The Marshal paused before answering, for the words had been peculiarly freighted with meaning, and that meaning suddenly penetrated. “You mean, live here, sir?”
“Can’t be here without living here, can you?”
“No, sir.” He thought, furiously. What was he supposed to say now? He’d never thought of such a possibility. He was no courtier! But he could scarcely say so, at the moment.
“Ah … I am deeply honored, Your Majesty, and I will comply as soon as I can arrange the few . . . responsibilities I’ll have to see to first.
The Lord Paramount’s eyes had not left the Marshal’s face, but now they slid aside, like a snake from a rock. “Of course, of course, for the moment I’d forgotten. You have a family—what is it, a daughter? Delganor mentioned her to me just recently. He met her at your place in Langmarsh. As I recall, he spoke well of her.” He breathed for a moment through his teeth, a little whistle,whee-oo, whee-oo, in and out. “If possible—though it may not be—she should be with you, of course. All the young women at court have assigned duties, and we’d need to be sure she could acquit herself in a covenantly manner. Let’s have someone take a look at her again, just to confirm Delganor’s impressions. By the way, what’s her name?”
“Genevieve, sir.”
The Lord Paramount’s eyes were on the turning pages. “Of course. Genevieve. Well, I’m sure she’s quiet and respectful, a dutiful daughter, covenantly, pure of soul, a proper candidate.” The Lord Paramount looked up, piercingly.
The Marshal found himself feeling slightly queasy, almost sick, like a man hard pressed, unable to catch his breath. It was known that the Prince was seeking a wife, but it would be presumptuous to imagine Genevieve as a candidate for … well, what the Lord Paramount was obviously referring to.
He chose to evade the question. “That would be hard for a father to judge, sir.”
The Lord Paramount gave him a sharp look. “Ah . . . you think so? Well, I have an idea. Since that equerry of yours would be looking after her here in Havenor, let him take a look at her. We old fellows, we can’t judge women, and it’s not our place, anyhow. Though Delganor does very well. Proper judge of livestock, Delganor. Gave me a marvelous stallion, just recently.”
“As Your Majesty wishes,” murmured the Marshal, backing away from the presence while trying not to show his discomfort. Why had he mentioned having responsibilities? Still … if the Lord Paramount had meant what he might have meant . . .
Behind him, in the small council chamber, silence fell. A servant crept through a side door and circled the throne, putting the scattered booklets into a basket and rearranging the pile at the Lord Paramount’s side before creeping out once more. The Lord Paramount dropped the booklet from his lap onto the carpet and took the top one from the pile, leafing through it, marking the pages here and there. The Aresian mercenaries by the door continued their restless watch upon the room, raising their weapons briefly as the curtain behind the baldachin opened and Yugh Delganor slipped through to lean familiarly across the Lord Paramount’s shoulder.
“So, do I invite the girl to join us all here at Havenor?”
The Lord Paramount smiled. “Give it a little time, Yugh. It isn’t as though we’re in a hurry, eh? Look at this animal, here. Like a sheep, only tiny. It’s a kind of lapdog. I want one. Or several.”
“As Your Majesty wishes.”
“Ten of them, I think. That way I’ll have replacements. They don’t last long, pets. Such short lives. Better bring them in stasis. And look here, this admirable new type of rug weaving looms. I must have some of these.”
Yugh Delganor scanned the booklet, bowing. “Your Majesty is no doubt correct.”
“I’ll have Krivel look at it. We may be non-technological, Yugh, but we have to keep up with things, ah?”
“Your Majesty can say nothing less than truth.”
The Lord Paramount nodded, the pages flickering in his hands. “Let that young colonel look her over, the Marshal’s daughter—look at this dinnerware! Quite marvelous—if you think she’s all right and he’s a suitable one to . . .”