Shadow War by Deborah Chester

Orlo
snorted. “Oh, yes, and how innocent you are. You, looking like you meant to
tear out his throat. Don’t you have better sense than to threaten a man of his
position?”
    “He insulted the
prince,” Caelan said through his teeth.
    Orlo shot him
another look, then frowned. “You are a slave,” he whispered hotly, glancing
left and right to make sure no one overheard him. “It’s not your place to
defend the honor of his imperial highness.”
    Caelan shrugged.
Now that he had a little distance from the incident with Nilot, he was annoyed
with himself. Tirhin was not worth the risk he took. “You’re right, Orlo,” he
said meekly. “The prince can defend his own honor. I am a fool.
    I have always been
a fool. It is likely I will be a fool until I die.”
    Orlo’s frown
deepened. “I know Nilot. He never does anything without a purpose. Did he make
an offer to buy you?”
    Caelan snorted,
not bothering to answer. There were always men trying to buy him from the
prince. Caelan was supposed to be flattered by such offers, but he always found
them demeaning and shameful.
    “Yes, I’m sure
that’s it,” Orlo continued. “He will bring an offer from the emperor. Gault,
that will be a problem! If the prince refuses to sell you, he runs the risk of
offending—”
    “Stop worrying,”
Caelan said tersely. “Nilot didn’t come to buy me. He wanted to know who taught
me the Dance of Death.”
    Orlo veered onto
that subject immediately like a dog after a bone. “Hah, wouldn’t he just!
Wouldn’t we all? You didn’t get it from me.”
    “No.”
    “And it was a
damned stupid thing to try! You—”
    “It worked.”
    “Oh, yes, it
worked, but the risk!”
    Caelan’s gaze
dropped. “Necessary.”
    “You could have
killed him several times before you finished him,” Orlo said sternly. “Gods, it
was like watching your first season. My heart nearly stopped at the mistakes
you made. Besides, have you ever practiced that move? It was invented for
bravado by lovelorn officers wanting to duel over their women.”
    “It was invented
for combat,” Caelan said stubbornly, concentrating on each step. “Later, it was
used in duels.”
    “Yes, by the
officers in the emperor’s Crimson Guard. You had no business using it.”
    Caelan threw him a
cynical look. “Because I’m a slave.”
    “Because you’re
not in the Crimson Guard. They’ll be offended. They hold their traditions as
high as their honor.”
    Caelan frowned. No
wonder the prince was displeased with him. Caelan thought he was doing the
right thing, but once again he had blundered. It did no good to say he wasn’t
versed in military traditions. Neither the prince nor the army was interested
in his excuses. Some of Caelan’s anger returned. He hadn’t asked to be involved
in this intrigue. He was no good at it. And now he had made things worse.
    Someone hailed
Orlo from the bottom of the steps, calling out congratulations.
    Orlo waved, and
swiftly changed the subject with a warning glance at Caelan. “I’ll bet you
twenty ducats that putting the Madrun in today was Nilot’s idea. Stupid. If the
brute had won, how could they celebrate the victory of an enemy? If he lost,
who would care?”
    Caelan nodded,
conserving his strength against the mists that were blurring everything. He
bumped into the wall and had to bite off a groan.
    Orlo’s hand
gripped his uninjured arm to steady him. “Stiff,” he said with pretend anger
while he hastened Caelan past the group eager to offer yet more
congratulations. “Too much standing around talking. Time for that massage.”
    The moment they
were inside Caelan’s ready room, Orlo slammed the door and yelled for the
slaves.
    Unz appeared.
Scrawny and perpetually nervous, he was the youngest.
    “Where is
everyone?” Orlo demanded, looking around. “Why isn’t the massage table ready?
Where’s the bath water?”
    Unz bowed. “I’ll
get—”
    “I’ll flog their
hides for this. Where are