Champion of the Rose by Andrea K. Höst

Author:Andrea K. Höst
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Andrea K Hösth
Published: 2012-09-15T01:34:53+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Even a Deeping mage could not travel to Tor Darest in moments. The Tzel Aviar had told Strake three days, which palace security hurried to fill with patrols, searches and impressive energy. So far the result was precisely nothing, but that nothing at least included no more corpses. Soren spent less time following Strake about and more watching him and the palace in her head, trying to settle on how the Rathen Champion could meet the threat of murder.

"Are you absolutely, positively certain you wouldn't like me to carry you off for an afternoon of lust and abandon?"

"Do you think you could lift me?" Soren was by no means small or delicate.

"With the right motivation I expect I could stagger all the way to the couch," Aspen said, and shook his head when she laughed. "You do my pride no good at all, nixie."

"You're beyond injury."

"Cruel, cruel."

Aspen was a welcome distraction, outrageously flirtatious as he attempted to turn her thoughts from death. When a faint clink of crockery heralded Halcean's arrival, he broke off, then adopted a sprawling and over-comfortable position in his chair. Eyes dancing with unconcealed glee, he held a hand out imperiously for a steaming, spice-scented mug. Taunting Soren's aide had become his latest fad.

"Join us, Halcean," Soren ordered, accepting her own mug. While Halcean went to fetch another, she pulled a face at Aspen and murmured: "Stop it."

"No need to take up cudgels, my delight. She's well able to fight her own battles." But he sat a little straighter in the wing-back chair, and made a demure play of devotion to his cider as Halcean returned.

"You move rooms tomorrow?"

"Sadly. Too much to hope the Diamond would allow me to lurk about the wainscoting much longer. His sterling Robar has tidied me off to some remote corner of nowhere, quite as far from anything interesting as it's possible to be. And all my dreams of a sudden midnight encounter came to naught. I'm fated never to know if half the things they whisper about the Diamond are true." He tossed up a hand in mock despair, then sobered. "No news on other fronts. Endless speculation, but no-one willing to accuse, let alone put their hand up to slaughter. Not even a popular candidate, beyond this Deeping hobgoblin.

"The only change–" He made a moue of distaste. "There's been a revelation among the more poetic that our divine Aluster's rose is a very black shade of red, which does not at all fit with the descriptions and pictures history's left us. There's no limit to the speculation around that. The wisest heads have concluded that it reflects the nature of our new ruler, and predict dire events and calamities."

That would teach Strake for his thunder-cloud humours.

"You knew that one already," Aspen said, watching her closely. "I see I'll have to scare up something truly original for you."

"Or concoct it," Halcean murmured, softly enough that Aspen could pretend he hadn't heard. The look he gave her suggested their game of rivalry was about to be taken up a notch.

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