Part 35 (2/2)

In the Tarnaroqui emba.s.sy Quenfrida lets her goblet fall, and clouds dance in her sky-blue eyes. In his rooms, Kenan starts awake and stares into the darkness, heart pounding. In an inn on East Gold Street, Urien Armenwy throws wide a window and dives swan-form into the night.

Gracielis undarios.

17.

”MAL, STOP THAT.” Miraude pushed playfully at her companion's hands.

Maldurel of South Marr looked at her in reproach and leaned back into a corner of the coach. ”You're very proper tonight.”

She dimpled at him. ”Don't rush me.”

”Thought you liked to be rushed.”

”Well, sometimes I do . . .” Her expression grew wicked. ”But tonight I feel like keeping something for later.”

”Oh oh!” Maldurel stared at her. ”Think I'm not capable, then? Not up to both occasions?” She giggled. He took her hand and kissed the palm. Then the wrist and the inside of her elbow. ”Well?”

She stopped giggling long enough to kiss him. Then she pulled away and said primly, ”The driver.”

”Paid to keep quiet, like all your people.” He peered at her. ”Trying to tell me something, Mimi?” Miraude stroked his hand. He considered her for a moment, then continued, ”Don't tell me you've fallen for Prince Kenan. You've been seen with him a lot lately.”

She shrugged, ”He's interesting. He knows a lot of history.”

”Don't call that interesting,” Maldurel said. ”Sure you've not turning into a scholar, Mimi?”

”Completely.” She smiled at him. One might not trust him with any secret: he had all the discretion of a magpie. Yet she remained fond of him for all that. He had been her first lover; he remained a kind friend. She said, ”Have you seen Thierry? He was at the soiree, but I didn't really get to talk to him.”

”Not for days. He's holed himself up somewhere and won't come out or answer my notes.”

”Yviane's hardly ever home now, either. She practically lives at the palace. And with Thierry having moved out . . .” She turned to him. ”It's like when Valdin died. Too quiet. And with all this trouble in the low city . . .”

”Won't touch us here.” Maldurel squeezed her fingers. ”Thierry always was stubborn. He'll come round.”

”I hope so.” Miraude put her head on his shoulder. ”Thanks, Mal.”

”Welcome.” He grinned. ”I get a reward, then?”

”Oh, you!” She kissed his cheek.

The coach came to a sudden halt, throwing them both forward. Maldurel caught her shoulders and steadied her. She hung onto him, gasping. ”What happened?”

”Don't know. Stay here. I'll ask.” He opened the door on his side and peered out. ”Well?” he called up to the driver.

Miraude opened her window and peered out in turn. By the light of the carriage lamps, she could see the driver standing in the road, bending over something. She could not quite make out what. She called, ”What is it?”

The coachman turned and bowed. ”I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, monseigneur. There's been an incident. A person . . .”

”We hit someone?” Miraude opened the door and prepared to climb out. ”Are they hurt?”

”I'm not sure, mademoiselle.” The driver was uncomfortable. ”We were driving slowly. This person just seemed to fall into our path, and I had trouble stopping.”

Miraude jumped down into the road. The victim was a man of about her own age. He wore a stained and torn cavalry ca.s.sock. His face was dirty. He was unconscious. The driver stood to one side, twisting his hands. He said, ”I don't think we hit him.”

She waved him into silence. ”We can't leave him here.” She called, ”Mal, come here, will you?” Maldurel, grumbling, climbed down from the carriage. ”We'll take him home.”

”Can't do that,” Maldurel said reasonably. ”Don't know his address.”

”Home with us, stupid,” Miraude said. Maldurel looked affronted. ”You'll have to help lift him into the coach. We can fetch a doctor later.”

Maldurel and the driver exchanged glances. ”Now, Mimi, wait a moment,” Maldurel said. ”That might not be for the best. After all, the fellow's a stranger. Could be anyone. Could be drunk. An inn, that's the answer.”

”Oh, Mal! It may be our fault he's hurt.” Maldurel looked unconvinced. She went on, ”Yviane would. So would Thierry.”

”Valdin wouldn't.”

”Valdin had no manners. Everyone says so.”

He shook his head, then sighed. ”Yours to command. As usual.”

”Thank you.” Miraude hesitated, then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ”You're very dear, Mal.”

”No, I'm not. I'm soft, that's what. Well, let's do it.” Maldurel pulled on his gloves and leaned over to lift the shoulders of the injured man. ”River bless!”

”What is it?”

”I know this fellow. That lantern; bring it here.” The driver brought it. ”Yes, I thought so. Cavalry chap. Thierry wanted to fight him. Can't remember why.” Maldurel hauled at the unconscious figure. ”Your house, you said?” Miraude took the lamp from the driver and the latter lifted the man's feet.

She said, ”Do you remember his name?”

”Not sure.” Maldurel panted as he helped with the carrying. ”It'll . . . come back to me.” They hoisted the limp form into the coach and settled it on a seat. ”Fellow's a mess. Best not get too close.” ”Is he injured?”

Maldurel peered. ”Don't think so. But he is drunk. Take him to barracks.”

”Oh, but . . .” She hesitated. ”I still think a doctor . . .”

”Army has doctors, doesn't it?”

”Yes, but . . .”

The man stirred, and his eyes flickered open. He looked at Maldurel without recognition and said, indistinctly, ”Iareth?”

”What?” Maldurel said.

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