Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

37

Uachi stared across the snapping camp fire, watching the two shadowcats curled up on the other side. Uarria had rested her head on Farra's foreleg, and the larger cat was grooming her ears, her purr rumbling through the camp. Had Uachi not known that the smoky gray creature was a human child in disguise, he would never have believed it. They looked like mother and daughter of a species.

"I'll have another cup," Uachi said, extending his small wooden cup to Diarmán, who had just poured tea for Ealin.

Diarmán cast him a glance. "There isn't enough left."

He passed the cup to Ealin. She turned her head. "He can have mine."

"You're the lady," Diarmán said. "I insist."

Mute, Ealin took the cup and raised it to her lips. Uachi reached for the water skin instead and took a pull. When Diarmán sat cross-legged at his left, he passed the skin over, asking under his breath, "What is your plan for keeping her in line while we go to see your queen?"

"She isn't my queen," Diarmán muttered. He took the skin. When he had drunk, he lowered it again and toyed with the stopper, nodding toward Ealin. She was gazing down into her cup, looking sleepy. "Don't worry, Uachi. We'll reason with her. I don't think she'll give us trouble. And if she does, well, at least we'll have had an adventure."

"I don't fancy the idea of being thrown into a dungeon down here in the wilderness."

Diarmán laughed. "You think so highly of your neighbors to the south, my friend. Don't worry. You'll find that Aólane is the heights of civilization—probably comparable to your so-called—" and here he changed his tone, going up a pitch and rolling his head to emphasize the words— "Holy City. As if there's anything holy about courtiers kissing an emperor's toes."

Uachi stared into the coals of the campfire. "You aren't wrong. I've no love for Karelin, Diarmán."

"No?"

"No."

After a moment's silence, Diarmán asked, "Tell me, if you're his confidante. What is the emperor of Penrua like?"

"Nothing like the last."

"Is he truly a bastard, like they say?"

"Who says so?"

Diarmán shrugged. "The high queen, I suppose. I'm not often invited to gatherings of nobility. But my grandfather is, now and then, and we've friends among our nearest neighbors. They talk."

"Well. I do not know how much stock you put in the line of the Blessed Sovereigns down here in Narr, but it's true. He isn't Korvan's son, but there are many who think his lineage is greater."

Diarmán's soft exhalation sounded like a laugh. "Gods below," he murmured.

"What?"

"That a bastard sits the throne of Penrua, the greatest realm on Arc." He shook his head in wonder.

Searching Diarmán's face, Uachi said, "Do you truly think this high queen will cast you and your brothers out?"

"She puts much stock in bloodlines. As much as I imagine your last emperor did."

"He was as much my emperor as yours. We called him the Corpsemaker among the rebels."

Again, Diarmán softly laughed. "I had wondered whether you numbered among the rebels. You don't seem to be a man to sit idle while others fight."

Uachi didn't respond; Diarmán had his measure. He didn't need to confirm it. A burning log shifted and slipped, sending a dancing swirl of sparks up into the darkness.