The Dark Spawn (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 5) by Kathryn Le Veque

Author:Kathryn Le Veque [Le Veque, Kathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Medieval, Romance
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2021-04-21T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cole found Alastor in his solar.

That dusty, cold room that still smelled of seared human flesh. He was burning something in a pewter bowl, incense to cover up the fact that a man had burned to death in that chamber and the stench still hadn’t left. The incense was an earthy scent, something he could smell far back in his nose, like cold dirt. It almost smelled like a grave. He stood at the door, seeing Alastor as the man sat with his back to him, gazing out over the bailey in a rare quiet moment.

Quietly, he rapped on the panel.

“Who is it?” Alastor asked without turning around.

“Cole, my lord,” Cole replied. “May I enter?”

Alastor turned his chair around, facing him. “How may I be of service, Cole?”

He sounded weary and Cole thought that it was a rather direct question, one that he didn’t want to answer right away. He thought that he might need to gently ease Alastor into the true purpose for his visit, so he started out with something unrelated to his real reason. As he’d told Corisande, he wasn’t a liar by nature, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dance around the subject a little.

Besides… he had to build up his courage.

“I was curious if you’ve heard from my father,” he said. “Addax and Essien have been in Berwick for at least a month. We have no word?”

Alastor shook his head. “None,” he said. “It takes time to produce results sometimes, but I do not have to tell you that. You know it all too well.”

Cole nodded. “That is true,” he said. When the conversation threatened to die, he pointed to the smoking bowl. “What is that? I have smelled it before, I think.”

Alastor’s attention moved to the bowl and its ribbons of blue smoke. “It is called olibanum,” he said. “It is harvested in lands as far away as The Levant from a thorny tree that grows in the deserts. My wife loved the smell and it reminds me of her, so I burn it.”

Cole understood. “I see,” he said. “It must be precious and rare.”

“It is. Like my wife – precious and rare.”

He said it like a prayer, reverent and wistful. Cole thought it might be a good time to lead into the real reason for his visit.

“What was her name?” he asked.

Alastor fanned the smoke a little, inhaling it when it blew in his direction. “Thalassa,” he said. “Thalassa de Ryes. Very old family, south in Hampshire. It has been a few years since I last saw my wife and this resin reminds me so much of her. My children hate it, but I do not care. I suppose we all have our own ways of remembering. But I digress; forgive me. Is there anything else you need from me, Cole?”

Cole didn’t give him a straight answer. “It is true we all have our own ways of remembering,” he said, sticking to the subject of dead wives. “Whenever I see a thistle, I remember my wife.

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