Kings and Assassins by Lane Robins

Author:Lane Robins [Robins, Lane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-51269-7
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-02-14T16:00:00+00:00

♦ 18 ♦

S JANUS LEFT THE OLD wing of the palace, he found Evan Tarrant pacing outside, casting fulminating looks at Ivor's guards. “I'm his personal page—” The boy broke off, his anxiety switching to a quick grin at the sight of Janus. Janus had the uncomfortable thought that this boy might be one of the few people in this city that would smile at his appearance.

The boy's anxiety returned; he fidgeted in a manner unbecoming to a member of the palace staff. “Sir—”

“Not here,” Janus said, snatching the boy's sleeve and turning him like a wave collecting driftwood.

The boy's stumbling gait smoothed as he caught up to Janus's quick pace, and trotted alongside him. “It's Gost and DeGuerre, sir.” His voice, breathy, was pitched for Janus's ears and so Janus let him continue, bending to accommodate the boy's piping voice. “Admiral DeGuerre got a letter from Prince Ivor and then he and Mr. Gost shut themselves up in the king's study.”

“Are they still meeting?” Janus asked. He cast a glance at his guards, following as faithfully as his shadow.

The boy nodded, and Janus clapped his shoulder. “Thank you, Evan. You've done well.” Beneath his grip, the boy squirmed, pleased to be praised and careless about showing it.

Janus headed to the closed double doors of Aris's study. Janus nodded at the guards outside, a clear sign that he expected to be let in; after a moment, one of the guards opened the door for him. His sword hilt, Janus noted, was not beribboned.

Gost and DeGuerre stood on either side of Aris's desk, leaning over it, the crowns of their heads nearly touching. When Janus entered unannounced, their expressions commingled aggravation and outrage.

“I'm sorry to intrude,” Janus said, “but as this is the king's study, it can hardly be a personal problem that DeGuerre sought you out for, and if it involves Antyre, well, I knew you'd be wanting me.”

DeGuerre bristled. “Wanting you! If it weren't that Adiran were … as he is, I would see you whipped from—”

“Words, hastily said, take far more time to forget,” Gost interrupted, taking off his spectacles and folding them neatly into thirds. “Janus, you were with Ivor all morning, did he tell you nothing of this?” he asked, gesturing at a sheet of vellum on the desk.

Janus, who had spent all of his childhood untaught, nonetheless suddenly understood all Delight's extravagant dislike of being called on the carpet by his various tutors. He raised his chin and said, “We discussed other matters.”

“Useless,” DeGuerre muttered.

Gost frowned; it aged his face from merely distinguished to something approaching old and weary. He said, “Well, as you're here, come and see what you have wrought.”

As such had been his intention, Janus made no demur, but stepped obediently to the desk. Gost spread out the letter. This was a letter meant to intimidate, Ivor at his most official. From the weight of the vellum, nearly as thick as cloth, to the precision of letters and spacing of the lines, every word was as elegant as a well-kept blade.

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