Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword Read Free Page B

learn basket weaving.” Trevin shoved the door open. “I’m late for dinner. I trust you can find my dagger among your new friends’ belongings.”
    “I already have it.” Dwin smirked. “I suggest you don a tunic before you prance in for dinner.”
    Trevin slammed the door and headed across the courtyard to the temple, where he and Dwin had rooms. Passersby looked askance at him. The odor of gash hung about him like an aura. He would need more than a fresh tunic.

    By the time Trevin reached the palace, torches lit the darkening courtyard. He quickly made his way inside, loped down the corridors, and elbowed through the back-room bustle of attendants laden with baskets of bread, trays of meat, and jugs of ale and wine. He huffed. Feasting seemed a foolish extravagance when the countryfolk could hardly grow enough for their own bellies.
    At the serving entrance to the great hall, he paused. Extravagant or not, this feast was for him, and he intended to enter with the assured demeanor of a comain. He calmed his breath and surveyed the room. Lampstands flanked the hall and sent a flickering glow onto the walls. The fragrance of spiced wine, fresh bread, and roasted meats drifted through the air as servants placed heaping trays before nobles and their ladies at tables running the length of the hall. Trevin recognized some of the guests as Angelaeon. Jarrod wasn’t among them. He was no doubt searching Drywell.
    King Laetham, garbed in purple, presided over the feast from his usual place at the center of the head table. Melaia sat to his right.
    Trevin didn’t have to see her to know she was there. He sensed her as shimmering silver light. But to see her was pure pleasure, and he let his gaze linger. Her loose braid, the color of dark honey, fell over her shoulder as she leaned toward her copper-haired handmaid, Serai, and spoke intently. The gleam in her rich brown eyes rivaled the gold medallion suspended on a chain at her throat.
    A barking call for ale rose from the other end of the table. To the left of the king, Varic held his goblet toward a servant. Trevin swallowed dryly. The seat of honor at the king’s left hand was meant for him tonight, not for this wretch. He took a deep breath and strode into the hall, hoping he was rid of the smell of gash. He couldn’t hide the bruise on his cheek.
    Melaia looked up, her smile stunning.
    Trevin wished the moment would freeze with her gaze locked on his. Never mind his hunger for food.
    He smiled back and nodded. “My lady.” As he passed, he let his hand brush her shoulder.
    “I see Jarrod found you,” she said. “Your cheek—”
    Before Trevin could explain, the king turned his way, his eyes questioning Trevin’s late arrival.
    Trevin went down on one knee and briefly bowed his head. “Your Majesty.”
    King Laetham nodded, his thick, graying hair oiled and glinting in the lamplight.
    “My apologies for being late.” Trevin folded his hands to hide his scraped fingers and angled his head, hoping the bruise would seem a shadow. “I was detained by the discovery of landgash emerging at Drywell.”
    The king’s eyebrows arched. “Landgash? So close? I must ride out and see these oddities. I hear they’re strange to behold.”
    “They are, sire.”
    “You must meet our guest.” King Laetham turned to the Dregmoorian. “Prince Varic, this is Trevin, the young man who will be appointed comain tomorrow. Perhaps you would attend the ceremony with us?”
    Varic leaned back in his chair, goblet in one hand, pheasant leg in the other. His face stiffened momentarily, but then he flashed a haughty grin.
    Trevin tried to breathe normally and keep the color from rising to his face. He would not bow his head to this Dregmoorian, even if he was a prince.
    “Appointing this one?” asked Varic. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He went back to his meal. “Congratulations, sire. He’s a fine figure of a youth.”
    Trevin’s muscles ached with the urge to lunge at the