Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 by A Pride of Princes (v1.0)

"Stand up."
                Corin stubbornly remained seated. He
stared at his father with an unrepentent, unwavering gaze.
                Inwardly, Niall sighed. "One at
a time," he said aloud.
                "Who shall be first?"
                Brennan opened his mouth to answer,
as always, first, but Corin got there before him. "It was a girl," he
said flatly, indelicately, and made both his brothers scowl their disapproval. He
colored. "It was."
                "A girl." Somehow, Niall
had not quite expected that.
                Generally it was something more, or
something else.
                Hart wet his lips. "A
wine-girl," he said. Then, as if hearing how ludicrous it sounded, he
added, "But not a common sort of wine-girl, or a common sort of
tavern."
                "Far be it for my sons to
frequent a common tavern with merely common wine-girls." The Mujhar's tone
was deceptively mild.
                Brennan was not deceived. His eyes
narrowed as he tried to judge his father's mood; Niall was pleased to see none
of them could do it. He smiled and outwaited them.
                "There was also a Caledonese
ku'reshtin," Corin added. "Anyone will tell you."
                "Will you?" Niall asked.
                "I just have."
                "Corin—" Hart began, in
warning.
                Niall waved it away with a raised
ringer that silenced his middle son immediately. "Say on."
                "He hit the girl," Corin
told him seriously. "He nearly knocked her down, and she did not deserve
it. She had already cut her hand on the broken winejug."
                Hart nodded. "He refused to
apologize."
                Niall's left brow lifted; the right
one, divided by the talon scar, was mostly hidden beneath the diagonal slash of
leather strap that held the patch in place. "A wine-girl asked apology of
a Caledonese prince?"
                "No," Corin said lightly.
"That took Brennan, of course."
                "Ah." Niall’s single eye
flicked to his eldest son. "Then it was you who began it?"
                Brennan did not flinch from the tone
in his father's voice, which managed to express surprise, disappointment,
disapproval, all at once. "Aye," he answered clearly.
                "You."
                "I," Brennan agreed.
"Jehan—he was unnecessarily rude. He hurt her."
                "So you stepped in and defended
her honor, if such still exists."
                Deirdre opened her mouth as if to
protest, shut it, waited for the interview to be finished.
                Brennan frowned at his father.
"Are you saying that because she is a wine-girl, she is undeserving of aid
when someone mistreats her?"
                "No," Niall answered.
"I am saying that I hope she was worth the loss of a trade alliance
between Homana and Caledon ."
                Brennan grasped the implications
more quickly than the others. "Oh."
                "Aye. Oh."
                "Do you mean it?" Hart
asked. "Prince Einar will refuse to negotiate because of this?"
                "Possibly."
                "But you do not know
that," Corin observed shrewdly. "Do you, jehan?"
                "There is a possibility the
negotiations will be postponed, even canceled. There are certainly precedents
for such things, when princes meddle in politics even though they are more
suited to drinking wine in uncommon taverns."
                “Usca" Corin corrected quietly.
Hart looked at him as if he had lost his wits.
                Niall nodded a little, "Perhaps
you were correct to defend the wine-girl's honor; I will not protest that. It
is good manners, if nothing else. But I will protest the disregard you had for
the delicacy of relationships