playing in this drama demanded them. There was no real concern there. She was as self-obsessed as most elves. He could not blame her for this. They had only really known each other for a few weeks. It saddened him. He began to have some idea how lonely a place a city like Lothern was going to be.
‘Rumour has it that Larien belongs to the Cult of the Forbidden Blade,’ she said. ‘They are sworn to kill the Blood of Aenarion to prevent one of them from drawing the Sword of Khaine and ending the world.’
‘Maybe they should start with Malekith. He is a more likely candidate for that than me. I find this world quite appealing.’
‘I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,’ she said. Again, she sounded like an actress playing a role.
‘Nothing bad is going to happen to me.’
‘Death might,’ she said.
‘Well we are alive now and if I am soon to die I want to sample some more of life’s pleasures.’
He reached out for her once again.
chapter twenty-two
It was an odd sensation, rising on what might be his last day of life. Tyrion dressed with care, inspecting himself in the mirror as he did so. He was not pale. He did not sweat. His hands were steady. His heart did not race or pound in his ears. The only thrill he felt was excitement. He considered his response, observing himself dispassionately as an outsider would. He was definitely not afraid. He doubted that whatever happened he would disgrace his family or his famous ancestor. That, at least, was good.
He was aware of the possibility of death, perhaps even its likelihood, but he suffered none of the symptoms of fear or nerves he had heard or read about. He was merely curious as to his own reaction or lack of it.
If he was honest with himself, he was looking forward to the Circle of Blades. It would be his first real test as a warrior. He felt as if he was finally getting to do something he had always wanted to. His curiosity extended to what it would be like to have a life or death combat and how he would perform.
Perhaps this excessive calmness was a reaction to the situation. Maybe his mind was trying to deal with the danger by minimising it. He had read that such things happened. He did not think it was the case for him. Something told him that he would always be this way on the morning before a battle. If it was abnormal then he was abnormal. He was of the Blood of Aenarion, a descendant of the first true elf warrior.
When he came downstairs to breakfast, he could see that others were not taking it quite as well. Teclis looked pale and afraid. His eyes looked huge. Tyrion could tell that he had not slept at all. Lady Malene did not look any better. Her expression was filled with foreboding. Liselle looked wan and pallid.
Tyrion grinned at them as he sat down at the table. He helped himself to water and a slice of bread and butter. He did not want to eat heavily for it would slow him down but he wanted to make sure he had some energy.
His grandfather merely smiled his chilly smile, apparently pleased by the way he was going to meet his fate.
The servants moved quietly around him as if afraid to say anything, as if he were an invalid or a ghost. It was as if some vast formal ritual were taking place, as if they wanted to show support or say farewell. Most of them looked at him curiously as if he were a rare specimen the like of which they might never see again. Many were sympathetic. Some looked jealous or disbelieving, as if they were watching a poor performance by an actor.
Why would that be, he wondered? Did they resent him being the centre of attention? Were they envious of his supposed bravery? Did they secretly dislike him and wish him ill? He felt sure that some did. It did not matter to him. He smiled at them all alike.
Korhien and Iltharis entered. They were formally garbed. Korhien wore his lionskin cloak. Iltharis was garbed in sombre black.
‘Ready?’ Korhien asked.
‘Ready,’ Tyrion said. His voice sounded calm and normal. He wanted to tell everyone not to worry, that it would all be all right, but that did not seem like appropriate behaviour. Instead as he passed Teclis he squeezed