off guard. His mouth shut just as he was about to say something sardonic again. Perhaps he understood that their appearance here must be difficult for their grandfather.
‘My other daughter tells me that you have a gift for sorcery. Let us hope you live long enough to enjoy the use of it.’
Tyrion wondered if there was threat implicit in his grandfather’s words. Perhaps it was only a warning. They were in a place now inhabited by elves that would kill you if you provoked them. Tyrion was grateful for one thing. No one would ever call his brother out to duel because of rudeness. There would be no honour in it. Perhaps the old elf was merely making a reference to Teclis’s sickliness.
Lord Emeraldsea returned to his desk and sat down. He lifted a quill, sharpened the end with a small knife, dipped it in his inkwell and made an inscription on one of his scrolls, as if acknowledging the delivery of a cargo with a receipt.
‘Rooms have been prepared for you,’ he said. ‘Go to them.’
It was clear they had been dismissed. A servant appeared from somewhere to show them out. Tyrion had no idea how she had been summoned.
‘This is very nice,’ said Tyrion, looking around the chamber.
Very nice was something of an understatement; the apartment they had been installed in seemed as large as their father’s villa and considerably more luxurious. It had windows of polished crystal. Murals depicting sea-scenes covered the walls of the reception chamber and numerous busts of proud-looking elves stood on columns in the alcoves.
There was a small library of books, mostly about the sea and ancient lands. The furnishings were lovely and lovingly crafted. A small table of Sapherian dragonwood sat in the middle of the reception room. A number of carved chairs were placed around it. They were well-upholstered and comfortable in a way that nothing had been back home.
Tyrion had taken the bedroom that overlooked the street outside. It contained a large bed, and more books, a mirror and paintings of ships and sea battles executed by a painter with a gift for detail. The bed was massive and draped with a gauze curtain for keeping out night-biting insects. There was a balcony with a fine view of the street two storeys below. When he stood on it he had wondered if this was how the Phoenix King felt when he looked down on his subjects.
Teclis was installed in the bedroom that faced the inner courtyard. It was quieter and cooler and smaller. There was a painting of a sea-wizard summoning a wind to propel a ship across the ocean. It was the presence of this painting more than anything that had influenced his brother’s choice. Teclis lay on the bed exhausted, but his gaze was bright, and Tyrion could tell he had absorbed everything about their surroundings, and would remember it.
‘What do you think?’ Tyrion asked. He was excited. There were chambers in the apartment he had no more than glanced at. Teclis even had his own sitting room which Tyrion had not seen yet. Apparently it had a mirror in it. This was luxury indeed.
‘I think our relatives are very rich,’ Teclis replied.
‘As ever, brother, your powers of observation astonish me.’
‘I wonder why they feel so compelled to show interest in us now. They paid no attention whatsoever for nearly sixteen years.’
‘I am guessing the fact that we are summoned to the court of the Phoenix King may have something to do with it.’
‘Of course, Tyrion, but why did Lord Emeraldsea send Lady Malene and her riders and a White Lion? Why draw attention to our presence this way?’ He appeared to have been giving the matter some thought since their ride through the city.
‘Why not?’ said a girl’s voice from the door.
Both twins looked around. A young elf maiden stood there, garbed in a simple but expensive gown of greenish silk trimmed with cloth of gold. Her hair was elaborately coiffed. Her features were extraordinarily beautiful. ‘Everyone knows about you anyway, or will do soon. You are our kin. Whatever we do and however we treat you, it will be talked about.’
‘Hello,’ said Tyrion, smiling.
‘I thought it was polite to knock,’ said Teclis.
‘I thought it was impolite to be ungrateful to your hosts,’ said the girl seemingly unabashed by his tone.
‘So we are supposed to be grateful to you?’ said Teclis, caustic as ever.
‘My name is Tyrion,’ said Tyrion. ‘The rude, ungrateful one is my twin, Teclis.