Page 40 of Chained Knight

Whoever painted this room would use oils to capture the rich vivid tints, working fast and layering to give an impression of the bedstead’s wood grain and thickly whitewashed stone wall. The cloth on the bed would be the bigger problem, time to show off technical skill with wrinkles and folds. Maybe the angle from the doorway, framing the tumbled covers, an edge of the highly carved wardrobe, its wood fragrant like cedar but blue-toned and closely grained.

A soft silver gleam came from the necklace; light as a whisper, it hadn’t disturbed her at all. The shift was surprisingly comfortable as a nightgown, and since she’d seen Hannixe deal with the laces it wasn’t difficult to get herself back into the underlayers and outer dress with its seed pearls and heavy flow.

There was no sign of her jeans, boots, flannel button-up, or anything else. Which should have disturbed her more, and Ari wouldn’t have minded a mirror.

Or maybe she would have, since she felt awkward and ridiculous even with nobody around to see. Thankfully her hair wasn’t too tangled, just a few incipient knots easily parting under tentative fingertips. The slippers were no trouble, and the most surprising thing was the faint lingering taste of spice in her mouth instead of morning-breath.

All in all, this was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe they’d let her abdicate peacefully once this Bright King guy was dealt with, and she could rent a small abandoned house?

It was a lovely thought. She padded past the tiled room holding the bathtub, dark and empty, and slipped down the stairs.

Except for the clothing, it could have been the aftermath of a particularly successful party. The fire was low, and Keners was propped against the knee-high hearth with Hannixe cuddled to his chest, both deeply asleep. Even unconscious, he cradled the grey-haired woman tenderly, and her profile in repose would have tempted Botticelli to reach for his sketchbook.

The rest of the guys were sprawled wherever they could find room—Darjeth on a bench, one hand hanging limply like David’s Marat in the bath; Sarle, arms crossed and hat pulled low, reclining in a chair with his booted toes pointed in a V; Naithor under the big butcherblock table. Jazarl was in the same chair he’d taken last night, arms also crossed over his chest and head resting against its wing. Alzarien was propped in a defensible corner near the hearth and Majan lay along the wall near the stairs, hat over his face and his booted ankles crossed. Only Hannixe had a blanket, heavy, brightly patterned wool tucked solicitously around her.

The front door was open, and a tall spike-clad shadow stood on the stone step just outside, limned in violet-grey dawnlight. He didn’t move as Ari approached, but she figured he was aware nonetheless.

Her hypothesis was verified when she was less than five feet away and he turned his head slightly, chin almost touching heavy steel gorget. The invisible static of his attention settled upon her.

Ari swallowed, nervously. But he simply moved aside on the step, noiseless despite the amount of metal he carried. Cool fresh air enfolded her as she crossed the threshold, and she might have gone a little farther if his left arm hadn’t raised, hand loose, to bar passage.

Okay. She probably shouldn’t be wandering outside in slippers anyway, even if the garden’s stone paths were immaculate. Ari hugged herself, cupping her elbows. “Hello.”Thankfully, the word didn’t quiver; they didn’t seem to have an equivalent togood morning. At least, the invisible translator couldn’t supply one.

“My lady.” Quiet, so as not to disturb the sleepers. “Are you well?”

Haven’t slept like that in ages. Maybe ever. She nodded. “Are you?”

That earned her a long, considering sideways look. “Of course. How can I be otherwise, with my lady returned?”

You really shouldn’t say things like that.Ari hoped that was enough in the morning pleasantries department. This was a golden opportunity to find out a few more details, if he’d cooperate. “We should talk.”

“Certainly.” But he didn’t move; apparently he was really going to make her work for it.

“Privately, I mean.” The blush was back, creeping up her neck, but maybe he wouldn’t see it in soft indistinct predawn.

“They will not hear. But…” He indicated the garden with a slight twitch of a gauntlet. “So long as you stay close, my lady.”

She was already nervous enough to shudder, and scanned the mist clinging to neighboring houses, the road’s glistening surface. Heavy dew coated bushes and flowers, glittered on the white-painted fence and the archway’s tangled vines. “I thought those clockwork things didn’t come here.”

“They may be tempted.” He didn’t move, looming patiently on the step. “But ’tis not just that, my kindness. I once failed to guard you closely enough, and the result was disastrous. I will never make that mistake again.”

Oh, for God’s sake.Ari gathered every bit of courage she had, ignoring the tiny shrieking voice of cowardice. It might be a bad move to have this particular conversation now, sure.

But by Jesus and gin—as Mom used to say—Ariadne was tired of lying, of covering up with a mumbledit was an accident,smiling when Wanda Lee started in again, of attempting to soothe Mike’s moods, of constant agonizing indecision. This guy was the power behind the throne, so arriving at some kind of agreement was necessary.

It might even help her survive this and retire, which sounded like agreatidea.

“I’m really not what you think.” Ari had said it before, but now she had the chance to make the statement stick. “Your moon-lady.”

“My lady Moon.” Not quite a correction, and at least he didn’t seem angry. Maybe he’d expected her to begin bargaining for a political arrangement sooner. He gazed at the road, impersonal, his profile sharp.

“Yes. That.” Ari’s fingers bit her elbows, squeezing hard. The bruises on her arms were nearly gone, the ‘greater drink’ doing a lot of work she’d probably ruin. “But I’m just a mortal, right? I was running away and I landed here, maybe through one of the Bright King’s doors you were talking about, and I?—”

“Do you think Hannixe would break her long silence for a stray mortal? Do you think my sword would recognize you or the Golden seek you out, were you not more than you seem?” He wasn’t staring at the road anymore. Instead, he turned, and that scorch-hot gaze pinned her. “You purified a poison-pool near the Keep, as well. More than that,I know you, no matter what shape you wear. Did you think I would not?”

The wall of metal came closer, but Ari didn’t flinch. She couldn’t, too busy staring at his eyes. They were the same as in those awful nightmares, but he wasn’t wrapped in a mound of chains anymore.

He wasn’t talking like a savvy political manipulator either. No, his tone was almost ragged, and the intensity of his expression was a shock. What if he was a fanatic? What if he really believed she was…

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