Free Swordpoint by Ellen Kushner

can get us out of here if you'd like,' he said casually. For reply Alec only looked down at him, and slowed his pace to a deliberate snail's saunter. The swordsman had no trouble matching it; it reminded him of leg exercises.
    The students' shoes whispered closer across the stone, until one of them drew abreast of Alec. 'Hey,' the student said friendlily, 'I thought you were locked up with your books.'
    Alec stared straight ahead, and didn't stop. Richard's hand was on his sword-hilt. The students seemed unarmed, but Alec could be harmed by many things.
    'Hey,' said the boy, 'aren't you - '
    Alec looked down at him, and the student stammered in confusion, 'Oh - hey - I thought you were - '
    'Think again,' said Alec harshly in an odd voice, a Riverside voice that troubled St Vier. It was effective, though; the students clustered together and hurried away, and Richard took his hand from the sword.

Chapter VII
    The Tremontaine barge rocked when Lord Michael set his foot on its side; but he had been getting in and out of nobles' barges since he'd come to the city, and had grown proficient at not falling in. A torchman conducted him to the pavilion in the centre of the flat-bottomed boat. The hangings were green and gold, the duchess's colours. All of the sides were down while the barge waited at the dock; through the brocade he heard laughter, and the clink of metal. It was one of the most beautiful barges of any noble on the water. He had always wanted to ride in it. But now that he had the chance his mind was scarcely taking it in.
    One corner of the brocade was pulled aside for him to enter the pavilion; the people seated at the table inside gasped and shivered at the blast of cold air that entered with him. Diane's guests were already dining off slices of smoked goose, washed down with a strong red wine that took the chill out of the night and the river. Michael slipped into the only empty seat; he had lingered too long choosing a jacket, and paid the price by being the last to arrive. And his clothes weren't even going to matter, he realised now: no one at the table would remove their outer layer of furs, despite the brazier under the table warming their feet. They looked like a country hunting party, swathed in thick greys and browns and blacks that glowed and rippled like living pelts in the candlelight.
    The duchess raised her goblet to him. The curve of her wrist was achingly white even against the white fur of her cuff. Michael's throat tightened, but he replied with a courtesy. His cup was filled with wine the colour of rubies. The drink, though cool, was warmer than the air outside had been; he seemed to feel it flowing straight into his veins.
    They were all there: young Chris Nevilleson and his sister, Lady Helena, whose ringlets Michael could remember pulling at childhood parties; Mary, Lady Halliday, without her lord, the Crescent Chancellor, who had been detained by city business; Anthony Deverin, Lord Ferris, the bright young hope of the Council of Lords, already Dragon Chancellor at the age of 32; and Lord Horn. Horn's fair skin was flushed with warmth. He wore splendid longhaired grey fox. The shadow-light was kind to him, rendering him with a lean, over-bred elegance. He wore silver rings, which called attention to his slender hands when he reached for things at table.
    He looked at Michael with cool deliberation. It was a look that implied further intimacy, and it made Michael's skin creep. The smile at the edges of his mouth made Michael want to hit him.
    The goose and red wine were whisked away, and small bowls of hot almond soup were set down, their contents rocking lightly with the tide. 'Oh, dear,' said the duchess. 'I was afraid of this. We're about to cast off. I hope the river isn't choppy.'
    'It isn't,' said Michael. 'The sky is clear, it's perfect fireworks weather.'
    'Except for the cold.' Helena Nevilleson shivered theatrically.
    'Pooh,' said her brother, 'you used to climb out of the window in