[Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones by Patricia Briggs Page B

Shavig style, roughly braided and uncut. The long braid was a disadvantage in fighting. The Shavig of old claimed it as a mark of honor that they were so skilled such a meager advantage was none at all.
    He was a body servant in the Tallvenish style—a rank closer to bodyguard than valet or squire. Axiel’s face showed no sign of grief over my father’s death, but then hewas my father’s servant. Doubtless he’d learned to hide what he felt as well as I could.
    â€œAxiel?”
    â€œMy lord.” He said. “Lord Duraugh thought that it would be appropriate for you to have a body servant due your rank.”
    I nodded.
    â€œI’ve taken it upon myself to ready the Hurog—your father’s second set of court clothes for you, sir.” He opened the door to my chamber for me.
    There was a small room above the tallest of the shelves of the library behind the decorative curtains that covered the whole of the upper walls. I’d happened upon the little room by chance, and I thought that my father might be the only other person who knew it was there—and he didn’t frequent the library. From that room I’d spent many afternoons secretly watching Axiel train with knife and sword. His style was completely different from my aunt’s, and I’d found that incorporating gleaned bits of it in my fighting made me a better fighter.
    If Axiel were loyal to me, I would be a lot safer than if he were loyal to my uncle. I stopped in front of the fireplace and looked at the gray remnants of last night’s fire. But safe from what? Before my father died, I’d fought for my life. What was I fighting for now?
    â€œIf you would allow me?” Although he sounded as if he were asking permission, Axiel stripped my clothes off of me with great efficiency. While I scrubbed, he trotted over to my bed.
    â€œMy lord?”
    I looked up from washing my face to see the servant holding two sets of clothing.
    â€œI brought this in from your father’s rooms.” He held up one of the familiar gray outfits my father favored. “But someone else has been here, for I found this on top of it.”
    I took the tunic from the second set of clothing fromhim. Deep blue velvet, so dark it was almost black, it had the Hurog dragon embroidered in red, gold, and green across the front shoulder. The velvet alone would have cost ten gold pieces, if not more, and there was no one here, other than perhaps my mother, who could embroider well enough to do the work on the dragon. The undershirt was the color of faded gold, and I didn’t recognize the fabric.
    â€œWhat’s this made of?” I asked.
    â€œSilk, sir. You haven’t seen these before either? It’s not from your father’s wardrobe nor from anything I saw in your uncle’s wardrobe.”
    â€œI’ll wear this,” I said, running my rough fingers over the undershirt, “if it fits.”
    â€œFitting for the death of the Hurogmeten,” agreed Axiel. “But where did it come from?”
    â€œMaybe the family ghost,” I said seriously after a moment’s thought.
    â€œThe ghost?”
    â€œSurely you know of the ghost?” I asked, slipping the undershirt over my head. It fit as if it had been newly tailored for me. Perhaps it had. His father hadn’t wanted any other servants, he’d said.
    â€œYes, of course, sir. But why would it choose to do something like this?”
    I shrugged, settling the velvet tunic over the silk. “Ask him.” I exchanged my trousers for the loose silk ones that matched the undershirt.
    I looked at the polished metal I used as a mirror and noted that the unaccustomed glory of my clothes made me look dashing and heroic. I was very careful to look stupid, too, before I left the room.
    Â 
    THE FUNERAL WAS A grand thing; my father would have hated it. But he wasn’t there to object. My mother, dressed in gray velvet—her wedding