5
The hall was abuzz with rumormonger murmurings. The king was late to the chamber by a few minutes, and already tall tales were being formed in explanation, and the theory that the king was taken sick dominated. Some of the courtiers were standing in huddled groups; others were sitting in close circles on the carpet. No one stood alone. Jaksen and Tayron joined a group at the foot of the ramp up the regal platform, to the right side of the throne.
The group contained three others, of which one was a councilor that Tayron had seen the previous night. Another wore the cloak of a high mage. It was to the third that Tayron was introduced to first.
“Alevan Tayron, this is the son of the king’s cousin, and heir apparent to the throne. He is known to the court as Fenix, and wisely keeps his true name confidential.”
Tayron bowed in shocked awe, not expecting to so quickly meet the object of their recent discussion. To his added surprise, Fenix bowed slightly in return, and said “it is interesting to see a Tayron in court after so long. It will be to the court’s benefit.”
“Thank you, sir.” Fenix was no older than Tayron, and had purple hair that stood spiky. The fabric used for his black pants and dark purple cloak caught the light sharply in a way that nothing from an animal could have. It was either made from some mysterious art or synthesized, and given the status of Fenix, Tayron thought the former more likely. Fenix was impressive, but lacked the rugged field commander quality of the young kings in the knight’s imagination. In the eyes was the glow of a shrewd thinker of a kind Tayron would rather not have trusted.
“Tayron is my only surviving bodyguard, Lord Fenix,” said Jaksen with an uneasy mix of concern and excitement.
Fenix’s thin eyebrows arched. “Nothing too unexpected, was it?”
“The assassins had a mage with them.”
The beard of the high mage present rustled as the face it covered grimaced. “Who of my order would dare sell themselves?”
“Many,” Fenix said without hesitation, “since few have the opportunity to give themselves up to . . . greater causes? If it makes you feel any better, remember that not all mages need necessarily have gone to the schools of your order. It could have been a mercenary mage from another land, or just someone who found a stray spell book and figured it out. Of course, the thought probably does not ease your mind, but there are plenty of rogue mages roaming the land.” The words were cast as an accusation, but Tayron could not tell what it was about.
The mage smiled indulgently, but Jaksen reproached the heir. “It is unbecoming of someone of your station to be so uncharitable, Lord Fenix.”
“Charity should be given to those who need it, Jaksen, and mage Herinold is hardly in any need.”
“Those who are lesser are always in need of the charity of their betters. Herinold should not have to give you charity for your bad behavior, whereas you should be charitable to him because you can afford to be. You should have been here for Prest’l Draedon’s trial. You would have seen how a great man should act, and the extent of his charity.”
“By that, it is safe to assume that you were victorious in your efforts, Jaksen? You wouldn’t be so quick to use it as an example if you had failed.”
Jaksen frowned at Fenix’s lack of decorum, but changed the subject. “Have you any news of the king?”
“He’ll be here. They’re just taking a bit longer to make him look alive.”
Before Jaksen could respond, the hall’s main doors, the ones that visitors entered through, flew open. A troop of cameras and equipment, all following a short smug impeccably dressed man, his eyes covered with sunglasses, flowed in. Among them was a figure Tayron remembered clearly – one of the girls that he had seen on the train platform, who had waved at him. He wondered whether she recalled him as well as he did her. She seemed to be managing some of the camera equipment, navigating the tangle of wires. Absorbed in her business, she hadn’t seen him.
“The reporters are either early or the king is getting extremely late,” Jaksen noted, “they usually burst in at the worst time possible, right when the king is in the middle of matters vital to the state. They come in like they rule the nation. Who can blame them, though, since it is through them that the court is known.”
“Beware that one,” Jaksen pointed to the suave man in the lead of the pack. “The people in this city know him as well as they know the king, and he fancies himself as great a figure. He is nobility, of the family Munghel under the god of disgrace, and uses the gifts his god provides to their full extent. As nobility, he can enter the court at will and bring any guests he may wish to. Still, we’ve managed to keep a few important things from his prying ears.”
“Time to cozy up to the masses,” said Fenix as he broke away from Jaksen’s group and approached Munghel, greeting the reporter like a brother. The equipment girl had noticed Fenix’s approach and, tracing it back to its origin, spotted Tayron. Tayron fought back the blood rushing to his face with some success, and hoped madly that his smile didn’t seem too stiff. No reaction came from the other end, as the girl focused back on her work, pressed to make sure the interview with Lord Fenix was being properly relayed.
