‘Sympathise with Akielos?’
The cold disgust with which Laurent said these words was more persuasive than any hot burst of outrage. One or two of the councillors shifted in place.
Herode said, awkwardly, ‘I hardly think he could be accused of that, not when his father—and brother—’
‘No one,’ said Laurent, ‘has more reason to oppose Akielos than I have. If Kastor’s gift slave had attacked me, it would be grounds for war. I would be overjoyed. I stand here for one reason only: the truth. You have heard it. I will not argue further. The slave is innocent or he is guilty. Decide.’
‘Before we decide,’ said the Regent. ‘You will answer this: If your opposition towards Akielos is genuine, as you maintain, if there is not some collusion, why do you continually refuse to do service on the border at Delfeur? I think, if you were loyal as you claimed, you would pick up your sword, gather what little there is of your honour, and do your duty.’
‘I,’ said Laurent.
The Regent sat back on the throne, spread his hands palm down on the dark, carved wood of the curled armrests, and waited.
‘I—don’t see why that should be—’
It was Audin who said, ‘It is a contradiction.’
‘But one that’s easily resolved,’ said Guion. Behind him, there were one or two murmurs of assent. Councillor Herode slowly nodded.
Laurent passed his gaze over each member of the Council.
Anyone appraising the situation at that moment would have seen how precarious it was. The councillors were weary of this argument, and ready to accept any solution that the Regent was offering, however artificial it might seem.
Laurent had only two options: earn himself their censure by contin
uing a beleaguered wrangle mired in accusations and failure, or agree to border duty and get what he wanted.
More than that, it was late, and human nature being what it was, if Laurent did not agree to his uncle’s offer, the councillors might turn on him simply for drawing this out further. And Laurent’s loyalty was in question now too.
Laurent said, ‘You’re right, uncle. Avoiding my responsibilities has led you understandably to doubt my word. I will ride to Delfeur and fulfil my duty on the border. I dislike the idea that there are questions about my loyalty.’
The Regent spread his hands in a pleased gesture.
‘That answer must satisfy everyone,’ said the Regent. He received his agreement from the Council, five verbal affirmations, given one after the other, after which he looked at Damen, and said, ‘I believe we can acquit the slave, with no more questions about loyalty.’
‘I humbly submit to your judgement, uncle,’ said Laurent, ‘and to the judgement of the Council.’
‘Release the slave,’ the Regent ordered.
Damen felt hands at his wrists, unbinding the rope. It was Orlant, who had been standing behind him, this whole time. The motions were short jerks.
‘There. It is done. Come,’ said the Regent to Laurent, extending his right hand. On the smallest finger was his ring of office, gold, capped with a red stone: ruby, or garnet.
Laurent came forward, and knelt before him gracefully, a single kneecap to the floor.
‘Kiss it,’ said the Regent, and Laurent lowered his head in obedience to kiss his uncle’s signet ring.
His body language was calm and respectful; the fall of his golden hair hid his expression. His lips touched the hard red kernel of the gem without haste, then parted from it. He did not rise. The Regent gazed down at him.
After a moment, Damen saw the Regent’s hand lift again to rest in Laurent’s hair and stroke it with slow, familiar affection. Laurent remained quite still, head bowed, as strands of fine gold were pushed back from his face by the Regent’s heavy, ringed fingers.
‘Laurent. Why must you always defy me? I hate it when we are at odds, yet you force me to chastise you. You seem determined to wreck everything in your path. Blessed with gifts, you squander them. Given opportunities, you waste them. I hate to see you grown up like this,’ said the Regent, ‘when you were such a lovely boy.’
CHAPTER 12
THE RARE MOMENT of avuncular affection ended the meeting, and the Regent and Council left the chamber. Laurent remained, rising from where he knelt, watching his uncle and the councillors file out. Orlant, who had bowed his way out after releasing Damen from his bonds, was gone also. They were alone.
Damen rose without thinking. He remembered after a second or two that he was supposed to wait for some sort of order from Laurent, but by then it was too late: he was on his feet and the words were out of his mouth.