climbed onto the table and offered to urinate into any glasses that needed filling. Thank God Sorrail was on hand to get you down before you had a chance to lower your breeches.”
“I thought the worthy Sorrail would have been a witness to all this,” I said, the surge of resentment I always felt at his name rising as quick as the bile in my throat.
“Sorrail saved your neck,” Renthrette spat. “You could have been executed on the spot after what you said about the king being a bloated and flatulent old fornicator.”
“I never said that,” I tried again.
“You said he had a private room full of small animals with which he practiced immoral acts,” said Renthrette, her face prissily straight.
“I’ll bet I didn’t put it like that,” I said, managing a smile for the first time since this nightmare had begun.
“No,” she said flatly, “but I wouldn’t sully my lips with one-tenth of the things you said last night. You also called the king’s private secretary a ‘whoreson swamp-sucking varlet’ and the captain of the palace guard an ‘unctuous, civet-reeking, pus-dripping clodpole,’ whatever that is.”
“I can get rather colorful when the mood takes me,” I admitted.
“Most of the time no one had any idea what you were talking about,” Garnet said. “But they got the message, all right. How much did you have to drink?”
“Nothing!” I exclaimed. “Maybe two glasses, but no more! Somebody put something in my drink! You think I can’t hold my beer? I could outdrink everyone in that entire court combined.”
“How impressive,” said Renthrette.
“It’s not meant to be impressive,” I returned. “It’s just a statement of fact. I lived on beer—real beer—for over a decade in Cresdon. I worked in a theater that was also a tavern, remember? Someone spiked my drink, and I don’t mean they put a shot of grain whiskey in my tankard. I mean they added something serious, some drug that would . . .”
“No one in the court would do such a thing,” Garnet said. “It’s completely implausible.”
“And I’m telling you that it’s the only possibility,” I shouted back. “Someone in that court set out to discredit me, and they did so by . . .”
“Spare me your lies, you snake,” Renthrette snarled, cutting me off. “The insults you threw at the top of your lungs; the indecent suggestions you made to virtually every lady in the room, regardless of whether her husband or betrothed or admirers stood listening to every disgusting word; the people you offended . . .”
She paused, unable to finish. Then she looked me in the eye. Complete resolve came over her, and, when she spoke again, it was like watching a raging torrent freeze suddenly. “Last night, Will, you crossed the line. You have always walked a dangerous path, but last night you shamed us all, and that, as far as I am concerned, is it. Henceforth, do not speak to me. Do not associate with me. Do not even look at me. If you so much as mention my name I will find you and I will run my sword up to the hilt through your stomach. I will cut out your heart if you ever claim any kind of connection to me again. I have waited with you all night to tell you this, and now I am going. As soon as you are fit to walk (if you were ever fit for anything), leave this place. Forget my name and that of my brother and those who traveled with us. If I ever see Orgos, Mithos, and Lisha again, I will say you are dead—and that, I think, is a kindness more than you deserve. From this moment on, you are alone, as you always wanted to be.”
Before half of this had sunk in, she was gone. Garnet faltered for a second. His eyes met mine and there was uncertainty in them, but he looked to his sister as she stepped through the door, and a hardness came into his face. “Good-bye, Will,” he said, stiffly. And with that, he followed her out the door.
This was a bit of a setback. I had toyed with the idea of abandoning the party from the first day I had met them, but it was usually an empty threat. I needed them in this strange land and, though they could all get on my last nerve, I had grown to like them. Laughable though this now seemed, I had once thought that Renthrette might turn