Fenix was building to loftier levels of eloquence and charm when the entrance of the king cut him off. At first glance, the heir appeared to have been correct – the king looked barely put together as he entered the hall through a side door that led to his personal area. The night had not been kind to his majesty, and even Jaksen seemed taken aback. Barring Munghel, who continued to comment to the camera, everyone stood silent and, once the king fell into the throne, they all took their appropriate places. Moving to his place at the king’s right hand, Jaksen pointed Tayron to a shadowy corner where other guards had gathered. Munghel and his cameras went to the patch of carpet on which Tayron and his fellow knights had been seated the night before.
Jaksen called out to the guards at the main doors to the hall “let the first petitioners enter!”
The doors opened with calm grace this time, and a businessman with telltale gray clothing that blended with the buildings outside the palace entered reverently, as if unsure of his ability to walk. Tayron wondered who had the vital responsibility of filtering who would be allowed to see the king and judged from the grimace on Jaksen’s face that, at least this time, the businessman had been allowed in on the authority of either Quenari or one of his faction members. For Quenari to have the kind of power to challenge Jaksen, who had control of the knights, he must have an important function like restricting the access of commoners to the king. Tayron made a mental note to ask Jaksen about that later.
“Heridan of Tempor,” a guard outside the door shouted into the hall before the doors were closed.
Heridan stood the proper distance away from the king and waited for the king to grant him audience.
“You may speak,” the king croaked. A great deal of whispering sprouted in response to the king’s voice. Tayron could only imagine how it was – to have every action analyzed at length by a flock of onlookers waiting for your final day.
“My lord, all powerful ruler of this land, I, Heridan, have come to request license to produce arms for your majesty’s army. I can produce mass quantities of the finest guns, up to a hundred a day. The war with Rath’rainol has required the full use of the existing gun manufacturers, so there is immediate need for increased capacity. I hope you will consider allowing me to fulfill this need.”
“Jaksen,” said the king with strain, “you know best what our armies require. Do we require Heridan’s services?”
Councilor Jaksen looked ready to pounce. “We need services, but not from Heridan. How have you made the money required to build your factory, Heridan? You know, of course, that the laws in this land prohibit the sale of arms to anyone but his majesty.”
“As you say, of course I do.”
“But my sources tell me that you have been producing for the black market, that this is how you raised the funds to build your high capacity factory. Do you deny allegations of illegal activities?”
“Indeed I do,” Heridan said coolly. He wouldn’t have sought audience without preparing for close scrutiny of his business practices.
But Quenari saw Jaksen’s comments as a personal attack on himself, so he addressed the court. “May I speak, highness?”
“You may.”
“Then I must say that I am tired of hearing Jaksen’s groundless accusations. Where is his evidence? We are a modern nation, and while deference must be given to the high councilor’s rank, there ought to be limits to what he can and cannot do. He cannot simply declare someone dishonest and expect this court to believe him offhand. This land will not be subject to the tyranny of Jaksen.”
“And I,” Jaksen shouted, rising to his feet and facing Quenari sitting to the king’s left, “am tired of the way corporations have undermined the morals of this land. A tyrant I am not, for we have a just and noble king who has his own mind. But I am enraged how easily the men who should be doing the most for our people, the men who have the great wealth to enrich our people, instead horde their wealth in some vague misguided belief that they can take it with them to the afterlife. They should be securing the immortality of their name through honest generosity. They choose to not only keep their honestly gained wealth for themselves, but also engage in dishonest practices to further enrich themselves at the expense of the people. Where does it end? The people know. Ask the weary workers of this land, and you will discover a new world, a world this court is blissfully cut off from.
“I remember a time when Rath’rainol looked to us in awe, eager to emulate our successes. I remember when the mages of this land were looked to as the best and most educated of us, not as mere wage workers to be manipulated by those so adept at manipulation. I remember a time when people took for granted that they had a responsibility to those around them, and that wealth did not allow a person to shirk this responsibility, but increased it. So if I seem forceful in my examination of the honesty of those who come before us, you will know what is on my mind.”
“Not court politics, Jaksen? If you really believe a word you say, then you deceive yourself. At no time did the land you have just described exist. I would not blame you for self-deception, Jaksen, since we all dream that such a time did exist, and will exist in the future. A Golden Age, a land of milk and honey, where harmony pervaded and even the manure used to enrich the fields glowed a pleasant gold and smelled of perfume. But you must face the fact that before the corporations, mages devoted their lives to private studies with their livelihoods guaranteed by the court coffers. They didn’t feel they had any responsibility to the people, and it was only when they were forced to sustain themselves that the technological wonders we now enjoy appeared. Mages working for wages produce more than mages in ivory towers.
