Another one from the Bound Lands — set in Ermetia this time.<\/i><\/p>\n
Prince Dalvos was late \u2013 or at any rate, he had not come. Since there had been no specific appointment he was not exactly late<\/i>, but Burren had expected him to appear at more or less the usual time and place, and was slightly puzzled that he had not.<\/p>\n
He had nothing better to do with himself, so Burren strolled down from the terrace outside his apartments, into the gardens, along the back route that Dalvos would most likely have taken from the royal compound at Heathertop if he had indeed come. Burren half-expected any minute to see the prince trotting along the path, calling out a greeting and apologizing for his late arrival.<\/p>\n
He ambled down past the tea garden and through the trellis gate, then turned onto the hedge-rose path. At the arcade he paused, considered for a moment settling on one of the stone benches \u2013 but he had not brought a book, and simply sitting did not suit his present mood. Instead he strolled down the steps to the herb garden and steered himself toward the willow grove beside the duck pond.<\/p>\n
Around him the bees bumbled and beetles clicked and buzzed; leaves rustled in the warm and gentle breeze, and every so often a snippet of birdsong trailed by. The day was far from silent. The realization that a human voice was mixed in the springtime hum was slow and gradual, but at last unmistakable \u2013 someone was in the willows, talking quietly.<\/p>\n
Burren had no desire to intrude on anyone’s privacy, and called out, \u201cHo, there!\u201d<\/p>\n
Willow branches whickered, and shadows moved amid the greenery, but no one replied. Burren frowned slightly. There were a thousand innocent explanations possible, but the chance that this reticence was an indication of guilt could not be denied. Thieves and poachers were not unheard of here, though his father’s estates were less troubled than most.<\/p>\n
Burren considered calling out again, but shrugged and began whistling instead. If the voice was that of a trespasser, Burren would give him a chance to flee \u2013 but would not let him be.<\/p>\n
The willow rustled again, but no one fled.<\/p>\n
Burren strolled nonchalantly forward, around the drooping branches, and found his prey \u2013 Prince Dalvos was there, leaning one outstretched arm against a willow tree, his back to Burren, his attention firmly fixed on Tira, the chamberlain’s daughter. Tira stood with her back against the trunk of the tree, Dalvos’ arm blocking her escape on one side. Her skirt was twisted somewhat awry, and one hand was clutching it, trying to straighten it, while the other was on Dalvos’ chest.<\/p>\n
She did not look as if she were enjoying the prince’s attention.<\/p>\n
\u201cPrince Dalvos!\u201d Burren called out, \u201cWhat a pleasant surprise!\u201d<\/p>\n
Reluctantly, Dalvos turned his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, Burren,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat brings you down this way?\u201d<\/p>\n
Burren saw the expression on Tira’s face, and quickly concocted a lie.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was looking for your companion, I’m afraid,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Tira blinked at him in surprise. \u201cMe?\u201d she squeaked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you want with her<\/i>?\u201d Dalvos asked, startled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI<\/i> don’t want anything with her,\u201d Burren said hastily. \u201cIt’s Megrin the witchwoman who wants her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dalvos straightened up and dropped his hand. \u201cThe witchwoman?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cApparently young Tira has been assisting her in her witchery,\u201d Burren said.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d Dalvos turned back to Tira.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s right, your Highness,\u201d Tira said quickly. Her performance didn’t strike Burren as entirely convincing, but Dalvos didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. \u201cI fetch her the powders and herbs, and stir the kettle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Megrin wants her to come help with the stirring right this moment, I believe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen of course she must go,\u201d Dalvos said, stepping away from the tree.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you, your Highness,\u201d Tira said. She tugged her skirt back where it belonged, then gathered it up above her ankles and hastened away, running up the path toward the palace. She glanced back over her shoulder as she left the grove and threw Burren a quick smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cA pretty little thing, isn’t she?\u201d Dalvos asked as he watched her flee. \u201cI must say, Megrin’s timing might have been better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWitchwomen are notorious for their inconvenience,\u201d Burren replied, stepping up to the prince’s side.<\/p>\n
\u201cTrue enough,\u201d Dalvos agreed. He turned and slapped Burren on the shoulder. \u201cWell, at least this means I see more of you today than I had expected, so it’s not all bad. How goes it with you today?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, quietly, my prince, quietly,\u201d Burren said. \u201cI was glad of an errand to run.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWere you, indeed? Then perhaps I can assign you another. That wench has my blood running hot \u2013 do you think you might find some other who could cool it? This is your town, not my own, and I know little of its hidden ways.\u201d<\/p>\n
Burren hid his distaste at this bald request; he was a duke’s son, not a pimp or procurer. \u201cNot at this hour, Highness,\u201d he said. \u201cIt’s yet morning, and the nightbirds fast asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, then I must suffer a few hours more, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr find another means to cool your ardor, perhaps.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps.\u201d Dalvos turned away. \u201cCome, let’s go up to your father’s palace, and see what amusements await us there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAs you will, my prince.\u201d Burren followed as Dalvos headed up out of the willows.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Another one from the Bound Lands — set in Ermetia this time. Prince Dalvos was late \u2013 or at any rate, he had not come. Since there had been no specific appointment he was not exactly late, but Burren had expected him to appear at more or less the usual time and place, and was… Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-336","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-writing","category-work-in-progress"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/336","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=336"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/336\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":703,"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/336\/revisions\/703"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=336"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=336"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.watt-evans.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=336"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}