‘Not business,’ said the Regent. ‘Curiosity.’
Laurent came forward with the twinned deliberation and disinterest of a cat. It was impossible to tell how much he had overheard.
‘He isn’t my lover,’ said Laurent.
‘I’m not curious about what you do in bed,’ said the Regent. ‘I’m curious about what happened in your rooms last night.’
‘Hadn’t we settled that?’
‘Half settled. We never heard the slave’s account.’
‘Surely,’ said Laurent, ‘you wouldn’t value a slave’s word over mine?’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ said the Regent. ‘Even your tone of surprise is feigned. Your brother could be trusted. Your word is a tarnished rag. But you can rest easy. The slave’s account matches yours, as far as it goes.’
‘Did you think there was some deeper plot here?’ said Laurent.
They gazed at each other. The Regent said, ‘I only hope your time on the border will improve and focus you. I hope you will learn what you need as the leader of other men. I don’t know what else I can teach you.’
‘You keep offering me all these chances to improve myself,’ said Laurent. ‘Teach me how to thank you.’
Damen expected the Regent to reply, but he was silent, his eyes on his nephew.
Laurent said, ‘Will you come to see me off tomorrow, uncle?’
‘Laurent. You know I will,’ said the Regent.
‘Well?’ said Laurent when his uncle had left. The steady blue gaze was on him. ‘If you ask me to rescue a kitten from a tree, I’m going to refuse.’
‘I don’t have a petition. I just wanted to speak with you.’
‘Fond goodbyes?’
‘I know what happened last night,’ said Damen.
Laurent said, ‘Do you?’
It was the tone he used with his uncle. Damen drew a breath.
‘So do you. You killed the survivor before he could be interrogated,’ said Damen.
Laurent moved to the window, and sat, arranging himself on the sill. His pose was side-saddle. The fingers of one hand slid idly into the ornate grillework that covered the window. The last of the day’s sunlight lay on his hair and face like bright coins, shaped by the fretted openings. He gazed at Damen.
‘Yes,’ Laurent said.
‘You killed him because you didn’t want him interrogated. You knew what he was going to say. You didn’t want him to say it.’
After a moment: ‘Yes.’
‘I assume he was to say that Kastor sent him.’
The scapegoat was Akielon, and the weapons were Akielon: every detail had been carefully arranged to throw the blame southward. For verisimilitude, the assassins would also have been told they were agents of Akielos.
‘Better for Kastor to have friend uncle on the throne than nephew prince who hates Akielos,’ said Laurent.
‘Except that Kastor can’t afford war now, not with dissent among the kyroi. If he wanted you dead, he’d do it secretly. He’d never send assassins like this: crudely armed with Akielon weapons, announcing their provenance. Kastor didn’t hire those men.’
‘No,’ agreed Laurent.