“As for Rath’rainol, I think we are all offended that you suggest we have lost our superior position to that cursed land. If they are hostile to us, it is only because they realize that they can never match us – that we will always be better because as they develop, so will we, and that they are too deranged to even take the first step. We have a great and just king; they have a slave driver. We are blessed by the gods; they have none to speak of. If the fighting on our border is difficult, and the threat of Rath’rainol is real, it is only because they fight irrationally and use barbaric methods to achieve their end. It is only because they can throw greater numbers against us, because their ruler can simply order them to fight, and they must. I consider the idea that our superiority has been lost ludicrous, deceitful, and distasteful.”
“Heridan,” said the king, having heard enough bickering, “We will grant you the license, on the understanding that we will be keeping close track of your production to ensure that you are only supplying the army. If Jaksen is correct in his accusations, it only means that there is all the more reason for us to grant the license to divert your efforts to productive ends. If he is incorrect, then we are still in need of your services. I see no reason to deny you.”
“Thank you, high king,” Heridan said, bowing. He left with an unreadable face.
“I will . . .” the king began, “I will see the next . . . the next – “
The king slumped over, seemingly unconscious, and expressions of surprise, some of them pretended, came from most mouths in the room. Munghel’s chatter reached a fevered pitch as the king’s attendants rushed to his sides and carried him to his private area. Jaksen rose from his seat on the platform and gathered his group together again. Tayron saw that Quenari had done the same.
“Tayron,” Jaksen started with urgency, “you’ll have to be on your toes. This is happening far earlier than I had expected, so my pieces are not in place. Lord Fendar,” he said to the councilor Tayron had noticed from the night before, “get the palace knights together in a hall so that I can address them. Try to convince every mage you can to meet us as well. When the court hears about the gathering, nobles who wish to hear me will come of their own accord. Lord Fenix – “
“ – will prepare for this gathering of yours, Jaksen,” decided Fenix. “And perhaps bring a few other allies.”
“Very well. Follow me, Tayron. Time is precious, but we need to talk,” Jaksen concluded as the group broke apart. With Tayron beside him, the councilor headed for his private quarters. Munghel followed closely behind seeking comments, remained in the audience chamber as they exited, planning to make use of more willing notables.
Jaksen and Tayron flashed down the corridors, with the knight checking around all corners before they passed or turned into them. “You’ve had a rather tense introduction to life here,” Jaksen said on the way. “Arrive here one day, the king might be dying the next. How are you holding up?” There was a quaver in his voice that betrayed the toll the day had taken on him.
“Well enough, I guess,” said Tayron, his mind dividing attention between heightened caution, fleeting thoughts about the situation, and whatever it was Jaksen had just asked.
“Amazing.” They reached Jaksen’s rooms without incident, and were back on the couches in the living room as if they had never left, but the dire expression remained on Jaksen’s face. Tayron kept the expression of alert weariness he had worn since the assassination attempt. “Tell me, what exactly are they teaching you at the academy these days? The academy’s commander sets the curriculum and he’s kept a sort of paranoid secrecy about it, saying that if the enemy knew our training regime, they’d exploit it. Seems like if it’s so easily exploited, it ought to be changed, but since he knows far more about the workings of the academy, I’ve thought it best to leave it to him.”
Tayron sat silent, wondering where to start, and what Jaksen really wanted to hear.
“Tell me about the skills training, then what kind of virtues they seemed to want you to have over there.”
Tayron mused about the chance that Jaksen was actually working for Rath’rainol, an impossibility tantamount to the king being an enemy agent. So, he answered honestly and as completely as he thought necessary. “We are trained in all the weapons that exist in the land, from knives to lances to guns. They make sure that a meal knife in a knight’s hand is more lethal than a gun in a rank-and-file soldier’s. At least, that’s the idea. I can ride almost all animals and machines fit for travel, but knights can graduate as long as they can pass a test on a breka and at least three other vehicles. The sciences and basic mechanics are all required, but I’m not really sure how well any of us understood all that. I’ve forgotten most of the alchemy and physics already. Survival training, of course. There’s also strategy and tactics, and I’ve studied the historical battles.
“There’s not much talking at the academy. You have to be suspicious of everybody, since it’s a competition to graduate and there’s plenty of tricks people use to push people out. No knight needs an army behind him, and we don’t really need a commander to tell us what to do. I can think through a situation and figure out the best way to go. We spend a lot of our time on puzzles and problems, and are graded on our answers. I don’t think our teachers had much of an imagination, though.”
