Threads of Desire (Spellcraft) - By Stone, Eleri Page 0,30
he stayed, it would only be to wander the halls. She’d asked to have a guest room tonight and he’d given her his finest. He’d neglected business, canceled meetings, relied heavily on Rael and Cassia to deal with the merchants and tradesmen. The aristos he had to deal with himself. Would that it were any other way.
There was no reason to stay here tonight. Except that she’d withdrawn from him again, only a half-step back but she’d retreated. The look in her eyes when he’d said good-bye...
It could be mended. He let the peel fall to the ground as he walked toward the stables. Silas, his gray ghost of a horse, was saddled and waiting for him. Rael handed him the reins.
“If she tries to leave?”
Kal flinched. “What makes you ask?”
Rael’s expression was unreadable as ever. “It’s always been a possibility, no?”
“Remind her of our contract and bar the gates. Don’t let her leave.”
But Rael did not lift his hand from Silas’s neck. “Before she finishes the rug, you should make your request and let her make her decision. If the rug is not complete, it might hold her long enough for her to consider it.”
“My plan is coming along just fine, you saw that yourself.”
A flush darkened Rael’s skin. “I saw more than you think, Saer. You’ve become ensnared in your own web.”
“She’ll stay. She’ll agree.” Rael didn’t comment, only stepped aside so that Kal could pass into the cobbled street. Rael was a good man, stalwart and loyal, but he had a very low tolerance for risk. Pointless to argue with him over this. “Take care of her.”
Rael bowed and Kal started for the castle, a small catar of guards accompanying him for the show of it. He skirted his own property, glancing up when he passed Ily’s window. Dim light shone through the curtains and high windows. Tomorrow she planned to work until evening. The next day, he would take her to Nira and then he’d know whether he’d misjudged her.
* * *
The emperor was a young man, not yet twenty, but he showed great promise. Kal might have looked to him for help if he’d been just a few years older or his position within the court more secure. None of the families would attempt to remove the emperor, of course. The position carried with it a great deal of tedious responsibility and very little by way of compensation. And there were far easier ways to handle a weak ruler. Wealth ruled Saria—the merchants who controlled the trade routes and the guild who produced the finest crafts available to the known world.
The most powerful men and women were gathered at the palace tonight for the festival of the blind god. Ily was right about that, few aristos would miss a chance to shake off the fetters of morality. The gathered crowd was particularly enthusiastic and the masters Haran had engaged for the occasion had outdone themselves.
The passageway leading into the garden was lined with great stone pillars supporting an arched roof inset with glass panels. The glass mimicked the night sky, velvety black and set with unnaturally bright stars to light the path. Kal paused beside his family’s crest, wondering why his alone was white. As soon as his fingertips touched the stone, color leached from the point of contact like dye dropped in water. He smiled as the great dragon turned the vibrant red that was the favored color of house Azi.
Clever boy. An emperor who could flatter, entertain and reinforce the importance of obedience might just manage to hold on to the reins. Kal glanced up and down the corridor. He was last to arrive. That, too, would surely be noted.
Funny, he reflected as he stepped into the midnight gardens and inhaled the fragrance of night-blooming Jemras mixed with incense from the torches. He’d always particularly enjoyed this celebration. Tonight, he found himself calculating how long he was obliged to stay before he could return home.
Haran sat in state on a dais constructed for the occasion. Jilar, his advisor, stood at his right hand as always, watching the proceedings with an air of amused condescension. Jilar’s restless gaze paused on Kal and he inclined his head in what was—for the lion—a gesture of tremendous respect.
More than one person turned their heads to see who was so honored, the guildmaster among them. Lanel Hasson was still a robust man despite his years. His black hair was spiced with gray but when he rose and began