Glimpses Read Free Page A

would
give him something more interesting to work on.
    “I thought, maybe—”
    “You thought you could impress me by wasting
time creating something utterly useless?”
    Seregil clenched his fists inside his
sleeves. It was good work, as good as anything he’d seen here.
    “It does show some promise,” the man sniffed.
“Perhaps in a year or two, when you’ve mastered the basics, I will
consider instructing you in the more elaborate styles.” He handed
it back to Seregil. “Please copy this over in the proper form.
Immediately.”
    “But I’m in the middle of that field report.
Duke Nirus needs it today.”
    “Well then, you’d better get started.”
    A year? Two? Seregil swallowed his anger and
hurt as he walked back down the long aisle to his desk. Everyone in
the room must have heard. He caught a few smirking down at their
parchments as he passed and someone snickered. Pimple-faced Baleus,
no doubt. Not that he was the only one who liked to see Seregil
taken down a peg. Being known to be queen’s kin hadn’t done him
much good.
    Probably his miserable attitude hadn’t,
either. Sometimes he regretted getting off on the wrong foot with
just about everyone. He hadn’t been like this—before.
    The extra work kept him in the scriptorium
long after night had fallen and everyone else went off to supper,
leaving him at his desk with a single lamp to work by. He moved to
a desk closer to the fire, but it was dying and the day’s supply of
wood was gone. Shivering made his script a little crooked, but at
this point he didn’t give a damn.
    A year before Emidas let him do anything he
was capable of? He’d go mad!
    His fingers were cramping with cold when he
finally put the manifest on Emidas’ desk, tucked the field report
in a leather folio with the queen’s crest on it, and blew out the
lamp.
    It was a long walk to the duke’s private
chambers on the far side of the palace, he thought glumly, feeling
his way toward the door. He’d be lucky to find any supper now. He’d
probably just go back to his room. Alone.
    He used to love this time of day—supper with
his sprawling extended family at the clan house, then music or out
for nighttime games with Kheeta and their friends. Or those summer
trysts with Ilar ...
    He paused by the door in the darkened room,
one hand braced against the wall as pain flared in his heart. Don’t
think of home, not any of it! Don’t think of him!
    But it was too late. Grief and loneliness and
shame rolled over him in a suffocating wave. He slid to the floor,
tears he couldn’t hold back dripping onto the folio clutched in his
hands.
    “Damn it!” He hadn’t cried since he came
here.
    At times like this, which came all too
frequently lately, he regretted that he hadn’t loaded his pockets
with ballast stones and thrown himself off the ship that carried
him into exile when he’d had the chance. But he knew how to tie a
noose. Or he could find some high place and jump. Or open a vein in
a warm bath. That last one held the most appeal.
    As he knelt there, feeling very sorry for
himself, he heard footsteps approaching. Before he could collect
himself the door swung inward and struck his shoulder.
    “Seregil?”
    It was Prince Korathan, the last person
Seregil wanted to see him in this pathetic state. Caught in the
light of the open doorway, he wiped his face hastily on his sleeve
and stood up.
    Korathan had a mug of ale in one hand and a
meat pasty in a napkin in the other. “What’s wrong? Why are you
here in the dark?”
    Seregil held up the folio. “I just finished.
I have to deliver this to Duke Nirus. What are you doing here?” The
words came out much harsher than he’d intended.
    But Korathan just smiled. “I heard Emidas
kept you late again, so I brought you some supper.”
    He put the mug and the pasty down on a desk,
then took a lamp and lit it from one in the corridor. “Go on and
eat,” he urged, shutting the door again. “Then I’ll walk with you
to the