And there was a man that could only have been Leth Kase-dre, who sat in the chair of honor at center, youngish to look upon—he could surely have been no more than thirty, and yet his babyish face was sallow, beneath a fringe of dark hair that wanted trimming: no warrior’s braid for this one, and much else that went to make up a man seemed likely wanting too. His hair hung in twining ringlets. His eyes were hunted, darting from this to that; his mouth was like that of a sick man, loose, moist at the edges. He exuded heat and chill at once, like fever.
And his clothing was splendor itself, cloth-of-gold, his narrow chest adorned with brooches and clasps and chains of gold. A jeweled Honor blade was at his belt, and a jeweled
longsword, which added decoration useless and pathetic. The air about him was thick with the reek of perfumes that masked decay. As they came near him there was no doubt. It was a sickroom smell.
Kasedre arose, extended a thin hand to offer place to Mor-gaine, who tucked up her feet and settled on the low bench courtiers had vacated for her, a place of honor; she wore Changeling high at her back and released the hook that secured the shoulderstrap at her waist, letting strap and blade slide to her hip for comfort, sitting. She bowed gracefully; Kasedre returned the courtesy.
Vanye must perforce kneel at the Leth’s feet and touch brow to floor, respect which the Leth hardly deigned to acknowledge, intent as he was on Morgaine. Vanye crept aside to his place behind her. It was bitter: he was a warrior—had been, at least; he had been proud, though bastard, and certainly Nhi Rijan’s bastard ranked higher than this most notorious of hedge-lords. But he had seen ilinin at Ra-morij forced to such humiliation, refused Claiming, forgotten, ignored, no one reckoning what the man might have been before he became ilin and nameless. It was not worth protest now: the Leth was supremely dangerous.
“I am intrigued to have the likes of you among us,” said Leth Kasedre. “Are you truly that Morgaine of Irien?”
“I never claimed to be,” said Morgaine.
The Leth blinked, leaned back a little, licked the corners of his mouth in perplexity. “But you are, truly,” he said. “There was never the like of you in this world.”
Morgaine’s lips suddenly acquired a smile as feral as Kase-dre’s could be. “I am Morgaine,” she said. “You are right.”
Kasedre let his breath go in a long sigh. He performed another obeisance that had to be answered, rare honor for a guest in hall. “How are you among us? Do you come back—to ride to other wars?”
He sounded eager, even delighted at the prospect.
“I am seeing what there is to be seen,” said Morgaine. “I am interested in Leth. You seem an interesting beginning to my travels. And,” a modest lowering of eyes, “you have been most charitable in the matter of my ilin—if it were not for the twins.”
Kasedre licked his lips and looked suddenly nervous.
“Twins? Ah, wicked, wicked, those children. They will be disciplined.”
“Indeed they should be,” said Morgaine.
“Will you share dinner with us this evening?”
Morgaine’s precise and delighted smile did not vary. “Most gladly, most honored, Leth Kasedre. My ilin and I will attend.”
“Ah, but ill as he is—”
“My ilin will attend,” she said. Her tone was delicate ice, still smiling. Kasedre flinched from that and smiled also, chanced in the same moment to look toward Vanye, who glared back, sullen and well sure of the murder resident in Kasedre’s heart: hate not directed at Morgaine—he was in awe of her—but of the sight of a man who was not his to order.
Of a sudden, wildly, he feared Morgaine’s own capabilities. She slipped so easily into mad Kasedre’s vein, well able to play the games he played and tread the maze of his insanities. Vanye reckoned again his worth to his liyo, and wondered whether she would yield him up to Kasedre if need be to escape this mad hall, a bit of human coin strewn along her way and forgotten.