The Broken Eye(271)

The room slave bobbed and disappeared.

Grinwoody extended a tray with a crystal glass full of amber liquid to Andross Guile. “The vile one awaits in the red parlor, my lord.”

Andross grinned. “Never liked our toothy guest, have you, Grinwoody?” He sipped the liquor. His mouth twisted. “This is that Barrenmoor?”

“My lord.”

“You’re certain it’s coming into vogue?”

“My lord,” Grinwoody said. It was, again, affirmation.

“Hmm, that which is powerful and distasteful does have its place, doesn’t it?”

Grinwoody said, “Let us hope that hiring Sharp does not come into similar vogue.”

Andross laughed aloud, and Grinwoody grinned. It was more disconcerting than seeing Andross Guile half naked. These men were friends. There was no falsity in that laugh or that grin. They might have vastly different stations, but both liked and respected the other. Grinwoody had clearly been an instrumental part in Andross Guile’s rise. “Any new updates about Eirene Malargos?” Andross asked.

“None.”

“I still worry about that.”

“Withholding reinforcements has always carried the risk of driving her to the enemy rather than making her need us more. But sending them too early would allow her to turn on us later. Your way, she’ll be allied to us forever. It’s worth the gamble, my lord. We’ll know by tomorrow, regardless.”

“You’ve got all in order to send her the news immediately? Good. To matters closer at hand, then. Have that whore Mistress Aurellea make sure the girl she sends tonight is blonde. Sixteen, seventeen. Slender.”

“You still wish to reward Zymun?” Grinwoody asked, a tiny quiver of doubt in his voice.

“I don’t wish to, but time is short. And knowing what he likes in the bedchamber will be one more tool in hand. If he’s as charming as he thinks, once he settles in at the Chromeria such information will be more difficult to acquire. Might as well do it now. Actually, take Zymun up to my solar. Dinner can wait. Make sure he doesn’t see Sharp. And wait there with him. He can cool his heels. Take some of the Barrenmoor. For yourself. Don’t give him any. I want him off balance. You may lay hands on him if necessary.”

“With pleasure.” Grinwoody bowed and left.

Andross Guile paused at the door. In his brocade and Abornean goat’s wool and cloth-of-gold and murex purple, he looked a king of old. He put his hand on the doorframe, though, and bowed his head, taking a few deep breaths.

Then he turned on his heel, sharply, and walked back into the room.

He came around the bed and straight for the nook where Teia stood. Her heart jumped, and she almost bolted. Almost attacked. She looked to his left, but the wall was too close; she would brush against him.

The only way open was up onto the bed. She jumped lightly onto the bedframe, one small foot on the side frame, one on the headboard, an arm stretched out to push off one of the bedposts to hold herself in place; if she stepped on the bed itself, she’d leave an unmistakable dent in the blankets and mattress. It was a brilliant bit of balance, especially given how disconcerting it was to not see your own limbs. The only problem was that stretching out so far like this exposed one boot entirely on one side, and her hand and forearm on the other.

But Andross was already past her, bending down to pick up something that had been placed in Teia’s nook. It was a painting of his late wife, Lady Felia Guile. The frame had been broken, and there was a tear through the middle of the canvas itself. He stood, holding it delicately.

If he turned counterclockwise, toward the room rather than the wall, Teia would be face-to-face with him. With how much of her was exposed, he couldn’t miss her. Teia tried to scoot her foot along the frame and the cover of her short cloak, but all her weight was on that foot. It wouldn’t slide.

Andross turned in toward the room—disaster! But he was holding the painting up. It passed between Andross and Teia, blocking his view, the frame nearly cracking Teia’s nose.

He carried the painting back to his desk, and Teia, breathing once more, stepped silently back into the nook. Her heart was pounding so loud it was a marvel she wasn’t shaking the entire house.

“Fee,” Andross said quietly. “Forgive me for this.” He fingered the tear where he’d obviously punched through the canvas. “I was wrong. Like so many other times we fought. You hurt me, leaving like that. It felt like betrayal, but I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have forbidden you the Freeing this year. Oh, but my dear, if you could only have stayed to see me now! One more year! You could have held on one more year, could you not? But I wasn’t myself, stuck in that room. I know. I thought my light would fade before I could do all I promised you so many years ago. I need you, my dear one. What I must do with a sword, you could do with a smile.” He traced the line of her cheek with a finger. “I shall never find your like again.”