Champion of Fire & Ice - Megan Derr Page 0,13

there. Once dark had well and truly fallen, Cimar would then shift and fly them the rest of the way to Castle Bone, turning a trip of at least two weeks into one of a matter of hours.

He couldn't wait to see Grayne's face when he returned weeks early and with his shifted form still a secret. If they wanted to win via cheating, they were going to have to work a whole lot harder.

CHAPTER THREE

Davrin had hoped a good night's rest would see him soothed, but when he woke shortly after sunrise he was still fuming about the flagrant mistreatment of his champion—of his challenge. He had not called it lightly, no challenge was ever called lightly, and yet His Majesty was treating it like a game, a silly inconvenience he must endure and wanted over as soon as possible. He wasn't even trying to pretend otherwise.

If His Majesty's selfish apathy caused Cimar to die of the plague—to die, period, as a result of such flagrant favoritism and sabotage—Davrin would teach him how foolish it was to betray a courtier who'd been unfailingly loyal his whole life.

Biting back his anger as he had so many times when locked in discussions with stubborn fools where prejudice and cultural differences made everything ten times harder, Davrin threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed, hastening into the heavy wool dressing robe hanging nearby. Then he stoked the fire and got a pot of tea going.

One of the castle servants would be along shortly with breakfast. Normally, he had a personal manservant to manage such things, but Geoff had recently married and returned with his wife to her farm, and Davrin had not yet had time to replace him.

When breakfast came, he set it and his tea on the table near the fire, feet shoved into thick, fur-lined slippers that did a fairly good job of warding off the bitingly cold stone floor.

Normally he would have five hundred things to do—meetings, negotiations, taking visitors about the city, arranging meetings, and more. But with the challenge called, that was his sole focus, as he could not do anything that might be taken, accidentally or otherwise, as currying favor or otherwise cheating.

Which left him with a pile of correspondence to tackle, some financial matters for his estates, and not much else. He wouldn't see Cimar for at least a month, if all went perfectly, and more if something went wrong. Never again if the quest ended in disaster.

Taking a deep breath, he once more turned his thoughts to other matters. Few they were, but anything was better than brooding and steeping in his own ire.

He'd only just settled into a rhythm with his mountain of correspondence when a soft knock came at his door. Standing, Davrin turned—and stared bemused as a sealed slip of paper was slid under his door. What in the world?

Striding across the room, he knelt to retrieve it, frowning at the unmarked blue wax that closed it. Generic, the kind of wax used in temples, where people who couldn't read and write, or afford the supplies, went to have letters and such written for them. The paper was slightly better quality than that, but only just.

Returning to his desk, he picked up the crystal-handled letter opener that had been a gift from Ballior years ago, part of a handsome desk set Davrin still treasured. Slicing the wax seal, he set the opener aside and flipped the letter open. The contents did not lessen his bemusement.

Farlow. Old grotto. Two hours. Knock three times on door to acknowledge receipt.

Who in the world wanted a secret meeting with him, and in such a remote place? It would take nearly all of the two hours to reach it, assuming horse and weather cooperated, which were not assumptions he would lay a single pence on.

Striding back across the room, he rapped three times on his door. An answering knock came and then he heard steps hasten down the hall. Shaking his head, he threw the letter in the fireplace and went to his wardrobe.

Half an hour later, he was heading away from the castle, precious minutes wasted to drop enough word with guards and servants that anyone looking for him would be told he'd gone into the city to run some errands. He'd also paid a girl to run a few errands for him, and to leave the purchases at an inn he'd used before for such matters, so that when he returned home