might have become impatient with such a quality after a while. And whatever would she have done to keep herself occupied? True, she was very clever with a needle, but one can only do so much of that before it begins to pall. I had a sudden vision of Theran’s rooms with their delicate little pieces of machinery all covered in doilies made of the tatted lace Lilianth excelled at, and had to suppress a grin.

Then I was at the door to his suite, and I hesitated before lifting my hand to knock. Should I mention the story, or only thank him for the loan of the book and perhaps attempt a white little lie…I was so tired last night that I only read the introduction…it was so big a book I didn’t know where to start…?

I felt uncomfortable about lying to him, though, and the excuses sounded feeble even to me. If he had given me the book to provoke some sort of discussion, then I would discuss what I had found within its pages.

That settled, I lifted my hand and rapped smartly on the door.





Inside the fire blazed, and although the rain beat as heavily on the windows here as it did down in my rooms, somehow it seemed cozier, more welcoming. Perhaps it was only that the air held a toothsome smell, the source of which I discovered to be a small pot Theran had sitting over a brazier.

“They do this in Purth,” he explained, directing me toward the table in front of the divan, where some cut-up bread and sausages awaited us. “It seemed like a good idea for a stormy night.”

“What is it?”

“Only melted cheese. Come—try some.”

So I followed his lead and picked up one of the long bone-handled forks from the table, speared a chunk of bread with it, and dipped it in the pot. The cheese began to drip, and Theran laughed and quickly fetched a plate from the table, then held it beneath the chunk of bread. Steam wisped up and away from it, bringing with it a delectable aroma that reminded me it had been quite some time since the soup I’d consumed at noon.

The taste of it was better than I had even imagined, sharp with the tang of pale wine and some other seasonings I couldn’t quite identify. “May we have this every rainy night?” I asked, this time choosing a piece of sausage to dip into the mixture.

“I fear Sar might have something to say about that. She did not think it a proper meal, but I argued that it would amuse you, and so she relented. But I would not press my luck.”

“One might think she is the true ruler of this house and not you, my lord.”

“Ah, you have discovered our secret. I may hold the title, but it is she who sees how things are ordered around here…far more than I.”

I smiled at him and watched as he expertly skewered a piece of the fine white bread with its chewy crust and dipped it into the pot. He was able to maneuver the morsel into his mouth without dripping a bit of cheese on the hearthstones, his cloak, or the rug, which seemed quite a good feat to me.

We ate in companionable silence then for a while, bites of cheese and bread and sausage punctuated by sips of crisp white wine that might have been part of the original recipe for the dish. At length, though, I began to feel somewhat full from all the rich food and finally set down the long-handled fork.

“I simply cannot eat any more,” I declared, and took a breath. I could have sworn my gown didn’t feel quite that tight when Melynne laced me into it that morning.

“Not even the spiced peach compote Sar brought up?”

“Oh, dear. Perhaps in a quarter-hour?”

He nodded and poured me a little more wine. I had gotten used to it during my time here, and so several glasses didn’t make my head swim quite as much as they once had. Even so, I realized I had been a little intemperate in washing down all those delectable morsels of bread and sausage, and therefore took only the smallest of sips from the newly refilled glass.

It was probably the wine, however, that prompted me to say, “Theran, why did you give me Tales of the Age of Magic to read?”

The hooded head turned toward me. “I thought it might amuse you.”

“And that is all?”

“Why else?”

His tone sounded casual enough, but I thought I caught a slight edge to his voice, as if he had not been expecting my question and was caught off-guard by it.

I probably should have let it go. But I was weary and, perhaps, just the slightest bit tipsy, both factors which did nothing for my sense of discretion. So I said, “I read ‘The Tale of Alende and Allaire.’”

“Indeed? I am surprised you got that far in a single evening.”

“I skipped ahead.”

In brittle accents he replied, “Do you always do that with the books you read?”

“I hardly know, as this is the first real book I’ve had a chance to read. But the foreword was so dusty dry that I felt I had to find something a bit more interesting to keep me awake.”

“Ah.”

That was all, just a single syllable which could have meant anything. Undeterred, I plowed ahead. “I found it very fascinating, my lord. In fact, I was up quite late finishing it.”