“You’ve thought through this situation, then?”
Tayron paused then nodded. “As much as the little time we’ve had has let me. There’s not much silence outside the academy, is there?”
“No. The academy commander always struck me as the quiet paranoid. What have you come up with as far as this situation goes?”
Was Jaksen asking him for advice or just checking up on his abilities? Probably both, the way things were going. Even the high councilor needed some feedback. “You’ll have most of the knights and some of the courtiers behind you. Lord Quenari will have the businessmen and some of the courtiers. That means that you’ll only win if it’s not a drawn out conflict, because the factories will be able to keep up a flow of supplies to Quenari, and also pay to enlist more men. We have the benefit of training, but they’ll have numbers and supplies. A big problem is Lord Fenix, and how people will react to him. He . . . he really doesn’t seem like the type of person I’d want to have as a king.”
Instead of reproaching Tayron, Jaksen said, “That’s because you don’t know Quenari’s candidate. He’s fat – the very definition of gluttony. At least Fenix pays attention to his fame, and wants to be remembered well in history, Damial only seeks to satisfy himself in the moment, and has no thought even for how people view him, much less for their welfare.”
“Then why does Lord Quenari support him?”
Jaksen’s voice kept even, but his forehead wrinkled when he answered, “Quenari believes that the king should keep out of the business of the state and the economy, that the court should be given more active power. He believes that the men of the court are great by blood and the men of wealth are great by effort, and should by their combined greatness govern the nation. In this schema, the king has little or no place, so a man like Damial, who needs only his appetite satisfied, would fit best. Fenix has too much ambition to allow such a system to exist.”
“And Lord Quenari, having the backing of the wealthy and the king would be able to set himself as more or less king,” Tayron added.
But Jaksen shook his head. “I don’t think Quenari wants power. He has long been made comfortable thanks to the businessmen. He is simply paying them back for favors.”
“Could he be right, though?”
“About bringing the rich into court, yes. We’ve been trying to do that as it is, giving people of astounding success titles of nobility. The way he intends on doing it, though, and the diminished place of the king, fly against the traditions of this land and would destabilize it. How would the people react to the rule of this new clique?”
“I don’t think they’d notice,” Tayron said honestly.
Jaksen grinned. “You’re probably right about that.”
Mulling over it all, the knight mourned, “Why couldn’t the king have had more children?”
“We didn’t get to this point blindly – continuing the royal line is the first duty of the king. For a long time, the queen was not fertile, causing us some worry. The queen finally died bearing his son, and he didn’t take another wife, simply not having the heart to for the first few years or so. But that had been all right, because he had an heir. After his son died – at the age of twenty-seven, almost ten years ago, we urged the king to marry again, but there was simply no way – he was too old to produce children. Besides, enough of the king died alongside his ill-fated family that he couldn’t afford to lose any more. He almost lost faith in the gods, feeling that they had abandoned him, but that was thankfully averted. As it turned out, the succession might be the only duty the king currently on his deathbed failed at. Unfortunately, it is the king’s most important responsibility, and his otherwise pristine legacy will be deeply tainted by this.”
“You hadn’t expected him to get sick so soon, did you?”
“No. I thought it’d be a month or two at least. I sense some monumental foul play.”
Tayron had to ask the question. “Why do you trust me?”
“Do I have any choice? I can’t think of anybody I need to be able to trust more than my bodyguard, can you? And you have a number of qualities that recommend you. You have little knowledge of the court that I haven’t given you. I was the first courtier you met and I have made sure you were kept away from hostile influences. And, of course, your family has been removed from court for some time, so you were not already part of existing alliances.”
“Why didn’t you just get a commoner to be your guard? I know at least one who would have done the job and had no ties to court.”
“A person with a god behind him, no matter how fickle that god might be, cannot be underestimated. I felt it best to have you with me rather than against me, and in the atmosphere here now you would have been swept up onto one side or another. And I was right, wasn’t I?” said Jaksen with mock relief. “If I hadn’t picked you, I would’ve had to find someone new to be my guard in the middle of all this, in a rush. Now I can take time, choose carefully.”
Tayron had a few more questions that he wanted to put to Jaksen while the councilor was in the mood to answer, but a rhythmic knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Jaksen gestured for Tayron to take position beside the door, ready to welcome any assassinators, saying “it should be Fendar. If it isn’t, charge him down and ask questions later.” The councilor stood on the opposite side of the door, and would be hidden once it opened.
