Amberdrake yawned hugely, then apologized, covering his mouth with his hand. “Skan, I’m tired, and I’m going back inside; frankly, the less I show of myself, the more people are going to talk, and that’s good for us right now. So I’m going to get some sleep. The Morning Court can proceed without me. I wouldn’t be popular there today anyway. But tell Leyuet about this as soon as you can.”
Skan ruefully regarded the arrow in his talons. “Given that the skies seem to be more than a bit dangerous today, I probably ought to do the same, at least as far as going back inside and not doing any more flying today goes,” he admitted. “I wish I could have spotted the archer. I think I’m strong enough now to lift a struggling body—or a dead one. Just—watch your back for me. Tell Gesten about this.”
“Gesten already knows,” said a rasping, humorless voice from inside the room, in tones of disgust. “You didn’t think you’d get away with me not finding out, did you?”
“Hardly,” Skan snorted. “You are the Emperor of all busybodies, the King of eavesdroppers. I would never even dream of having a conversation you didn’t manage to overhear. I hold all my conversations assuming you will be lurking behind a curtain or beneath a piece of furniture.” Then, since he seldom got the last word in any such exchange with the hertasi, he took advantage of the situation and vaulted lightly over to the next balcony, his own, before Gesten could manage to form a reply.
Behind him, he heard Gesten giving Amberdrake a healthy piece of his mind, and chuckled with relief.
Amberdrake woke for the second time that morning, this time when Winterhart came back in from attending Morning Court in her new role as Consort-To-Be. He stretched with care, and sat up, feeling much the better for the few extra hours of sleep.
She had dressed very carefully for Morning Court, and the transformation she had undergone while he was asleep was amazing. She looked spectacular.
The amber silk gown she wore had been altered slightly; enough to make it into something of a compromise between a northern costume and Haighlei robes. Bands of geometric applique in white and gold had been applied to the wide sleeves and the hem, although there was no matching band at the collar the way a Haighlei costume would have been adorned. Instead, the gold and amber Betrothal Necklace took the place of such a decoration. Her hair had been put up in an intricate arrangement of braids with one of the Lion Lilies nestled in the front, and she wore bracelets matching the Betrothal Necklace around her wrists and a belt of amber plaques carved in lions’ heads at her waist. She looked like a statue of marble and golden amber, and not human at all.
Some of the strain she was under showed in the serene expression she wore; the worse she felt, the more like a statue she looked.
“So it’s official?” he asked, as she sat down on the side of the bed beside him. “Is that where the bracelets and belt came from?”
She nodded and sighed, fingering the heavy gold of the bracelets. “The rumor is that I have abandoned you for your terrible crimes, even though nothing has been proved against you yet. I, of course, have said nothing. We’ve already taken enough of my belongings over to the other suite that it will look credible—and I took Windsong with me, too. Or, to be precise, I moved her into the nursery with Tadrith and Keenath.” She eyed him apprehensively as if she expected him to object. “She’ll be safer there, in case this person gets the bright idea to go after the children.”
His stomach turned over at the merest suggestion that harm could come to their daughter.
He smiled wanly, though, and tried to make light of the situation. “Well, at least I’ll be able to sleep late in the morning, now, and she’ll have her two playmates from the moment she opens her eyes. Frankly, I pity anyone trying to get in at her—especially if they’re trying to get past Makke.”
He meant it as a joke, but she only raised an eyebrow, and said quite seriously, “So do I. There’s more to Makke than you think.”
He raised his own eyebrow.
Now she dropped her mask of serenity. From the bereft expression in her face, she felt the same as he did about any kind of separation—
That gave him a perverse kind of comfort. It made him feel better, knowing that she would be as lonely as he, it made him feel needed and valuable. Did she know that? She might.
It was a good thing, though, that she was a consummate actress. He knew her, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would never betray how she felt in public. She had managed a much more difficult task in her past—of completely hiding who and what she was from people who might have recognized her.
