Free The Seven Towers by Patricia C. Wrede Page A

time he entered the Great Hall that evening, Eltiron was nervous as well as worried. He was so busy looking for Vandaris among the assembled guests that he did not see Terrel approaching until it was too late to avoid him.
    As soon as he was within speaking distance, Terrel stopped and bowed. “I am delighted to see you here, and in good health, Your Highness,” he said.
    “I thank you, Lord Lassond,” Eltiron said warily.
    “The preparations for the wedding are going well, I trust?”
    “Quite well,” Eltiron said as coldly as he dared.
    A faint, amused smile flickered on Terrel’s lips, then vanished. “I noticed that you still have time to visit the castle towers.”
    “Occasionally.”
    “I am glad for you, Your Highness. I thought perhaps your additional duties might prove too . . . arduous to allow for your normal pastimes.”
    “It doesn’t take that much time,” Eltiron said, stung more by Terrel’s tone than his words. The man might as well come out and say he thought Eltiron too stupid to handle protocol properly.
    “Ah. Then you will have time for our match tomorrow morning.” Terrel smiled in satisfaction. “I had feared you might be so busy with your other duties that you would cancel it.”
    “Our match?”
    “Kaliarth has graciously allowed me to take his place for a few days as your instructor in swordcraft. I thought to use tomorrow’s lesson to demonstrate your skills publicly; it will be excellent practice for the sword games at the wedding, Your Highness.”
    Eltiron felt trapped. Terrel was by far the better swordsman; if Eltiron fought him in public, the match would be a humiliating farce. Canceling the match would be nearly as bad. Terrel would make sure that everyone in the castle was told of the entire conversation, and Eltiron would appear a braggart or a coward sheltering behind feeble excuses.
    Eltiron was trying to decide whether it would be worse to cancel the match or hold it when a voice behind him said, “Too bad, lizard legs. Prince Eltiron has a prior engagement. With me.”
    “Vandi!” Eltiron said in relief. He turned to greet her, and swallowed in surprise and dawning apprehension. Vandaris wore the full-dress uniform of a mercenary captain. Silver buttons shone against the deep green velvet, and a decorative knife sheath swung on silver chains from her belt. She stood out against the artistic fragility of Marreth’s women and the dignified formality of the court ladies like a panther in a flock of peacocks. Eltiron was sure Marreth would not be pleased.
    “You expected the White Beast of Mithum? Introduce me, or we’ll be standing here all night.”
    “Oh, of course. Vandi, this is Lord Terrel Lassond, Father’s Chief Adviser. Lord Lassond, this is my aunt, Vandaris.”
    “I am charmed,” Terrel said, bowing deeply. “And, of course, it will give me great pleasure to relinquish my match with Prince Eltiron to you.”
    “Pity you can’t, then,” Vandaris said.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Work it out for yourself, slow skull. If Eltiron has an engagement with me, he can’t have one with you, so you haven’t got anything to relinquish.”
    For an instant, Terrel looked taken aback; then he bowed again. “As you say. I hope you will not be disappointed in Prince Eltiron’s skill.”
    “Why should I be? Never mind; I’m not that interested.”
    “Prince Eltiron is not devoted to swordcraft,” Terrel said, smiling in a way that set Eltiron’s teeth on edge.
    “Well, it’s about time someone in this castle had more brains than brawn,” Vandaris said. “The last time I was here, Trevannon was the only one with sense.”
    “It is sad that one so gifted should have been proved a traitor,” Terrel replied.
    “Very sad,” Vandaris said dryly. “And even sadder that nothing has happened in the past six months to give the castle gossips something more interesting to talk about.”
    Terrel raised an eyebrow. “I trust you do not include me among