Free The Spirit Lens by Carol Berg Page B

encoding. My future likely held a potful of frustrations to express outside the public eye. “Once Lord Ilario has secured your position at court, I shall follow you to Castelle Escalon, where I intend to have a flaming public row with my royal cousin and take on a dismal, unhappy palace job of my own just to flout him. Everyone will pity me and believe I am dreadfully abused, and, I hope, divulge all manner of useful things.”
    “What job?” For the first, and likely last, time, Ilario and Dante spoke in unison.
    “Lord Ilario’s private secretary. It was the worst thing I could think of.”
    For the first, and likely last, time, the three of us together burst out laughing.
     
     
    ON THE NEXT MORNING, I stood in the cool, sheltered carriageway with Lady Susanna and her son, Edmond, who had arrived sometime in the night. The tall, sleepy-headed young officer indeed reflected his handsome and intelligent mother.
    After worrying at the problem for a fruitless hour, I had solicited my hostess’s assistance in preparing Dante for his introduction at court. “He and Ilario get along like a wildcat and a magpie,” I said. “The chevalier insists I see to it, but I’ve business that can’t wait.”
    “I’ll gladly do what I can,” said the lady.
    “Let me take it on,” said Edmond. “I’ve been tasked with the very same duty for young officers promoted in the field. And, begging your pardon, my most refined and gracious mother”—he beamed at Lady Susanna—“some men don’t appreciate a lady’s introducing them to forks and serviettes and chamberpots. As it happens I’ve supply dispatches need delivering in Merona. The mage and I could stay on in our town house. I’ll not embarrass the fellow . . . nor you nor Papa, either.”
    Shadows dimmed Lady Susanna’s smile, and her dark eyes darted from her son to me. “I don’t think . . . Perhaps this is too private a matter. You’ve duties here, Edmond.”
    But to me it sounded ideal. Edmond de Roble exuded his mother’s serenity in a stalwart, soldierly package. “If you’re willing, Greville, it could save several lives at once. I’ll introduce—”
    A bellow exploded from the inner courtyard. The three of us raced through the vine-covered gate to find Ilario flattened to the brick wall like a lizard caught between the blooming bougainvillea and honeysuckle. The tip of Dante’s white staff was pressed to the chevalier’s throat, in vivid illustration of our dilemma.
    “Touch this again, peacock,” said Dante in the quiet manner that shivered my toes, “and it will burn a hole straight through this dainty flesh.” The mage tightened his grip on the carved stick, eliciting a squirm from Ilario. “Do you comprehend?”
    Ilario emitted some unintelligible squeak. As the glowering mage jerked his stick away and stepped back, the bedraggled chevalier stumbled across mounds of alyssum and wallflowers, not stopping until he stood at my shoulder, glaring back at his attacker. “Madman,” he croaked between coughing spasms. “I . . . was just . . . interesting carving . . . just looking . . .” He sucked greedily at an opaline flask he’d pulled from his cloak.
    “You agreed I’d deal with you alone, Portier,” snapped the mage. “Not with a sniveling, creeping aristo who thinks he has rights to anything he chooses.”
    “Divine grace, sonjeur.” Edmond inhaled sharply as sun glints sparked from the silver band circling Dante’s neck, but the young man did not hesitate to incline his back. “Excuse me . . . Mage. I am Edmond de Roble, Greville in the Guard Royale. I understand you’re to be presented at Castelle Escalon. May I offer my services as escort to Merona and your host as you get your bearings in the city?”
    In moments, all was calm and ordered at Villa Margeroux. If only Philippe had assigned this young man to our partnership instead of the dithering Ilario, I might have better hopes of success.

CHAPTER FOUR
    10 QAT 51 DAYS