Page 45 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Fenn was still wary of that enchanted place, but the alternative—because surely to get to these northern hills he’d have to ride through the crowded city streets on the worple horse—well, he wasn’t ready to face that. He’d known people would laugh at him and his preposterous horse, and they had. But he liked Aramella and he wanted to see her ride.
And, if he met her again maybe he could sound her out, in a casual way, about her intentions towards Morgrim. Whether she wanted to marry him. Things like that.
“The mustering ground. Aye,” he said.
“Good. Next week? I’ll send word.” She took a step back and paused. “Do me a favour? Make sure he looks after that cut, will you?”
“I can doctor a cut,” Morgrim put in.
“Yes, but you won’t. I know you. You’ll forget and it’ll fester. Check on him will you, Mr. Todd? He doesn’t take proper care of himself.”
“I’ll see to it,” Fenn promised.
“I do not need an attendant.” Morgrim’s voice was sharper.
“Good, because Mr. Todd is clearly not that. But at least you’ve started eating again since he arrived, eh? Eh, Morgrim? Yes, that is the case so you needn’t scowl at me. Anyway, I’ll see myself out. Oh, and I’ll send some raw meat over for the cat. Gentlemen.” She nodded, gave Fenn another grin, and was gone down the stairs into the tower. She left behind a stillness, almost a coldness, as if the sun had gone in.
“So that’s the Queen,” Fenn said, still trying to take it all in, including what Aramella as queen could mean in the wider sense. And how he might broach the subject of Morgrim marrying her without being too obvious. He added, “She seems all right. Reckon she’ll do her best for the country.”
“Because she can talk about horses that makes her a fit ruler?”
Morgrim was scoffing rather. He turned and walked towards a small heap of black cloth that lay against the battlements. Must be his robe. Fenn followed.
“That ain’t what I said. And anyway, it ain’t because she can talk about horses, it’s how she did it.”
“Please, elaborate.” Morgrim rested his sword against the battlements and reached for his robe.
Now they were at the edge, Fenn could see the clouds from above. They looked solid enough to walk across. Until, of course, they ended in that dizzying drop.
“Well, she’s honest. Kind. Practical. Tactful. Good attention to detail,” Fenn said.
Morgrim was putting his robe on, fastening it at the throat. “You can tell all that from one conversation?”
Fenn shrugged. “She could work in any stable of mine.”
Morgrim smiled, suddenly, like a man trying not to and failing. “High praise.”
“Aye, it is. I’m very particular.”
“She’s charismatic, which is lucky for her. But you don’t know anything about her politics.”
“That’s true, I suppose. Though I drank the water she had sent north. And ate the bread.”
Morgrim glanced absently at the kitten, which had followed him and was now stalking a dead leaf. “She was right to do that. She has a good grip on internal affairs. And a good heart.”
Fenn thought he’d finished, but Morgrim added, in a bit of a rush, “But she’s too trusting. Idealistic. She needs to learn that sometimes one must make sacrifices. Awful sacrifices. Like Mandillo. She needs to learn to play the long game.”
Fenn nodded, feeling a glow of pride that Morgrim should speak to him so plainly—and about the queen too. “She’s young. She’ll learn, surely.”
“Yes, but will it be the hard way?”
“Ain’t that the only way?”
Morgrim shot him a look. “You know very well that some ways are harder than others.”
“Ah. That’s true. But she’s got advisers. You. And so on.”
“Me. Yes.”
