Page 35 of Silverbow
Theo cleared his throat, his eyes darting to someone standing behind her. Crissa turned, her layered pink skirts frothing around her. Her goblet slipped from her silk glove and clattered on the tile floor, sending red splattering across white. The black coated wielder picked up the fallen cup and liquid suddenly leapt back to where it belonged. He set it on the tray of a passing servant that let out a terrified squawk before sprinting for the exit.
“A dance, Miss…?”
“Crissa,” she squeaked. “Crissa Blakwell.”
Peytar
“Howcharmingthis place is, don’t you think Peytar?”
“I suppose, if one finds sheep to be pleasant company,” he answered dryly.
Louissa followed his wandering gaze and her eyebrow rose. “Do you grow tired of my company, Peytar?”
“Of course not,” he said, abandoning his fruitless search. “I only grow bored of this place.”
Louissa harrumphed her agreement. “There’s little out here but giftless goats. Except Recruit Trakaw tells me that that one there is a water wielder.” She inclined her head toward a pretty doe eyed girl in a pink dress.
“I’m not sure black will suit her half as well.”
Louissa chuckled into her wine.
“No one wears black quite like you.” Peytar pressed a simpering kiss into the back of her hand. “Don’t you ever take a night off? What is the point in having the king’s good favor if you never enjoy it, hmm?”
“What exactly do you propose, Peytar? A turn about the floor with a country bumpkin?”
“If you wanted to dance, you only had to ask.”
“I do not,” she sniffed. “Not in present company.”
“It would give them something to talk about.”
“I find it rather ruins the effect. Besides, it’s hardly work. That one is so strong we don’t even need the rod.” She grinned deviously. “It would be a shame to leash her now and wear out our welcome.”
She said it as if she were contemplating just that.
“Try not to kick the anthill before I’ve collected my gold,” he sighed.
“The king’s gold,” she corrected sharply.
“Yes, yes, of course. His Majesty’s gold.”Sloppy mistake.He needed no reminder of where Louissa’s loyalties lie. A pity, but every tool had its use, and Louissa was more useful than most. “I can’t imagine you’ve got a collar stowed away in that dress, so let us try to enjoy the evening, no?”
***
Having seen to her enjoyment, Peytar slipped back into his boots and took an oil lamp from his room. He descended from the top floor of the Morning Glory and rapped his knuckles on the door he sought. He waited half a heartbeat and rapped again, tapping his foot impatiently.
There was a muffled shuffle behind the door and something that sounded like a pile of books toppling. A lock clicked. The door opened a crack, and the little man peered out, squinting in the light of the lamp.
“My lord,” he bowed. “Is something the matter?”
“I’ve a curiosity to satisfy.” He pushed into the scribemaster’s room and stalked to the cluttered desk. Scribemaster Lorry might travel in the company of Louissa Adler, but the man was squarely in Peytar’s pocket.
Lorry, wearing nothing but a nightshirt, wrung his hands nervously. “What can I assist you with, my lord?”
“Scroll number seven from Westforks.”
Lorry retrieved the rolled up parchment from a stack as Peytar set his lamp atop the desk. He scanned the names of the houses upcountry. “Tell me, Lorry. Do you travel with a copy ofThe Book of Names?”
“I do, my lord.” He scurried to a mountain of dry looking tomes in the corner and chose one from the bottom. The book that thudded to the desk was nearly as tall as Peytar’s lamp. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for, my lord?”
