royal party.
With Zaibar and Quag, the prince went to Lirain’s apartment. ‘Do you stay here,’
he said, and took Quag’s sword. Neither Hell Hound cared for that and Zaibar
said so.
‘Zaibar: I don’t know if you had a big brother you hated or what, you’re a mean
hothead who really ought to be employed as royal wasp-killer. Now stand here and
shut up and wait for me.’
Zaibar came to attention. He and Quag waited, board-stiff save for a rolling of
dark eyes, while their charge entered the chamber of his treacherous concubine.
And closed the door. Zaibar was sure that a week or two passed before the door
opened and Kadakithis called them in. Quag’s sword dripped in his hand.
The Hell Hounds hurried within and stopped short. Staring. Lirain lay not dead,
but asleep, sprawled naked and degagee on a rumpled couch, obviously a recent
participant in love-making. Naked beside her lay Bourne, not alive, and freshly
bloodied.
‘I’ve knocked her unconscious,’ the Prince said. ‘Take her down to the less
comfortable bed so recently vacated by that Hanse fellow, who is to be sent to
my apartment. Here, Quag – oh.’ The prince carefully wiped Quag’s sword on
Lirain’s belly and thighs and handed it to his Hell Hound. Both guards,
impressed and pleased, saluted. And bowed as well. They looked passing happy
with their prince. Prince Kadakithis looked flagrantly happy with himself.
Attired in a soft tunic that proved a thief could be the size of a prince, Hanse
sipped wine from a goblet he wished he could conceal and carry off with him. He