Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,68
They were in the tower, Loth realised. His stomach swooped as they reached a landing, and Ser Greylord paused in front of a large, closed door. And then he raised his fist and knocked.
“What?” came a churlish voice from inside, muffled a little by the wood. “Is it the boy with the vomit bucket?”
Sir Greylord grimaced and opened his mouth to respond.
At that moment Scott pushed forward, his face shining with both blood and enthusiasm. “No!” he exclaimed, pushing the door open. “Ib is I, Ser Factor! I hab combleted the glorious task that you set be!”
It probably would have sounded more impressive if Scott hadn’t been snuffling through a broken nose.
The petulance dropped out of the man’s tone immediately, replaced by a cold, dead tone. “You’ve done what?”
Scott bounced into the room. “Id me, Ser Factor! Remebber? From Delacourt! We meb in the tabern! I’b rescued de pridce!”
Loth had no idea what came over him at that moment. He tugged his hand free of Quinn’s and elbowed him back at the same moment. And then he stepped inside the solarium, pulling the door shut behind him.
Sunlight flooded through the immense windows that stretched to the ceiling of the circular room, and Loth got the impression of a space that was meant to be light and airy. Some of the effect was muted by the various dark draperies and tapestries that hung at intervals between the windows, working against the pale stone of the walls. It was a bigger space than Loth was expecting, scattered with couches and daybeds, no doubt for people to stretch out on and enjoy the sunlight. There was an imposing fireplace with a roaring fire. A man stretched out on a couch that had been placed by one of the windows.
The man stood and faced them. He was thin and sharp-featured, and not unattractive. He had piercing blue eyes and was wearing a purple silk robe and clutching a crystal goblet. He was still on the right side of middle age, and his golden hair was, if not lustrous, then at least not thinning yet. He looked enough like Quinn that Loth didn’t need to make any guesses.
“Uncle,” he said, stepping forward past Scott. “How lovely to see you again.”
Lord Doom’s gaze flicked down him, then up again, and then down again, and then up. Loth stared back at him, chest puffed out in his glorious and expensive doublet, and curled his lip in a noble sneer.
Lord Doom narrowed his eyes. “Tarquin?”
“Yes,” Loth said. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his doublet. “Here I am, of age, ready to take over my royal duties. Isn’t that why you sent for me, Uncle?”
“Excude me! Excude me!” Scott bobbed and ducked. “Excude me, Ser Factor, bub wob is dat?” He pointed to a large tapestry emblazoned with a crest, hanging on the wall between two windows. “Why dub it say Dumbass Knee?”
“It says Dumesny, Scott,” Loth said. “This is Lord Doom.”
“No! This ib Ser Factor!” Scott’s eyes widened. “Lord Doob? Lord Doob ib ebil! Ebil!” He took a step back. “Hab I been helbing the billain?”
Lord Doom huffed impatiently. “Are you an imbecile?”
Scott’s brow furrowed. “I think I’b a Sabbitarius.” He seemed to remember himself then, saying, “Dob’t try and distrabt be. You’re Ebil Lord Doob!”
“Evil’s a matter of perspective. Didn’t I keep my nephew alive all these years?” Doom looked Loth up and down again, frowning. “You look older than I thought you would.”
“I look more alive than you thought I would, you mean.”
“That too.” Lord Doom set his goblet down on the small table beside the couch. He narrowed his eyes as he studied Loth critically. “But no, you’re definitely older than you should be. You have crow’s feet.”
“I do not have crow’s feet!” Even as he yelled it, Loth was aware that it wasn’t really the thing to be focussing on right now, so he tacked on, “Uncle.”
“Prove it’s you,” Doom demanded. “Tell me something only you’d know.”
Loth blinked and then did what he did best. He thought fast and lied through his teeth. “There’s a lodge about an hour’s walk outside of Torlere. We used to go there on holidays. There’s a portrait there of you and my mother as children. You always were a chubby child.”
“Anyone who’s seen the portraits knows that.” Doom sniffed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
Loth closed his eyes as if he was reliving a fond memory. “My parents loved it there.