Dammit, I don’t dare run away from this. I’ve got to nip this in the bud or my name will be all over the keep by midnight.
Hating the necessity, she slowed her steps, stopping to chat with acquaintances, and doing her best to present the image of a woman who was not in full retreat.
It was Davith who came to their rescue. He intercepted her on the way out, full of apparent good cheer, and insisted that he bring her a cup of wine. Even though her feet were in agony, she accepted, while Shane tried to make himself look smaller, with no great success.
“So Lawrence tried to pick a fight with your boy there?” murmured Davith in an undertone, passing her the wine.
“Yes, indeed,” she said quietly. “I’m hoping the fortress guard doesn’t come down on us for unlicensed brawling.”
Davith was too aware of the eyes on them to wince visibly, but she heard the indrawn breath.
“Well, I suppose we should fix that.”
“I’d like nothing better.”
“Simplicity itself.” He glanced at Shane and said, apologetically, “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say.”
Shane shrugged philosophically.
“Lawrence was how drunk?” Davith roared, at top volume, and burst out laughing. “You’re not serious!”
“Drunk as a lord,” Marguerite confirmed, not quite as loud, but still in a carrying voice. She could practically hear ears pricking up all around them. She giggled into her wine. “And dragging the most unfortunate girl about, and then…” She waved a hand at Shane, who stared straight ahead, looking stolid and unimpressed.
“God’s teeth, he thought she wanted to dance with your bodyguard? This oaf? ”
“I know!”
“I mean…” He slapped Shane on the back. “You’re not bad looking, my good man, but can you even dance?”
“I can do the Winter Dance,” said Shane, more slowly than usual, “if I have a goat.”
Oh, Lady of Grass… She had no idea what he was going to say next. Davith, however, had an unholy light in his eyes. “A live goat, or a dead goat?”
“Either works.”
Davith’s laugh this time was genuine, although Marguerite suspected that she was the only one who could tell the difference. “My god, Marguerite, where did you find this specimen?”
“What, and have everyone wanting one?” She scoffed. “Anyway, Davith, do be a dear and make certain Sir Lawrence is feeling better, will you? As much wine as he must have had…well, just tell him that no one holds anything against him, will you?”
“Of course, of course.” He waved her off, and called the next words, deliberately, across the
space between them. “At least I’ll make sure he gets to his room and his valet can get his boots off.”
She blew him a kiss and herded Shane from the ballroom, feeling somewhat like she was the one guarding him, and down the hall. It was not until they were most of the way back to their section of the palace that she finally relaxed. “Ooof. What a mess.”
“I apologize,” said Shane immediately. “I should not have—”
“No, no, no.” She shook her head. “You did very well. He was trying to get you to agree to a duel.”
“I suspect I would have won.”
“Maybe.” She pressed her lips together. “Or maybe someone saw a way to get rid of my bodyguard. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he was paid to try to goad you into something.”
Shane stopped dead in the middle of the hall. “I will find him and…ask.”
“I’m pretty sure paladins aren’t allowed to ask like that.”
He started walking again, but reluctantly. “What happens now?”
“Now we hope that Davith has suitably muddied the waters that the fortress guard writes it off as a minor drunken mishap. Which may be all it was.” She gnawed on her lower lip. Sir Lawrence had always been a bit of an ass, but would he normally pick a fight with a bodyguard? She would have sworn that it was beneath his dignity…then again, if the young lady had been looking at Shane… And who could blame her? “The problem with being both paranoid and having someone out to get you is that you start jumping at all the shadows, not just the real ones.”
“Mmm.”
They reached the suite and stepped inside. Marguerite was relieved to feel the door click shut behind them.
Wren was sitting in the chair in front of the fire. When they walked in, she sat up sharply. “There you are!”
“Is something wrong?” Shane asked.
“No, no.” She was vibrating with barely suppressed excitement. “I think I’ve got something!”
TWENTY-SIX
“IT MIGHT BE NOTHING,” Wren said. “Really nothing. But I thought—well, it seems like something—”
“Tell us,” said Marguerite, sitting down and pulling off her shoes, “and then we’ll be able to tell you.”
“Right.” Wren cleared her throat. “Lady Coregator is very keen on connecting artists to patrons, and she invited me to meet with her again, because she said that she’d found some artificers for me to sponsor. A couple of them were hopeless, but there’s one woman who’s working on a new form of tidemill…it’s actually pretty interesting, and if I had any money…” She trailed off with an embarrassed cough. “I wish I wasn’t lying.”
“If you give me her name, I think we can probably arrange something,” said Marguerite.
“Assuming we survive the next few weeks, of course.”
“Right, right. Anyway, when Lady Coregator had me look over her list of artificers, I saw Magnus’s name!”
“Did you now?” Marguerite leaned forward. Shane, who had been divesting himself of armor, stopped in mid-unbuckling.
Wren nodded eagerly. “I did! And there was a name written next to it!” She paused, and some of her enthusiasm faded. “Err…you’re not gonna like it, though.”
“Try me.”
The paladin darted a glance at her brother-in-arms. “It was Baron Maltrevor.”
Marguerite let out a whoop, jumped up, grabbed Wren by the forearms and hauled her to her feet, then swung her into an impromptu dance. Shane stepped back to let them go by.
“I guess that’s good?” said Wren.
“Wren, you beautiful, marvelous, observant… paladin, you! It’s wonderful!” Marguerite hugged her fiercely. “That’s all I needed! That’s more than I needed!”
“Click?” asked Shane.
“That wasn’t a click, that was practically a smack.” Marguerite grinned up at him. “Maltrevor is a dreadful human being, but he likes to be seen throwing money around. He’s not the sort who would hire artists, though, unless they were attractive young women, and that’s a different transaction. He’s
exactly the sort who would be an artificer’s patron. I doubt he knows the first thing about what she’s actually been working on, but that’s not important.”
“Would he agree to help her, though?” asked Shane. “When she had to go into hiding?”
Marguerite’s feet were expressing strong disapproval of having started dancing again, even barefoot. She limped to the table and splashed wine into a cup while she considered Shane’s question. “Maybe. If Magnus has been sensible enough to keep him in clockwork baubles, probably.