Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles #4) - Ilona Andrews Page 0,36
Now there will be repercussions.”
“Did you win?” Arland asked.
Helen nodded.
“All is well then. If you go through life never doing anything deserving any repercussions, you’ll never know victory.”
Helen grinned.
“That is some fine parenting, Lord Marshal.” Maud loaded enough sarcasm into her tone to sink a space cruiser.
“I try,” Arland said.
The three of them looked at each other. Awkward.
“May I walk you to your quarters?” he asked.
“You may.” It was that or continue standing in the hallway.
They walked through the keep to the covered bridge, Helen running back and forth, sometimes in front, sometimes behind. The storm still raged and green lightning flashed overhead, ripping through the dark sky.
“I’m sorry,” Arland said.
“For what, my lord?”
“For not being there during dinner. It wasn’t my intention.”
“I don’t need your protection or assistance, my lord. I’m not a prisoner. I’m here because I choose to be here. If I felt I couldn’t hack it on my own, I would’ve left already.”
They crossed the bridge into the tower and stopped at the end of the chamber where the two hallways branched off, one leading to her quarters, the other to his.
“I know that you don’t require my protection, my lady. If I thought you did, I wouldn’t have extended the invitation. I’m not looking for a maiden to save. I’m looking for a partner.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He ignored her and kept going. “However, it was my intention to escort you to dinner and to spend the meal with you. I regret that my duties detained me and that I was unable to make you feel welcome in the feast hall of my home. Please accept my deepest apologies, my lady.”
If they got any more painfully polite, they would draw blood simply by speaking.
“No apologies necessary, my lord. It was time well spent. I was fortunate enough to experience the hospitality of House Krahr first-hand.”
He waited.
“Nothing to add, Lord Marshal?”
“A wise man knows when to shut up,” he said. “I have a mother and a female cousin. I know that tone of voice. Anything I say now will be wrong. I will humbly wait to be banished or forgiven.”
“Humbly?”
“Yes.”
“Why, my lord, I’m surprised you know the meaning of the word.”
He looked at her. She looked back. They crossed stares like swords.
“Are you going to fight?” Helen asked in a small voice.
Oh, for goodness’ sake…“What’s in the box?” Maud asked.
“Dinner,” he said. “I didn’t get to have one and from what I understand, neither did you. Join me?”
She considered stomping off to her room in all of her pissed off glory, but it would be childish. Also, she was starving.
“Yes,” Maud said.
Arland grinned at her. She nearly raised her hand to shield herself.
“Just a dinner,” she said.
“Just a dinner,” he said. “Also, I downloaded The Saga of Olasard, the Ripper of Souls, onto my viewer. It’s animated.”
It hit her. Helen had never seen a cartoon before. Then his words sank in deeper. “Umm, there is that one part in the catacombs…”
“Oh, no, they took that out. It’s made for children.”
“Oh good.”
The door to Arland’s quarters was identical to hers, heavy, reinforced, old. It slid open and he stood aside, inviting her in. She stepped through the doorway into a mirror image of her suite, complete with doors leading to the bathroom and balcony. Yet nobody would confuse the two spaces. Her chambers were devoid of personal touches, but this place clearly belonged to Arland.
A small alla tree grew in the corner, its branches heavy with white blossoms. It was in good health, so someone was watering it. A stack of actual paper books waited on the table by the massive bed. She saw a copy of a popular YA novel from Earth and bit her lip to keep from laughing. A variety of knickknacks lay here and there; a long, wicked dagger not of vampire make; a piece of misshapen metal; a small wooden figurine carved in painstaking detail, probably by Wing, one of the creatures staying in Dina’s inn. If she squinted just right, it sort of looked like her…
Arland swung his hand before a wall. It split open, exposing a linen closet. He grabbed some large floor pillows and tossed them on the rug. A fuzzy blanket followed.
“Viewer,” he ordered.
A screen slid from above, covering the opposite wall.
“Saga of Olasard.”
An animated vampire knight appeared on the screen, wearing elaborate armor, holding a bloody sword in one hand and a severed head in the other. He raised the sword and roared.