The Briar King by Greg Keyes

Author:Greg Keyes
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Del Rey

PART III

THE RECONDITE STIRS

THE YEAR 2,223 OF EVERON

THE MONTH OF PONTHMEN

When wakes the recondite world, the sword shall appear as a feather, the wolf as a mouse, the legion as a carnival. I shall laugh from my grave, and it shall sound as a lute.

—FROM THE CONFESSION OF THE SHINECRAFTER EMME VICCARS, AT THE PRONOUNCEMENT OF HER SENTENCE OF EXECUTION

CHAPTER ONE

IN THE WARHEARTH

WILLIAM POURED ANOTHER GOBLET of his favorite Virgenyan wine and paced across the red marble floor of Warhearth Hall. He took a healthy swallow of the amethyst-colored vintage, then set the goblet down on the broad black table in the center of the room.

The paintings were looking at him again. Rebelliously, he returned their scrutiny.

They were everywhere; whole floor-to-ceiling panels of the wall were bracketed in gilded oak-leaf molding and painted in dense and murky colors, as if rendered with mud and soot and blood. In a sense they were, for each was a depiction of some part of the long history of his family's wars.

“Would you rather look at those old pictures or me?” Alis Berrye inquired sulkily. She was draped upon an armchair, bodice unlaced so as to reveal her firm, rose-tipped breasts. She rolled off her stockings and threw one bare leg over the arm of the chair. It was a pretty leg, slender, white as milk. Her chestnut hair was mildly tousled, sapphire eyes languid, despite her vexed tone. She was nearly as full of wine as he, and totally unlike the paintings in character.

Well, not entirely true. She wasn't murky, but she was a bit dense.

“I am sorry, my dear,” William murmured. “The mood is no longer on me.”

“I can put it on you, my lord, I assure you.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I'm certain you could. But I do not wish it.”

“Do you tire of me, Your Majesty?” Alis asked, unable to hide a bit of panic in her voice.

He regarded her for a moment, taking the question seriously. She was an exuberant, enthusiastic lover, if one without the skills of an older woman. Her political designs were charmingly transparent and naïve. She got drunk well, and when her guard was down she was unselfconsciously sweet, and her mind went down tracks strange to his, which he enjoyed on the pillows.

She was a welcome change from Gramme, whose mind had turned almost obsessively to her bastards these last few years. They were provided for, of course, and he liked them, especially little Mery, but Gramme wanted them to have the Dare name and said so far too often. Alis was less ambitious, and perhaps didn't even have the intelligence for such ambition.

That was fine. Two intelligent women in his life were more than enough.

“No, not at all,” he told her. “You are a delight to me.”

“Then shall we to bed? It's something past midnight. I can soothe you to sleep, if you don't desire loving.”

“You go to bed, lady,” he said gently. “I shall join you presently.”

“In your chambers, Majesty?”

William turned an irritated frown on her.

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