Page 38 of The Faceless Mage

And honestly, Leisa was feeling a bit unsettled herself. Based on her perusal of the marriage contract back in Farhall, she already had any number of questions about what it contained.

For example, it stipulated that Princess Evaraine would be expected to reside in Garimore for at least half the year. Farhall and Garimore would be mutually committed to one another’s defense in cases of foreign aggression, but the requirement was listed in number of troops rather than a percentage of their full fighting force. Should she be called upon to fulfill that promise, Farhall’s ability to defend herself would be nonexistent, while Garimore would only be sacrificing a small portion of her standing armies.

Then there were the economic provisions. Again, in numbers rather than percentages. Trade concessions. Not to mention that the contract included a sneaky little clause that gave Vaniell a say in the governance of Farhall, but no such provision for Evaraine to influence Garimoran policy in any way.

Leisa understood the political realities. Garimore was larger, wealthier, and far more powerful. They were in a position to make demands in exchange for their aid and protection and stood to gain relatively little in return. But for Farhall to surrender any portion of her sovereignty sat ill with her, and she needed to know what Garimore’s posture towards Farhall’s continued self-governance might be.

But apparently, her questions would have to wait.

She curtsied without much thought, realized too late that she’d chosen the wrong one, and then breathed a sigh of relief as she noted that Melger and Danric were already on their way out and hadn’t seen her lapse.

Until a chuckle from Vaniell reminded her that they weren’t her only audience.

“Oh, shove off,” she muttered under her breath, far too quietly for him to hear, only to feel a sudden jolt of unfamiliar emotion.

Or not so unfamiliar. She recognized the feeling—it just hadn’t come from her.

The Raven. He remained behind her chair, silent and inscrutable. Had he heard her? Leisa’s hand rose involuntarily to the gem around her neck and found it once again over-warm to the touch.

She jerked her fingers away before she could feel any more. Perhaps she had only imagined that surge of emotion. Or perhaps it had indeed come from her silent shadow, somehow reaching her through her unwilling connection to the obviously magical artifact. If so, she was going to have to be far more careful what she said, even to herself. In this case, the gem had not been touching her skin directly, so whatever link it had formed might be growing in strength.

Though, she wouldn’t have said the emotion felt like anger. More like… surprise. Possibly even a sort of amusement. Was it possible she had amused the giant, terrifying, magical assassin? And if so, did she want him to be amused?

“What a delightful morning.” Leisa’s suitor quite heedlessly interrupted her thoughts, as he frequently seemed to do. “Would you do me the honor of walking with me, my princess? I believe we are scheduled to view the gardens. Or if you would prefer to avoid the sun, the sculpture hall is almost never crowded.”

No guesses why. Who would want to view what were probably the self-congratulatory likenesses of former Garimoran kings and queens when one was forced to deal with the living ones while she was at it?

No, Leisa found she much preferred the idea of the gardens and the sun. Not the least because she found herself wondering—what would her bodyguard look like in full sunlight?

“I would be delighted to take a tour of the gardens with you.”

Chapter 11

As it turned out, the gardens truly were exquisite. Garimore was known for her agriculture, and it seemed those talents were not limited to fields and orchards. A profusion of flowers in every imaginable color flanked the golden brick paths, all of which appeared to be laid out at precise angles with perfectly tended borders. Not a twig was out of place, even in the hedges, which occasionally grew high enough for privacy.

Personally, Leisa found it a bit sad—sterile, even. A great deal of planning had gone into placing each plant where it would blend with the one next to it, each one a perfect size and shape to contribute to the effect of the whole. But everything was too controlled. Nothing had been allowed to grow wild, and even the trees appeared to be contained in invisible cages.

“You don’t care for the gardens, Princess?”

She turned to Vaniell, offering him her most gracious smile. “I would far rather you address me as Evaraine, Your Highness, and I find the gardens quite competently tended. Your gardeners are to be commended.”

“Which is not the same thing as liking them,” he observed. “Tell me what bothers you. There are many ways for us to learn more about one another, and I wish to understand your preferences.”

“And what will you do with that knowledge once you have it?” Leisa asked bluntly. “To be quite frank, I have already observed several of your preferences, and I find them disturbing. Do you ask about my opinions so that you can mock them or so that you can pretend to share them?”

Vaniell concealed his surprise well, but his steps slowed for a moment. “I can’t imagine what you mean, Evaraine.” Then he stopped entirely and took her hand. “How can I prove to you that I am as committed to this relationship as you would wish me to be?”

She looked into his inscrutable dark eyes, really looked, and admitted to herself that whoever this man was, and whatever he actually wanted, he was far more experienced in this game than she. He’d probably been manipulating courtiers since he was five, with his sparkling good looks and charming manners. He committed to nothing, gave nothing, but implied everything. Had he truly accepted the necessity of this marriage, or was he hoping to find a way out of it?

“Your Highness,” Leisa replied after a moment’s thought, only to have him interrupt her with a gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek.

“Please. Call me Vaniell.”

She fought her gag reflex and won. But barely.

“Vaniell, we both know that you consider me beneath you. Farhall is small, isolated, and unsophisticated in comparison to Garimore, and I bring little to this arrangement in terms of material gains.”

He began what she suspected would be an elegant denial, but she didn’t give him the chance to lie.

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