Changes

stopped, looking at the faintly guilty expression she wore. “Ye already did, didn’ ye?”

She sucked on her lower lip and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

He didn’t know whether to be cross or amused. But amused was a lot less trouble than cross. “Wimmin,” he sighed. “I dunno why I’m a-tellin’ ye ’bout tuggin’ yer pa ’round, an’ makin’ ’im inter yer game-piece, when wimmin do thet natural as breathin’.”

She gave him an affronted look. “No we don’t!”

“I ain’t a-gonna argue. ’Tis too bleedin’ hot t’argue. All right, ye kin tell yer pa we’re gonna go get trotted ’round like a couple’a breed-horses at ’is stupid party. When is’t?”

“Three days from now,” she said, and kissed his cheek before she stood up. “Thank you, Mags.”

“Don’ thenk me,” he replied, turning his attention back to the chronicle he’d been picking through. “I’m figgerin’ t’get plenny outa this. Le’s jest ’ope th’ ’eat breaks afore then, or there’ll be folks pickin’ fights there too.”

Chapter 18

Bad enough that the heat hadn’t broken, but Mags was going to have a to really push it to keep from looking like some sort of rude boor by turning up late for the wretched thing that Marchand had arranged.

He’d said yes assuming it was one of those evening concerts Marchand liked to stage. Which would have been just fine, no trouble at all. But it wasn’t. It started with a party in the garden—a garden that was supposed to be something special even by highborn standards, with all sorts of cooling fountains and water features. Then dinner would be served at dusk, the fountains would be hushed, lanterns would be floated on the still surface of the water features, and Marchand would perform.

One small problem. Or not so small, since Mags didn’t want to look as if he didn’t care when the event was taking place. Classes were going to go practically right up to the time Marchand’s “little gathering” was supposed to start; Mags was going to have just enough time to change into his good set of Grays before throwing himself on Dallen and literally galloping down to the event. Of course Marchand had not bothered to see what Mags’ schedule was before setting the time of the gathering . . .

If he’d been taking Amily pillion on Dallen as he always had before, this would have been impossible. But Amily had told him that she didn’t mind going ahead of him, especially since Marchand was supplying her with a carriage and a burly footman to get her into and out of it.

So all he needed to worry about was getting himself down there. And it turned out there actually was a legitimate connection with him, and an equally legitimate reason why Marchand might be doing him, and the highborn, mutual favors. This was the home of one of Marchand’s highborn patrons, an avid—one might almost say fanatic—follower of Kirball. Fanatic enough that he was supplying horses to the Riders in the interest of having the best possible games to watch.

Now, supplying horses to one team was one thing; Lord Wess’s father was doing it for Mag’s team because his son was on it. But supplying horses to all four? That argued for someone who really was interested in the game as a pure game,and wanted to make sure that one team didn’t win over another because of superior “equipment.” Mags was very interested to meet this man and talk to him.

It would be a fantastic change from talking, and thinking, about potential killers.

Mags sprinted through the furnace-heat from his last class to the stables. It felt as if he were wearing his Kirball armor, the heat weighed him down so much. It also felt as if he were running in a dream, the sort where you are running as fast as you can and getting nowhere at all.

Dallen was already saddled and waiting; the grooms had done as they promised. Mags dashed past his Companion into his room. He’d laid his good Grays out this morning. By his own mental reckoning, he was right on time. He shed his trews and tunic, washed himself down with tepid water from the basin on the stand, and pulled on the trews. Yes. He was going to be right on time.

Right on time—until he heard an ominous rumble in the distance.

He was only half-clothed, but he stuck his head out the window anyway—to see storm clouds the color of crows’ wings boiling up out of the West. And the next moment, a blast of cold, damp air gushed across the stableyard, dropping the temperature from “oven” to “wine cellar” in next to no time.

Even as he watched, feeling a bit stunned, an enormous lightning bolt slammed into the ground in the distance, and thunder rolled and rumbled and shook the building.

Oh... hell.

::We are not going to beat that, not even if we left this moment,:: Dallen observed.

::Beat it? We’d be bare lucky not t’drown.::

The clouds raced toward them as he pulled his head in and the shutters closed, then finished dressing, taking his time, making sure that every tie was tied and every hem was neat, while more thunder shook the stable and grew louder as the storm grew nearer. Because there was absolutely no point in rushing now.

I’m a-gonna look like I don’ care other folks gotta wait fer me. Or wuss, like I was a-waitin till ev’body was there so’s I could make some kinda grand entrance. Dammit.

Then again... the gathering was supposed to be in the garden. Outside. And everyone at that party, if they had not noticed the clouds boiling up, had certainly heard the thunder and felt that blast of cold air. Right now people in expensive clothing that they did not want ruined would be making a headlong dash for shelter. Things would be utterly confused for a good long time... probably wouldn’t be sorted out until he got there. With luck, he might even be able to slip in without a fuss.

Wind rattled the shutters and the first gush of rain hit them as he dug out his voluminous raincape and wrapped it around himself. It had flaps that he could tie around his legs to keep them more-or-less dry, and he did so. The oiled canvas was stiff, but he wasn’t going to have to perform any acrobatic maneuvers in it, just get himself up into Dallen’s saddle.

Dallen laid his ears back when he saw Mags. ::I wish there were one of those for