Page 104 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“He feels the same. Like something nasty from under a rock.”
“We can’t assume.”
“’Course we bloody can.”
“Remember that our fixers want raw Lutian crystal. So, we stay polite.”
“I’ll give him polite if he even breathes funny near you,” Fenn grumbled.
But he took to nodding at Warrard whenever he caught him staring, which was quite often, pretending politeness but also saying—with his eyes—I see you, mate. You touch a hair on his head, you got me to deal with—and after a few times, Warrard shrank away and seemed to stare less.
But not all the other court magicians were like that. And there were a lot of them: as many as there were delegations from other countries. Fenn liked the jolly Mahanath of Rebinda who embraced him when they met and patted his cheek the way his mother had used to do sometimes, and gave him a tiny, beautifully carved wooden horse which she said had galloped to her in a dream and which would bring him luck. In return, he offered her the red silk worple horse to take home, at which she hugged him again.
He also, to everyone’s surprise, got on well with the silent, upright Vizier of Kuj, who people said could read minds. The vizier was a tall, rake-thin, dignified old man with a long beard dyed orange, kohl-rimmed eyes and a green parrot who bit anyone who got too close. The parrot took a violent liking to Fenn and bobbed and cooed like a dove when she met him. The vizier favoured Fenn with a wintery smile—never before seen in Essuera according to Aramella—and unbent so far as to let Fenn rub the parrot’s feet and offer her almonds, which she took very gently from his fingertips.
After that, Fenn gravitated to the vizier if he found himself alone because he liked the man’s silence as a relief from all the chatter, and he liked the bird. And he was certain it wasn’t his imagination that the vizier also seemed to gravitate to him, as if the man enjoyed their silences as much as Fenn did.
The three queens of Kuj, seeing their vizier on such good terms with the Essueran court sorcerer’s man, made an offer to Aramella that Fenn didn’t really understand. As far as he could tell it was an agreement to talk to her, which they already did, but Aramella said it was an important honour and that it would open the way for more trade and more comings and goings for the people of the two nations. Fenn offered the vizier a pair of black silk worple horses, which the old man declined so curtly that Fenn thought he was offended. But Morgrim said it simply showed the vizier was touched and honoured and that Fenn must make the offer several more times, because eventually the vizier could accept.
And while all this was happening, the autumn rains came. Not just to the tower, but to the whole country, including the dry beleaguered north. They came softly at first, drifting in from the sea in a gossamer veil, but there were a couple of steady days of rain too.
A few days of rain were not enough to break the drought or make the farmers smile, and there was flooding in some areas because the ground was too dry to admit the wet. The army had to be mobilised to help with sandbags and pumps and the like. But it was a good omen and more rain than they’d had the same time the previous year and people began, cautiously, to celebrate.
On the final day of the coronation week, the Lutian ambassador and court magician agreed to a private meeting with Morgrim and his mysterious new retainer. There was to be no sit-down discussion—the ambassador was far too busy and important for that—but he was able to take a few moments out of his schedule to cross the walkway from the palace to the tower with a few of his people and a delegation of Aramella’s courtiers, take a glass of wine in the gatehouse, view the mustering ground and the worple horses upon it from the shelter of the loggia, and then walk back to the palace.
Fenn primed himself for tension and threats and was struck by the mundanity of it all. The ambassador—a tall, florid man with a habit of dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief—made a few mildly rude remarks. Fenn could tell Morgrim was bristling from the rigidity of his shoulders and the extra polite tone he was taking, but Morgrim made bland responses, and used his noncommittal smile-shrug-bow to good effect.
Only towards the end of the visit, when they were back in the gatehouse, did things escalate in a sudden and alarming way.
They’d been talking about the architecture of the gatehouse and the ambassador had asked Fenn if he’d read a particular book.
“No,” Fenn said.
“No? What about On Architecture by de Coverley?”
“Ain’t read that neither.”
“What a shame.” The ambassador’s tone was a masterclass in condescension. “But perhaps you prefer fiction?”
Fenn shrugged. “Not really. Ain’t had time, see?”
“You jest, Mr. Todd. You must have read the Golden Crystal at any rate. I’m sure every Essueran subject has read that. Isn’t it considered a classic in this country?”
“Heard of it,” Fenn said politely. “What did you think of it?”
“Heard of it? Good lord, Mr. Todd. Every Lutian schoolboy has read it. So much for the marvellous free Essueran education system, eh?”
“It went free after I left.” Fenn explained. “Just missed out, see? I liked school, though, when I was there.” Fenn was suddenly aware that Morgrim was not attending to Warrard any longer, but was listening in. Fenn was also aware that if Morgrim had had a tail, like Fang, he would have been lashing it. Fenn must show that he was happy to keep up his end of the conversation. He added, “Did you like school, then, sir?”
“Best years of my life,” the ambassador said. “I went to Agravaine, of course. Warrard there went to the other place. Poor fellow. Eh?”
Fenn had no idea what he was talking about. “You mean he worked?”
“Good gracious, no. The other place.”
It sounded like a euphemism, something shameful. Perhaps Warrard had spent time in prison. Fenn lowered his voice, “Well, school of life is sometimes best, eh?”
The ambassador gave him a pitying look and opened his mouth to reply when Morgrim cut him off by swinging the door to the stone bridge open with unnecessary force.
