The Scrivener s Tale - By Fiona McIntosh Page 0,129

a dazzling smile and a gown of mauve. Darcelle looked enchanting, as always, but Burrage thought he noticed her falter slightly when she saw the queen awaiting them on the stairs. He would give her the benefit of doubt that this wasn't the shock of her being alive. Instead he would allow that perhaps like him, Darcelle had been surprised to see Florentyna looking so beautiful. None of them were used to seeing her in such finery.

He watched Florentyna descend the grand stairway of Stoneheart, gliding regally into the bailey proper and he felt a pang of pride for this young sovereign. She could so easily have remained at the top of the stairs, waiting for her less important sister and Darcelle's more important guest to ascend to meet her: somewhere in that stillness Florentyna could have silently reinforced her status and particularly her power. Instead she had made an altruistic gesture - welcoming without reservation.

Burrage didn't need to look into the eyes of King Tamas to know that the Ciprean king acknowledged her benevolence; it was conveyed in the way he watched the Queen of Morgravia arrive to stand before him, in the deferential bow that he gave, and in the way he touched his lips to her hand bending low as he did so.

The watching chancellor was impressed. King Tamas was far more regal and his presence infinitely more daunting than he'd imagined. Why he'd imagined a less imposing, maybe even paunchy, effeminate older man, rather than this earthy 'man's man', he couldn't be sure. Perhaps because Cipres was famed for its art, culture and the exquisite pale beauty of its royal palace. He blinked, surprised at himself for being so judgemental; King Tamas looked as though he could ride, drink and swap punches with the best of his soldiers. Darcelle curtsied alongside her betrothed and suddenly Florentyna was beyond officialdom and pulling both sister and brother-in-law-to-be toward her in the embrace of family.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cassien stood quietly within the fragrant tranquillity of the Orangerie - an inner courtyard of Stoneheart. He noticed no servants bustling around here; the only sounds were the soft coo of pigeons beginning their evening roost, together with the low drone of the last determined bees of the day. Hamelyn, too, had fallen silent and sat on the edge of a low stone wall watching a small army of ants swarming over a dead beetle. Cassien was sure the boy must be famished and exhausted after the ride, although he heard no complaint.

There were no fruits on the citrus trees but the thaw blossom was just bursting and the perfume of their explosions was heady and romantic. He was thinking about the queen and how courageous she had been, not shrinking from Hubbard despite death lying around her. His mind wandered, and suddenly he was considering his physical reaction to Florentyna. At first sight he'd found her irresistible, standing there in her oversized cassock, flushed and angry, with the hood fallen back and her hair tumbling in strands from the tight pins she'd hoped might hide her femininity. But the rules of the Brotherhood were clear. No emotion was to cloud his judgement. He had to go about his business with a cold detachment or fail in the eyes of Brother Josse and his elders. There was also Vivienne, but he would not permit himself to dwell on her.

He had been given what was arguably the single most important task undertaken by his fraternity. The direct championing of a monarch was unheard of in the Brotherhood. It was a testament to the serious nature of the present threat that the Brotherhood would sanction such a public mission. He would not let his emotions interfere.

'Cassien?' Hamelyn said, breaking into his fractured thoughts.

He emerged from the grove into the early evening sunlight. It was warm in the courtyard, more so than outside it, because its smallish size and thick walls had managed to trap the sun's thin warmth through the day.

'Yes?' He saw the boy's frown. 'Is something wrong?'

'I'm not sure whether something's wrong but ...'

'Say it.'

'Something isn't quite right.'

Cassien moved closer to where his friend sat. 'Tell me.' He'd become used to Ham's cryptic notions and was now fully accepting of the youngster's invisible senses. 'Is the sword making noises again?' His sword was hanging at his side, openly visible - he'd deliberately made no secret of it.

'That's just it. It has always made some sort of sound. Now