Sasha by Joel Shepherd

Author:Joel Shepherd [Shepherd, Joel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Adult, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Young Adult, War
ISBN: 9781591027874
Google: yuBcPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 159102787X
Barnesnoble: 159102787X
Goodreads: 6473534
Publisher: Pyr
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sasha was almost surprised when the Verenthane Royal Guardsmen at Koenyg's door let her in with barely a query. Koenyg's chambers were large, with a main room here and a dining room beyond, half-hidden behind curtain drapes. Memories hit her with a rush, hard and unwelcome. These had been Krystoff's chambers. They'd seemed lighter then, somehow. The sun had always been shining through the far windows, in those memories, and gleaming golden upon the dining table. Now, the stone walls seemed darker, more foreboding.

She passed the curtain drapes and found Koenyg seated with Archbishop Dalryn at the near end of the long dining table, each with a drink in hand. Both men rose upon her entry. "Sister," Koenyg said blandly. "What a lovely surprise. What can I ...

"Did you send your wife's Hadryn lapdog after me?" Sasha demanded angrily. "Or did she send him herself?"

Koenyg gazed at her for a long moment, the flexing of his free hand the only sign of a reaction. "You should refer to your brother's wife as either Princess Wyna, or sister," said Archbishop Dalryn into that silence. "Your own title is no longer "princess", and such informality is unbecoming."

"Was I talking to you?" Sasha snapped at the holiest Verenthane in Lenayin. The archbishop reddened. He was, in Sasha's opinion, an utterly unremarkable man. He had a longish face, with a pointy jaw, a bloated nose and loose skin sagging from his cheeks. His hair was dark streaked with grey, and curly-an unusual trait in Lenayin. It was usually hidden beneath his tall archbishop's hat, which now sat upon the dining table. Now it stuck up in fuzzy curls. Like an old feather duster, Sasha thought.

"What happened?" Koenyg asked simply, sipping his wine. Or Sasha assumed it was wine, the archbishop's tastes were well known.

"Martyn Ansyn told me not to support Lord Krayliss come his trial, or I'd suffer for it. When is Lord Krayliss's trial anyway, Koenyg? Have you decided? Or does it depend entirely on what I plan to say in his defence?"

"Your brother should be addressed as Prince Koenyg," the archbishop persisted, "or as brother. From your mouth in particular, such informality is...

"From my mouth in particular?" Sasha leaned on a chairback, and glared at him. "And how would you like me to address you, Dalryn? As the rural folk of Lenayin do? The Holy Brewery, perhaps? The Listing Bishop? Father Red Nose?"

"You dare say such things in this place!" the archbishop fumed. His horrified stare fixed on Koenyg, but Koenyg only watched, wearily.

"In this place more than any other!" Sasha retorted. "This is my brother, in the chambers that once belonged to my dearest friend, and I've far more claim to the sanctity of this place than you ever will. If you don't like it, get lost."

"Sasha, this is my invited guest." Very little ever penetrated Koenyg's rock-like calm. He seemed no more alarmed by his sister's outburst than he might have been by a small, yapping dog about his ankles. "You are not.

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