Free Legacy by Cayla Kluver Page B

about?” London’s voice betrayed a belief that Tadark might be hopelessly feebleminded.
    â€œSomeone has to have done it—released the Cokyrian prisoner. It could be you just as easily as it could be anyone else.”
    â€œThere’s no proof that anyone helped her escape.”
    â€œOh, please. You know there’s a traitor. I’m just saying that… everyone… is a suspect.”
    â€œYou’re in no position to point fingers, Tadark. More often than not, the accuser is the guilty party.” London was riled. I had never before heard him use a deep, warning tone like theone he was using now. “Don’t push me. I can cause you a lot of problems, boy.”
    â€œ Boy? Who are you to be calling me boy? You look younger than I do!” Tadark was almost squealing, his voice rising in pitch as he became increasingly overwrought.
    A book tumbled to the floor, and I knew London had gotten to his feet.
    â€œAttention!” he barked. “Have you forgotten that I am your superior officer?”
    â€œNo, sir, I haven’t, sir,” Tadark mumbled.
    â€œI didn’t hear you,” London snarled.
    â€œNo, sir, I haven’t, sir,” Tadark repeated, with greater volume and clarity.
    I decided to intervene before some horrible punishment befell my younger guard. I knew London, who generally followed no rules but his own, had to be incensed to have called upon military protocol.
    Swinging open the library door, I hailed them, deliberately cheerful. “I was heading back to my room when I heard you talking, and thought I might join you here.”
    London, uncharacteristically agitated, stood across from me in front of the library’s bay window, the book through which he had been paging forgotten at his feet, while Tadark was frozen before him at attention amidst several scattered armchairs. Along the right wall, near the fireplace, were a sofa and several additional chairs. On the floor, between the seating areas, was a large rug upon which I had frequently lain during my childhood, often entertained by drawings that London would make for me. Book-filled shelves formed legions of aisles on the left.
    â€œAt ease,” London muttered upon seeing me, and the rigidity left Tadark’s posture despite the embarrassed flush thatwas creeping up his neck. The two men glanced at each other and I could almost hear the question that had formed in their minds— Did she hear us?
    â€œNow, gentlemen,” I teased. “Judging by your faces, you must have been discussing something I’m not supposed to know about.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” London replied a bit too harshly.
    I decided to stop making them feel self-conscious. “Well then, please resume your discussion. I’ll just browse through the books while we’re here.”
    My father had assembled a substantial book collection over the years and had insisted that both of his daughters were not only taught to read but permitted to read a wide variety of subjects. The books themselves represented years of painstaking effort by scribes, who copied the original authors’ words onto sheets of parchment that were then bound in leather or in elaborately designed metal covers.
    I meandered down one of the aisles, running a finger lovingly over some of the volumes. Here were books of science, theology, philosophy, history and medicine, along with vocabularies and encyclopedias. There were also compilations of short stories and folktales as well as poetry, romances and plays. London, in all likelihood, had been reading one of the books of law, for he had a keen mind and knowledge of Latin. I was thankful that my father was a progressive man when it came to the education of his daughters, for he had engaged tutors to teach us to read and write, to understand rudimentary Latin and to do figures, in addition to the traditional feminine subjects of etiquette, movement, household