Page 250 of Dragon Slayer

Val feasted Matthias Corvinus and his men in the throne room when they came.

John Hunyadi’s son was a handsome man, with thick, glossy dark hair that fell to his shoulders, gently curling, a proud nose, strong jaw, and an easy, straight smile. He embraced Val like a brother, kissed him on both cheeks, and waved forward a pair of servants bearing a long, narrow box. Matthias flipped back the lid and revealed a blade, simple by design, strong, beautifully crafted. An efficient, high-quality weapon. Awarrior’sweapon.

“For you,” he said. “As a gesture of goodwill, and our new alliance.”

Val took it slowly from its bed of velvet, surprised by the heft of it. He lifted it toward the light of the flickering chandeliers, peering down the length of it, and finding it perfectly straight.

“I thank you for the gift,” he said, trying for awe, afraid he sounded as jaded as he felt. Gifts were never given freely.

Matthias beamed. “A sword needs a name. What shall you call her?”

He felt the tiny weight of the bell, resting against his breastbone. Thought of Mama, and her sweet smiles, and her sharp sword.

“I think…I think I shall call it Mercy.”

~*~

After the meal, Matthias wished to talk privately of alliances, so they repaired to the study.

Val spent too long a moment staring at his father’s old chair – Vlad’s, most recently – smelling them on it, and Cicero, too, where he’d leaned against its arm, a dutiful Familiar. Finally, he settled into it, feeling like a fraud, acutely aware that his backside was too narrow to fits its depression.

Matthias slouched down in the chair opposite the desk, relaxed, and refilled both their cups from a flagon of fresh wine without asking. “I do apologize about your brother, Radu. Unfortunate business.” He made a show of grimacing, shaking his head, gaze properly tinged with sadness. “But I’m sure you understand.” He lifted a searching glance to Val. “Vlad would make a better general than he does a prince. His bravery and bloodthirstiness are commendable, but he’s going to get everyone in the region killed by that Conqueror of yours.”

“Vlad has always been forceful.”

“Forceful! Ha! There’s an understatement.” He chuckled as he sipped his wine. “It took fifty of my best men to subdue him. And that was only after we threatened to run through that friend of his.” His mouth puckered with distaste. “Whatever he is.”

“Cicero,” Val said, and felt a cold numbness begin to steal over him. He’d been faking interest and enthusiasm all night, but now an active hostility cooled his temper further. “His advisor.”

“Cicero? Named for Marcus Tullius?” Matthias snorted, eyes gleaming. “Tell me, though, truthfully: what sort of creature makes a sound like that? Thatgrowling.”

Val pushed an attempt at a smile across his lips. “I have no idea what you mean. But that was cowardly to threaten a mere steward.”

Matthias’s brows went up. “It was the only way to clap silver manacles on your brother. A mere steward? No. If I suspected such things, I’d say they were more than likely lovers.”

Val checked his own growl. But he couldn’t maintain the smile. “Cicero is a most devoted Familiar.”

Matthias didn’t seem to notice the stress he put on the word. Why should he? But he narrowed his gaze and said, “While we’re on the topic, I do wonder. You and your brother and your people – you must admit you don’t strike outsiders as normal.”

“I supposed that depends upon your definition of normal.”

“Oh, come now, Radu.” Matthias set his cup aside and leaned forward, arms folded over the desk. A spark in his gaze, one Val didn’t particularly like. “Don’t take it as an insult – it certainly isn’t meant as one. Truly, normal could be taken as an insult, when unique is as exceptionally beautiful as you.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You are beautiful. You must know that. There’s a reason you were Mehmet’s favorite.”

In that moment, Val understood with perfect clarity how Vlad was able to justify impaling people. He swallowed down a surge of bile, and said, “Are you propositioning me?”

“Don’t play coy.” Matthias reached across the desk, intending to lay his hand over Val’s. “You are–”

Val pulled his hand back, and Matthias’s froze, hovering in mid-air.

Val stood. “It grows late, your grace, and you’re clearly too tired to be thinking clearly. I’ll summon a servant to show you to your quarters for the evening.”

Matthias sat back, cleared his throat, fiddled with his embroidered jacket. “Yes. Um. Very well, thank you.”

No gift was ever given freely, after all.

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