Free The Queen of Mages by Benjamin Clayborne Page B

seemed to unsettle Dardan, but when he spoke
about Amira herself, his face lit up.
    “And what about your betrothed?” Liam asked
Skender, once Dardan had finished. “She couldn’t come down for the
ball?”
    “She preferred to stay in Blackwall,”
Skender said, but for once Liam thought he detected a hint of
irritation in his reply. But so what? Men could talk freely here.
Liam took another gulp of ale.
    “Well at least tell us something about her,”
Liam insisted, wiping his mouth. “Dardan told you all about his
lady.”
    Skender pursed his lips. “She’s the daughter
of Count Ebersbach. A lovely girl.”
    Liam waited. “And?”
    “And that is all I wish to say about
her.”
    Liam snorted. Who did Skender think he was?
Liam was already flush from all the ale, and he could feel the heat
in his cheeks. “Come on, man, Dardan told you everything he knows about Amira.”
    Skender’s thin smile disappeared completely.
“You forget yourself, valo .”
    A palpable chill rose around the table.
Gareth, still barely conscious, started in with a drinking song,
and Dardan joined in quickly. Liam and Skender had locked eyes, but
Liam looked away first. He clenched his hand around the table leg
to keep himself from smashing in Skender’s face.
    He cut himself off about then, to regain
some of his wits before they had to stumble home. Several other
nobles Dardan or Skender knew stopped by to chat, as Dardan guzzled
another three mugs of ale and Liam’s fury slowly cooled. How had
Skender gotten him so enraged?
    When they made to leave, Gareth was snoring
face down in a bowl of onions. Skender still had half his first mug
left, and nodded slightly as Liam put an arm under Dardan and
half-dragged him from the malthouse. Liam was glad to leave those
dead black eyes behind.
    They stumbled along through the dark, from
one pool of lamplight to the next. “Skender wa’n’t too happy wit’
us, I thin’,” Dardan slurred.
    “That was a right awful story he told,
m’lord,” Liam agreed, slipping back into valo formality. He
had to take care of his master; that would keep his mind off
Skender.
    “Urgh,” Dardan said, and vomited on the
street. Liam danced aside just fast enough to avoid the splash. His
lord wiped some spittle away with a sleeve and leaned up against
the darkened window of a jeweller’s. “Too much ale,” he
groaned.
    “Not enough onions,” Liam joked lightly.
“They soak up the ale.”
    Dardan laughed. It was hard to tell in the
dark, but Liam thought the night out had served his master
well.
    “We should get you home, m’lord. You need
some proper food.” All they’d had since luncheon was ale and
onions. Besiana would be irritated they’d missed dinner. No,
wait. She’ll be preoccupied with preparing for the ball. She
might let them alone for once.
    Liam kept his eyes open as they went home.
Even in the affluent, well-lit streets of northern Callaston,
nobles still got robbed or stabbed from time to time, but they made
it to the manse without further incident. Bertram brought out a
tray with broth and baked carrots for Dardan and demanded that he
eat. The young lord choked down a few bites before begging off and
going upstairs to his rooms. Liam helped him wash and dress for
bed. Dardan was already half-asleep when his face hit the
pillow.
    Liam hoped he’d be able to fall asleep just
as easily, but once he was in his own chamber, he felt the rage
creeping back upon him. Skender, that arrogant bastard. Where did
he get off acting like that in a malthouse? If the man wasn’t going
to play fair—or at least get drunk—then what in the black spirits
was he doing in the place?
    Liam tried to calm himself down, but he
couldn’t. He wrapped his fist in his pillow and slammed it into his
mattress a dozen, two dozen times. Only when his arm began to grow
sore from the exertion did he collapse onto the floor, breathing
hard and curling himself into a ball to keep from lashing out.
    He’d let