Karen Miller - Godspeaker 02 by The Riven Kingdom

Author:The Riven Kingdom [Kingdom, The Riven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-22T12:28:01+00:00

“I did already. He understands your position. He’s ours, Rhian. Or are you in doubt?”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I hardly know him, Alasdair. He rarely came to court.”

“He’s my cousin . I know him. Do you say that’s not enough?”

“No, no—”

“Rollin have mercy!” he swore, heedless of Helfred’s sharp indrawn breath. “The people you brought here, Rhian, not even related. The toymaker, that physick woman, and Zandakar. Zandakar . You expect me to trust them and then you look sideways at my cousin ?”

“You’re right, Alasdair. You’re right. I’m sorry,” said Rhian. “Of course I trust Ludo. I’m feeling fractious. Forgive me.”

“I’m feeling fractious too,” he muttered, after a moment. “I’ll be glad when this is over.” The funeral …

the revelations … I’m burying my father today, yet somehow his death has been pushed aside.

Made less important .

Rhian joined him at the window. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and laid her palm on his cheek. “This day should be about your father, and instead I’ve made it about me. I promise you’ll have time to mourn him, Alasdair. He won’t be forgotten.”

He pulled her to him, not caring about the fine dress. Not caring about anything save the feel of her skin against his and the pounding of her heart against his chest. She could undo him with a glance.

“We’ll survive this, Rhian,” he said, his lips pressed to her short curling hair. “We’ll survive Marlan and every obstacle he raises against us. You were born to be Ethrea’s queen.” A sound from beyond the window turned him. “Ah.”

“The dukes,” she said. Her arm was tight around him, where it belonged. “They’ve arrived.”

All four of them together, as Sardre had said, complete with an excess of soldier escorts for vanity and show, and mounted servants and expensive, gilt-chased carriages pulled by the glossiest plumed and caparisoned horses. Each duke’s extravagant retinue was badged with his duchy’s personal device: a leaping red lion for Morvell, a bugling silver swan for Meercheq, a stag for Hartshorn and a snarling deerhound for Arbat. Sardre moved among the jostling throng leaving calm and order in his wake.

Look at them all, it’ll cost a fortune to feed them. Ah, the dubious honour of being a duke.

“You’d best go down there,” said Rhian. “They’ll be expecting to see Linfoi’s new duke.”

He turned his back to the window. Held her again. “Sardre will come for me once he’s sorted them out.

I can wait until then. I’d like a moment with my wife …”

He felt her soften within his embrace. Her arms tightened around him, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t care. If he died like this he would die content.

“The storm’s come, Alasdair,” she whispered against him. “It’s breaking over our heads. Tell me one more time we’re strong enough to prevail.”

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