“But we have neglected all the courtesies!” the young man with the sense of humor said to Taudde as the course was served. He bowed with a hand over his heart. “Lord Chontas, I am Koriadde. To my constant embarrassment, this is my younger brother, Kemes Haliande ken Nemelle.”
His brother, the man who had mentioned the candlelight district, aimed a mock blow at him, which Koriadde blithely ignored. He continued, “Allow me to make known to you these others of this gathering: Jerinte Naliadde ken Miches—” He indicated the third of the young men, the aggressive one who thought all lands belonged to Lirionne. “And this is Jeres Geliadde, the prince’s foremost bodyguard, and Liedde Masienne ken Lochelle, his tutor. Miennes informs us you are acquainted with Mage Ankennes, who is pleased to do small favors for the flowers of Lonne.”
Taudde bowed gravely to them all. “Most often I am known as Taudde. ‘Chontas’ is a very common name in the south. There are five other scions of my house named Chontas, which I fear leads to some confusion. I am,” he added, lying blandly now that he had laced sufficient truth through his lies, “as perhaps Lord Miennes has informed you, traveling on behalf of my uncle’s interests. As I seem likely to spend this winter in Lonne, I hope I will have every opportunity to witness firsthand the beauty of Lonne’s famous flower world, of which I have heard tales all my life.”
There was a general murmur of gratification. The heir himself looked mildly amused. “So, though you have traveled a good deal, you have nowhere else encountered a custom comparable to our flower world?”
Taudde heard in this query, which indeed everyone quieted to hear, a faint undertone of mockery. He answered seriously, “I have not, eminence. Not in Miskiannes nor Enescedd nor even in southern Lirionne, where I lived for a time several years ago. I suppose only the wealth and age of Lonne is able to support such a custom.”
“We say in Lonne that we are simply accustomed to appreciate beauty.”
There was, Taudde thought, definitely a trace of mockery in the prince’s voice… but he almost thought it was self-mockery. He was surprised. He had not expected, well, depth, from the Dragon’s heir. But there were undertones layered all through the young man’s voice, and not all of them suggested simple hauteur. Taudde wanted to make the prince speak again and listen to those undertones. But Prince Tepres did not seem much given to casual talk.
“Surely you do not spend all your time making ornaments for the keiso, however,” Taudde said to Mage Ankennes, to fill the pause. “There are no mages in Miskiannes, you are aware. Lord Jerinte is right to say that Miskiannes is a country of tradesmen. I would add, it is a land of farmers and country gentlemen. Perhaps we have less need of magic there.”
“The land itself contains less magic,” the mage said, smiling. To a bardic sorcerer, his tone contained suggestions of fraught acquaintance, but less-trained men would hear nothing. Taudde noted the mage’s smooth deceptiveness for future reference. “For powerful magic, one cannot do better than the wild heights or the wilder sea.”
“Then Lonne is ideally situated,” Taudde observed. “And yet I should not have thought either the mountains or the sea would yield amiably to the will of men, even mages. What is it you call that great mountain of yours? Kerre Maraddras?”
“The Heart of Darkness,” said the mage. “Yes.” There was an odd note to his tone; Taudde wasn’t quite able to decipher the undertone. “Kerre Maraddras is strong, but difficult,” the mage went on. “Its darkness lies very close to Lonne. But then, darkness always lies behind all that mages do, ready to engulf and ruin our works. Yet, is that any less true of the ordinary works of men than of magic?”
“A grim view,” protested Koriadde.
“Not at all—it was well said!” exclaimed the prince’s tutor. “Indeed, the sweep of history clearly shows us how eager men are to tear down what their own ancestors before them built with such effort.”
There was a slight pause as everyone avoided looking at Prince Tepres. However, if the prince connected this comment with the recent deaths of his brothers, there was no sign of it. Even in Kalches, everyone knew that tale of rebellion and suspected usurpation, of treachery and death. But the prince merely leaned his chin on his palm. His eyes had narrowed a little, but he listened with no sign of disapproval.
It occurred to Taudde that the young heir was by no means unacquainted with death and grief. He wondered if this might go some way, perhaps, toward explaining the prince’s surprising desire to pursue peace rather than victory.