No Quarter by Tanya Huff Page B

find Gyhard a body." She shoved a thick fall of curls back from her face with weed stained fingers.
    "I think that what you did was the most romantic thing I've ever heard of."

    Vree blinked, as stunned by the delivery as by the actual flow of information. *I feel old.*
    She felt Gyhard twitch. *You feel old?*
    Chapter Three
    Vree's eyes snapped open and she stared at a crack in the rough plaster ceiling over her head, momentarily uncertain of where she was. Then she remembered.
    Senses extended, she swept the tiny bedroom. There was no danger. She was alone.
    Not quite alone.
    *Vree-ee…*
    *Wha-aht?* she mocked, throwing back the thin blanket and sliding out of bed.
    The braided straw mat gave way to painted boards underfoot as she made her way silently into the sitting room. In the liquid light of early morning, she could see that none of the carefully arranged furniture had been moved during the night.
    Gyhard gathered his scattered thoughts, flung out of sleep by Vree's sudden, complete, and irritating return to consciousness. *Do you have to wake up so unenclosed quickly?*
    *Yes.* The single hair she'd laid across the latch remained in place. *Wake slow.
    Die fast.*
    *So you've said,* he muttered, wishing he had teeth to grind. *But you might take under consideration, nothing's trying to kill you.*
    *You don't know that until you're awake.*
    *You do this wakey-wakey thing to me on purpose, don't you?*
    *No,* she replied as she pulled a long-sleeved shirt over her head. Without the weight of wrist sheaths and throwing daggers, her arms felt unnaturally light. *It's training.*
    *Yeah. Right. Training. Why can't you train yourself to wake up a little slower?*
    Vree grinned and headed for the privy at the end of the hall. *Because I don't want to.*
    Similar conversations had become part of their morning ritual, comforting in a situation where they were making up the rules as they went along.

    When her reluctant knock brought a brusque reply, the page pushed open the morning room door and blushed a brilliant scarlet to find both king and consort staring at her, their expressions neutral at best. "Begging your pardon, Majesties, but the chancellor asks if His Majesty could find a moment to speak with her. She says it's urgent."
    Theron, King of Shkoder, pushed his chair away from the table with something very like relief. "Nadia, isn't it?"
    The blush darkened. "Yes, Majesty."
    "And it's urgent, you say?"
    "Yes, Majesty. The chancellor awaits your pleasure in the small audience chamber."
    "Tell her I'll be with her in a moment."
    "Yes, Majesty."
    As the paneled door closed behind the girl, Lilyana shook her head. "What can be so urgent it can't wait until after you finish your breakfast?" she asked with a sigh.
    Theron glanced down at his food. Melon slices, bread with only a thin scraping of butter, a small amount of cold beef, and mint tea; not a sausage, not an egg, not a mug of ale in sight. He'd rather have the chest pains. It was difficult not to regard the chancellor's request as a kind of reprieve although, for Lilyana's sake, he tried not to let that show. "I'm sure Rozele has a good reason to call me away from my meal," he said as he stood, burying his plate under the snowy folds of his discarded linen napkin. "She's never abused her privilege."
    "True." While the chancellor had the right to claim the ear of the king at any time, usually the times she claimed were more convenient. Lilyana frowned.
    "Perhaps I should…"
    "Stay right here and eat." Coming around the corner of the table, Theron bent and kissed her lightly. "There's no point in both of us having our morning disrupted." He smiled down at her and, suddenly struck by how worried she looked, added, only half jokingly, "If it's trouble, you'll need to keep up your strength."
    Rozele i'Natalia, chancellor to the King of Shkoder, turned as Theron entered the small audience chamber and bowed deeply, one hand clutching the dark purple skirt of her robe, the