Matt Sören, and the big, capable man named Coll. Seeing them there, Kevin Laine, whose childhood fantasies had been shaped of images like this, knew a moment of sheer delight.
At which point a lithe, feral figure, shimmering with jewelry, swung easily through the window into the room. He landed lightly beside Jennifer, and she felt a wandering hand stroke her hair before he spoke.
“Who makes this noise at such an hour? Can a soldier not sleep at night in his father’s palace without—why, Gorlaes! And Metran! And here is Loren! You have returned, Silvercloak—and with our visitors, I see. In the very teeth of time.” The insolence of his voice filled the room. “Gorlaes, send quickly, my father will want to welcome them immediately.”
“The King,” the Chancellor replied stiffly, “is indisposed, my lord Prince. He sent me—”
“He can’t come? Then I must do the family honors myself. Silvercloak, would you…?”
And so Loren carefully introduced them again. And “A peach!” said Diarmuid dan Ailell, bending, slowly, to kiss Jennifer’s hand. Against her will, she laughed. He didn’t hurry the kiss.
When he straightened, though, his words were formal, and both of his arms were raised in a wide gesture of ritual. “I welcome you now,” he began, and Kevin, turning instinctively, saw the benign countenance of Gorlaes contort, for a blurred instant, with fury. “I welcome you now,” Diarmuid said, in a voice stripped of mockery, “as guest-friends of my father and myself. The home of Ailell is your home, your honor is ours. An injury done you is an injury to ourselves. And treason to the Oak Crown of the High King. Be welcome to Paras Derval. I will personally attend to your comfort for tonight.” Only on the last phrase did the voice change a little, as the quick eyes, malicious and amused, flashed to Jennifer’s.
She flushed again, but he had already turned. “Gorlaes,” he said softly, “your retainers appear to have collapsed. I have been told, in the few hours since I’ve been back from South Keep, of entirely too much drinking among them. I know it is a festival, but really…?” And the tone was so mild, so very reproachful. Kevin fought to keep a straight face. “Coll,” Diarmuid went on, “have four rooms made ready on the north side, please, and quickly.”
“No.” It was Jennifer. “Kim and I will share. Just three.” She resolutely avoided looking at the Prince. Kimberly, watching him, decided that his eyebrows went higher than they had any right to go.
“We will, too,” said Paul Schafer quietly. And Kevin felt his pulse leap. Oh, Abba, he thought, maybe this will do it for him. Maybe it will.
“I’m too hot. Why is it so hot everywhere?” Metran, First of the Mages, asked, of no one in particular.
The north side of the palace, opposite the town, overlooked a walled garden. When they were finally alone in their room Kevin opened the glass doors and stepped out onto a wide stone balcony. The moon, waning, was high overhead, bright enough to illuminate the shrubs and the few flowers below their room.
“Not much of a garden,” he commented, as Paul came out to join him.
“There’s been no rain, Diarmuid said.”
“That’s true.” There was silence. A light breeze had finally come up to cool the evening.
“Have you noticed the moon?” Paul asked, leaning on the parapet.
Kevin nodded. “Larger, you mean? Yes, I did. Wonder what effect that has?”
“Higher tides, most likely.”
“I guess. And more werewolves.”
Schafer gave him a wry look. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Tell me, what did you think about that business back there?”
“Well, Loren and Diarmuid seem to be on the same side.”
“It looks that way. Matt’s not very sure of him.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Really. What about Gorlaes? He was pretty quick to call in the marines. Was he just following orders, or—”
“Not a chance, Paul. I saw his face when Diarmuid made us guest-friends. Not happy, my friend.”
“Really?” Schafer said. “Well, that simplifies things at least. I’d like to know more about this Jaelle, though. And Diarmuid’s brother, too.”
“The nameless one?” Kevin intoned lugubriously. “He of no name?”
Schafer snorted. “Funny man. Yes, him.”
“We’ll figure it out. We’ve figured things out before.”
“I know,” said Paul Schafer, and after a moment gave a rare smile.
“Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” came a plaintive cry from off to their left. They looked over. Kim Ford, languishing for all she was worth, swayed towards them from the next balcony. The leap was about ten feet.
“I’m coming!” Kevin