Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

vision, at the depth of her fear for her husband, and Liam waited silently for her to go on. Tears brimmed in her enormous blue eyes, but were not shed, and suddenly she smiled bleakly, looking defenselessly at him.

"I thought if I tasked him impossibly, he would give,me peace. I claimed the destruction of the Teeth as my price, and sent him away, sure he could not achieve it. It was a fond and foolish thought, wasn't it?" Liam shook his head sadly, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "But be did it. The wizard succored him, and he saved my husband's life. What could I do? I could not surrender to him."

After a long pause, she looked earnestly at him and added: "I did not surrender to him, Sir Liam, though he continues to plague me. He was to come to me on the day the Teeth vanished, but I put him off, feigned sickness, and on the day after my husband was home ... I broke my word, and did not pay him for my husband's life. I have transgressed doubly, in breaking an oath and entertaining a lover while my husband was away. You understand?"

It was important to her, and he nodded again, gravely. "Yes, I do understand. Does your husband know?"

"Yes. I gave him the whole story when he was well. The journey had taken much from him, you know."

"I can imagine. What did he say about it? "

"Naught, or very little. He credited me, and said he would not bold it against me. But he was terribly irked, l know. If Lons had been there, or he'd come across him, there'd have been more than harsh words."

It was time to stop, Liam decided. Lady Necquer's brave smile held, but her lip trembled, and he knew enough for now. She had not thought to wonder about his interest, nor to think that be might connect any of what she said with Tarquin's death. He bated himself for prying, but offered a directionless prayer of thanks that she had not realized what be was after.

"Come," he said, rising, "there's no reason to think on it any longer. Right or wrong, I think he'll stay away, and Master Necquer is back now to stay by your side."

At a sideboard he found wine, and filled two crystal goblets. He brought the goblets back to the divan and handed one to her. She took it gratefully and drank. Tears still brimmed in her eyes, dangling from tier eyelashes. He wanted very much to brush them away, but was afraid it might seem forward. Instead, he walked back to the hanging and examined it, sipping his wine.

After gulping down her glass, Lady Necquer went to the sideboard and poured herself another, from which she took a smaller sip before speaking in a deliberately bright manner.

"Now, Sir Liam, enough of all that. Enough and too much. We must regain our wonted mirth, and find a way to pass the time more in keeping with my husband's homecoming."

"What shall we talk about? I'm afraid we've covered what I know of the rest of the world pretty thoroughly."

"Well then," she said with a smile halfway towards her earlier happiness, "we shall cover you. I know where you've been and what you've seen, but nothing of you. Come hold discourse on Sir Liam Rhenford."

Smiling apologetically, he followed her back to the divan. "That is a very boring topic, madam. The rest of the world is far more interesting."

"I'll judge that, Sir Liam. You may begin."

Folding her hands in her lap, she assumed a very grave demeanor, as if she really meant to judge him. He laughed, and she joined him tentatively.

"Come, go to, go to! Tell me about you!"

"Very well," he said, pleased to see her smiling."What would you like to know?"

"What you do in Southwark," she answered promptly, and he had to pause and think.

"Nothing," he said after a while. "Nothing, really."

"Nothing? Naught? I'll not believe that. You certainly don't idle your time waiting to attend me in the afternoons!"

"Well, I suppose I am recovering. I have been a long time away from Taralon, and I thought it was time to get back."

"After your shipwrack?"

Had he mentioned that to her? He did not remember, but he was sure he had not told her the whole story. Now that he thought about it, he realized once again that he was not sure why he was in Southwark. The experience on the island had worn him out, and when he had finally reached Southwark, he was so grateful to be back in Taralon that he had settled there instinctively. To fill the time, he had half-invented the idea of writing, but that was not the real reason he. stayed in Southwark. It was safe, a part of Taralon that held no memories for him at all, but that was a part of his home nonetheless.

"Yes. I'm also writing."

"Stories?" she asked eagerly. "Or a play? Or poetry? I'll wager your verse is passing fair."

"Neither, I'm afraid. History. Or rather, my history, with some of the history of the places I've been." He smiled at her obvious disappointment, and spoke with a hint of reproach. "You seemed to think my stories of where I'd been somewhat interesting."

"Well, and they were," she admitted grudgingly, "when you told them. But if you cage them with bars of ink and walls of leather, they'll be stuporous, sleep-inducing, for it was your tongue that gave them life. You'd do better to make of them a romance, or better, a string of poems. Yes! A string of poems addressed to the sweetling who awaits you on shore!"

"But I didn't have a sweetling on shore," he protested.

Brushing aside the objection, she went on. "No matter; invent one! Call her ... call her Larissa, and pine longingly for her as you view the lusty beauties of the strange scenes you've visited! Mince your words and file your phrase, and harken back to her