Page 32 of Silverbow
The High Lord flashed him a mocking grin. “Not even one?”
It was an effort not to grind his teeth. Renley had any number of complaints for Pallas bloody Davolier, but there were far more important things he would lose his head for than a personal grudge.
“Rather surprising, given how you last departed Misthol,” Peytar chuckled. He stroked his pointed beard as studied the stables. “I suppose that debt to Lord Oakhart weighs heavy.”
Renley did grind his teeth as that barb dredged up things long buried. Gawen Oakhart had forgiven his debt the day he wed his daughter, but in all the years since losing her, regret had scabbed over that wound.
“Did you come all this way just to reminisce, my lord, or is there a reason for this visit?”
The High Lord chuckled as he turned back to him and waved a hand lazily toward his escort. “It’s my business to know the business of the realm, Renley.”
“Spoken like a Master of Spies.”
“Oh, Master Vyrwel would be loath to hear you say so. But I have learned much touring with the collectors these last years.”
“May it serve His Majesty well.”
A cool smile spread across Peytar’s face. “Indeed.”
“The hospitality of my house is yours, my lord. I am afraid we were not expecting your visit, but my housekeeper has gone to see after the tea.”
“I have no interest in your hospitality, Renley. Just your gold.”
“Of course, my lord. If you will follow me to my study-”
Peytar waved a dismissive hand at the scribes who clambered down from their horses. “I assume your man here can handle the matter of payment. I rather fancy a tour.”
“A tour, my lord,” Renley repeated thickly. “Of course. Griff, show them in. Oslee, fetch some water for the High Lord’s horses.”
Peytar watched the men trail after his groundskeeper with a disdainful quirk to his mouth. He chuckled as Oslee Amcot scurried forward, slopping water from a bucket as the lad tried to run and bow all at once.
“Fancy my carriage, boy?”
“I-It’s a fine team, m’lord,” Oslee stammered
“I half expected it to be made of gold,” Renley muttered.
Peytar flashed him a coy smile. “I save the gold one for the streets of Pavia.”
“The orchard-”
“The stables, if you please.”
“Of course, my lord. Our first foal of the season was born in the night. A fine colt, right this way.”
Peytar Ralenet had barely set foot into Ryerson Stable before he turned to Renley and asked, “Where is this daughter of yours?”
Renley’s heart thundered. “My daughter?”
“Enya, isn’t it?”
Gods save us all.“I am flattered, my lord, that you take such an interest to remember.”
Peytar snorted. “I wouldn’t, except for that littlecuriosityin your roll.”
Renley tried to work the moisture back into his mouth. “Curiosity, my lord?”
Peytar darted an uninterested glance at Piper’s colt. “Where is she, Renley?”
