‘You’d defy Council orders?’ said the soldier in charge.
The soldier in charge was left in the unenviable position of facing down three riders on foot. It was a small alley. And Jord had his sword out. Behind him, the reds and the blues were about equal in numbers. But the soldier in charge didn’t seem fazed.
He said, ‘Drawing on the Regent’s Guard is an act of treason.’
In answer, with casual contempt, Orlant drew his sword. Instantly, metal flashed all along the ranks behind him. Crossbows bristled on both sides. Nobody breathed.
Jord said, ‘The Prince is before the Council. Your orders are an hour old. Kill the slave, and you’ll be the next one with your head on the block.’
‘That’s a lie,’ said the soldier in charge.
Jord pulled something out of a fold in his uniform, and dangled it. It was a councillor’s medallion. It swung on its chain in the torchlight, glinting gold as a starburst. Into the silence, Jord said:
‘Want to bet?’
‘You must be the fuck of a lifetime,’ said Orlant, just before he shoved Damen into the audience chamber where Laurent stood alone, in front of the Regent and Council.
It was the same diorama as last time, with the Regent enthroned and the Council in full dress, formidably arrayed alongside him, except that there were no courtiers thronging the chamber, it was just Laurent, alone, facing them. Damen immediately looked to see which councillor was missing his medallion. It was Herode.
Another shove. Damen’s knees hit the carpet, which was red like the cloaks of the Regent’s Guard. He was right near a part of the tapestry where a boar was speared under a tree heavy with pomegranates.
He looked up.
‘My nephew has argued for you very persuasively,’ said the Regent. And then, oddly echoing Orlant’s words, ‘You must have hidden charm. Maybe it’s your physique he finds so appealing. Or do you have other talents?’
Laurent’s cold, calm voice: ‘Do you imply I take the slave into my bed? What a revolting suggestion. He’s a brute soldier from Kastor’s army.’
Laurent had assumed, once again, the intolerable self-possession, and was dressed for a formal audience. He was not, as Damen had last seen him, languid and somnolent-eyed, head tipped back against a wall. The handful of hours that had passed since Damen’s escape was enough time for the drug to have passed from his system. Probably. Though of course there was no way of telling how long Laurent had been in this room, arguing with the Council.
‘Only a soldier? And yet, you’ve described the bizarre circumstance in which three men broke into your chambers in order to attack him,’ said the Regent. He regarded Damen briefly. ‘If he doesn’t lie with you, what was he doing in your private space so late at night?’
The temperature, already cool, dropped sharply. ‘I don’t lie in the cloying sweat of men from Akielos,’ said Laurent.
‘Laurent. If there has been an Akielon attack against you that you are concealing for some reason, we must and will know about it. The question is serious.’
‘So was my answer. I don’t know how this interrogation found its way into my bed. May I ask where I can expect it to travel next?’
The heavy folds of a state robe swathed the throne on which the Regent sat. With the curve of a finger, he stroked the line of his bearded jaw. He looked again at Damen, before returning his attention to his nephew.
‘You wouldn’t be the first young man to find himself at the mercy of a flush of new infatuation. Inexperience often confuses bedding with love. The slave could have convinced you to lie to us for him, having taken advantage of your innocence.’
‘Taken advantage of my innocence,’ said Laurent.
‘We’ve all seen you favour him. Seated beside you at table. Fed by your own hand. Indeed, you’ve barely been seen without him, the last few days.’
‘Yesterday I brutalised him. Today I am swooning into his arms. I would prefer the charges against me to be consistent. Pick one.’
‘I don’t need to pick one, nephew, you have a full range of vices, and inconsistency is the cap.’
‘Yes, apparently I have fucked my enemy, conspired against my future interests, and colluded in my own murder. I can’t wait to see what feats I will perform next.’
It was only by looking at the councillors that you could see that this interview had been going on a long time. Older men, dragged out of their beds, they were all showing signs of weariness.
‘And yet, the slave ran,’ said the Regent.
‘Are we back to this?’ said Laurent. ‘There was no assault against me. If I’d been attacked by four armed men, do you really think I would have survived, killing three? The slave ran for no more sinister reason than that he is difficult and rebellious. I believe I have mentioned his intractable nature to you—all of you—before. You chose to disbelieve me then, also.’
‘It isn’t a question of belief. This defence of the slave bothers me. It isn’t like you. It speaks to an uncharacteristic attachment. If he has led you to sympathise with forces outside your own country—’