and freshen up first?”
“I’m afraid I must stay at the regent’s residence, at least for the moment,” said Tristan. “This is to be a proper royal visit, after all. But dinner sounds good. Oh, and it being wartime still, I traveled with six guards. I wonder if four could be billeted here, as the castle is full of Dominic’s people.” Rosalie and André appeared confused at this request. “If you divide them into night and day shifts, they will only require two beds,” he prompted them, “and they can make themselves useful by keeping an eye on things while they’re here.”
Rosalie sprang into action, bustling off to see the guards—and their horses—housed and fed. They would all sleep better with seasoned soldiers patrolling the grounds.
André pushed himself to his feet as well and opened a glass-fronted cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. Returning with glasses and a brandy bottle, he poured out the dark golden liquid and offered a glass to Tristan. Tristan was relieved to see that the older man, though still careworn and drawn, had regained his usual firm manner. “Your plan is sound, Tristan,” said André. “But watch out for yourself, boy. Don’t let down your guard.”
“Yes,” agreed Tristan. “Friendly visit or not, I believe I will go in full dress uniform—sword and all.”
T HE NEXT AFTERNOON , Tristan followed LaBarque’s house-maid down a dark hallway, leaving his two guards posted at the door. Like the meeting he had held this morning with the head of Dominic’s council, the escort was mainly for appearances. His discussion with LaBarque would be private.
The woman led him past a series of dark oak doors, all closed, and showed him into a room at the end of the narrow hall. Tristan thanked her, but she merely ducked her head in return and scuttled off. Now there is a woman who is anxious to be somewhere else, Tristan thought. Afraid of her master, no doubt.
He entered the room, a library or study dominated by a massive, heavily carved table. Behind the table sat a man of medium build and sharp features. Tristan gazed at a face that might once have been handsome, before the thin line of the mouth had hardened into a look of perpetual displeasure, before the dark eyes had taken on such glittering, hooded craftiness. The overall effect was of barely contained malice, and Tristan wondered how André could ever have been gulled by such a creature. Then LaBarque rose, offering a bland smile along with his hand, and it was as though the menace and hostility had never existed. He shows me hisfangs, thought Tristan, but just a glimpse. Just enough to threaten without seeming to. The man was an actor, and a good one.
“Come in, My Lord,” said LaBarque smoothly. “So kind of you to honor me with your presence.” Tristan considered the outstretched hand. It was a gesture used among friends and equals and more than a little presumptuous in LaBarque’s case. Tristan hardly cared for such conventions, but there could be no doubt that LaBarque’s familiarity was deliberate. Let it go, he thought. A power struggle now might derail the entire discussion. He strode forward to greet the man—and LaBarque’s eyes shifted to the back of the room, his smile twisting into a snarl. Tristan’s skin prickled with alarm. He whirled about, and though his sword was drawn by the time he faced the three men who had stepped from the shadowed corner behind the door, a sword would be of little use against the arrows now trained upon him.
“Shoot him,” rasped LaBarque’s voice. “Now!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
D ERKH had never been so glad of the rising of the sun, though the morning warmth brought out a horde of buzzing, biting flies even worse than the mosquitoes that had tormented him all night. He hadn’t realized how pitch-black the deep woods could be or how dense. Expecting the same light woodlands he had seen around Chênier, he had struggled instead through a treescape choked with
“I’m afraid I must stay at the regent’s residence, at least for the moment,” said Tristan. “This is to be a proper royal visit, after all. But dinner sounds good. Oh, and it being wartime still, I traveled with six guards. I wonder if four could be billeted here, as the castle is full of Dominic’s people.” Rosalie and André appeared confused at this request. “If you divide them into night and day shifts, they will only require two beds,” he prompted them, “and they can make themselves useful by keeping an eye on things while they’re here.”
Rosalie sprang into action, bustling off to see the guards—and their horses—housed and fed. They would all sleep better with seasoned soldiers patrolling the grounds.
André pushed himself to his feet as well and opened a glass-fronted cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. Returning with glasses and a brandy bottle, he poured out the dark golden liquid and offered a glass to Tristan. Tristan was relieved to see that the older man, though still careworn and drawn, had regained his usual firm manner. “Your plan is sound, Tristan,” said André. “But watch out for yourself, boy. Don’t let down your guard.”
“Yes,” agreed Tristan. “Friendly visit or not, I believe I will go in full dress uniform—sword and all.”
T HE NEXT AFTERNOON , Tristan followed LaBarque’s house-maid down a dark hallway, leaving his two guards posted at the door. Like the meeting he had held this morning with the head of Dominic’s council, the escort was mainly for appearances. His discussion with LaBarque would be private.
The woman led him past a series of dark oak doors, all closed, and showed him into a room at the end of the narrow hall. Tristan thanked her, but she merely ducked her head in return and scuttled off. Now there is a woman who is anxious to be somewhere else, Tristan thought. Afraid of her master, no doubt.
He entered the room, a library or study dominated by a massive, heavily carved table. Behind the table sat a man of medium build and sharp features. Tristan gazed at a face that might once have been handsome, before the thin line of the mouth had hardened into a look of perpetual displeasure, before the dark eyes had taken on such glittering, hooded craftiness. The overall effect was of barely contained malice, and Tristan wondered how André could ever have been gulled by such a creature. Then LaBarque rose, offering a bland smile along with his hand, and it was as though the menace and hostility had never existed. He shows me hisfangs, thought Tristan, but just a glimpse. Just enough to threaten without seeming to. The man was an actor, and a good one.
“Come in, My Lord,” said LaBarque smoothly. “So kind of you to honor me with your presence.” Tristan considered the outstretched hand. It was a gesture used among friends and equals and more than a little presumptuous in LaBarque’s case. Tristan hardly cared for such conventions, but there could be no doubt that LaBarque’s familiarity was deliberate. Let it go, he thought. A power struggle now might derail the entire discussion. He strode forward to greet the man—and LaBarque’s eyes shifted to the back of the room, his smile twisting into a snarl. Tristan’s skin prickled with alarm. He whirled about, and though his sword was drawn by the time he faced the three men who had stepped from the shadowed corner behind the door, a sword would be of little use against the arrows now trained upon him.
“Shoot him,” rasped LaBarque’s voice. “Now!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
D ERKH had never been so glad of the rising of the sun, though the morning warmth brought out a horde of buzzing, biting flies even worse than the mosquitoes that had tormented him all night. He hadn’t realized how pitch-black the deep woods could be or how dense. Expecting the same light woodlands he had seen around Chênier, he had struggled instead through a treescape choked with
Similar Books
