Under Camelot's Banner by Sarah Zettel

Author:Sarah Zettel [Zettel, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4405-4370-8
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2006-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Laurel presided over the evening meal as best as she was able, seeing to it that her guards and her unwelcome guests were all fed as luxuriously as their remaining stores allowed. She knew from Jorey’s worried looks that the extra strain was beginning to tell on the cellars. Provision for the castell would have to be seen to before many more days had passed. The idea that she would have to seek permission from Mesek and Peran for this basic duty galled her.

Morgaine, for her part, pretended to a distant acquaintance with Peran, and none at all with Mesek, who had reappeared just as the board was being laid. He did not say where he had been, and Laurel did not ask. She was in no humor to accept one more lie. Meg would be able to find out for her, and if Meg could not, Lynet would. Laurel tried to be grateful that all remained civil and polite, and nearly silent. The rain had begun outside, and its drumming could be heard clearly throughout the meal, there was so little noise in the hall.

By the time Laurel saw her guests settled for the night, a profound weariness dragged at every limb. She wanted nothing more than to seek her own bed, but there was one thing she must do before then. She sent Meg and the girls ahead to prepare her bed, swearing she would be with them shortly. Then, with her guards in tow and little Tag to carry the rushlight, she reluctantly climbed the stairs. She travelled the long corridor beneath the roof with the storm’s voice battering at her ears and its drafts curling around her ankles, until she came at last to her brother’s door.

“I will speak with him,” she said to the guard who had been duly posted.

The young man — Tremere’s oldest son, what was his name? — looked as if he wanted question the wisdom of this, but he remembered himself in time, closed his mouth and stepped aside. Laurel pushed the door open.

A blast of frigid, wet air slapped against her face. Colan stood at his narrow window, the shutters thrown wide to admit the storm’s winds. The hiss of wind and rain hid the sound of her entry, and he did not turn.

A sister’s exasperation that was older and deeper than her rage snapped into place. “Are you looking to die of cold?”

Colan turned his head. The badly flickering firelight left dark hollows on his cheeks. His face was covered with a beard of at least a week’s growth, which made him look all the more haggard.

“You do not fear to be alone with me?” he asked. His voice was harsh and lower than it had been when he left.

Laurel sighed. Another game. More sparring with words. “Should I?”

“You have seen me do murder,” he answered simply. Simply. Nothing was simple now, nor would it ever be again, not even when his head had left his shoulders.

She spread her hands.

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