He turned the knob and the door slid open. Tayron glanced out of it for the briefest moment and, back in his ready position, his mind told him that he had seen Fendar. Telling Jaksen, the two of them greeted Fendar, who wasn’t the least bit surprised at the wariness. He had his own guard – a hireling instead of a knight – tailing him with hand on sword hilt.
“It’s all ready,” Fendar said as they all took seats in the living room. “The meeting will take place at the knight’s mess hall in an hour.”
“Good, good.”
“Is it true that there was an assassination attempt on you this morning that included a mage?” Lord Fendar asked with a furrowed brow. After Jaksen nodded, Fendar said, “shocking. What will we have next? Guns in the palace? Can you imagine having to arm everybody with guns?”
“Yes. In fact, I can even imagine a battle in the main audience chamber,” said Jaksen dourly.
“I hope, then, that no one else has your active imagination, councilor. It only takes two people with such thoughts to make it happen.”
“Actually, all it takes is people willing to stumble into matters instead of planning ahead. Planning has been denied to us, and I wonder if Quenari is in the same state.”
“I don’t know. But there is another way disaster can break loose – if either you or Quenari is desperate enough. That’s why I fear your imaginations,” Fendar stroked his chin, “I don’t disguise the fact that I lack the stomach for all of this.”
Jaksen grinned sourly. “Who does? But, as my good friend Tayron here has pointed out to me, our side is the one that needs to win quickly. So, you may comfort yourself – it is Quenari that requires the long conflict. If you want to avoid it, you would do well to undermine him.”
Fendar had no response. He stood up, said “I’ve got to get ready. I’ll see what you have to say in an hour,” and left with his guard.
“I think he wanted you to reassure him,” Tayron said when they left.
“And who’s going to reassure me?” said Jaksen piercingly. “Patrol the hall outside while I get ready for my do-or-die speech. I can’t have you hanging around in here while I’m writing. Stay close, though, and come back in before the hour’s up.”
“Yes, sir,” Tayron said with a touch of sarcasm, rose and exited. Out in the hallway he began measured pacing, never traveling out of sight of the door. A few people rushed by him, but none made the slightest move towards Jaksen’s door. He was lapsing into the zone, the mental tool that allowed a knight to bear monotonous activity without losing concentration, when a familiar face appeared in the corridor.
“Oh! Hello,” she said, clearing a lock of red hair from in front of her right eye. Her eyes were a sharp orange. A dress shirt that matched the color of her hair was open at the collar, and a white t-shirt appeared underneath. Tayron tried to remember if he had ever seen a woman in pants. The girl wore a sleek black pair that completed her image as a young urban professional.
Ignoring other inclinations, Tayron went on guard. “What are you doing here?”
If she had expected a warmer greeting, the disappointment didn’t show. “Just trying to find someone who’d comment on the king’s health and what might happen in the next few days. My name is Anni. I’m a reporter,” she said with fresh pride.
“I’m Alevan Tayron, bodyguard to Councillor Jaksen. I hope you understand if I have to keep a strict guard – under the circumstances.”
“Sure, sure,” she did a double-take, “did you say Councillor Jaksen?”
Tayron nodded.
“Wow. So this is where he lives. I heard that he might be giving a speech soon, but no word has come out where it might be. Do you suppose he’d let me cover it?” From her anticipation, Tayron guessed that such an opportunity would be worth a raise to her.
“You reporters aren’t supposed to be running around the palace. The only reason you’re allowed in here is because of Munghel’s nobility. Doesn’t that mean your access should be restricted to where he is?”
She had a prepared response. “It is our duty as reporters to inform the public about important matters of state. Since everyone’s running about, too busy to care where I go, I decided to do my duty. The common people have as much a right to know what’s going on as the nobility do. Any problem with that?”
“No, not really,” Tayron conceded.
“So, do you think Lord Jaksen will let me cover his address?”
“I don’t know. He wanted privacy for an hour. After that, I’ll take your request to him if you like,” he decided, not seeing any reason not to.
Anni’s delight was painted on her face. It cheered Tayron up for the first time in what felt like eons. “I’ll wait here for his answer, if you don’t mind.”
“Just don’t get in my way and stay clear of the door.”
“I’m not an assassin or anything,” she scowled. Already it was obvious that she wore her emotions right up front. In happier times, Tayron would have found any hidden intent in her hard to believe.
“There’s already been an attack on Councilor Jaksen today, so I don’t think I can give anyone the benefit of the doubt.”
“An attack,” she said, bringing out a napkin and jotting down barely readable notes with a pencil. “Really? Can you tell me anything about it?”
Tayron looked at her incredulously. She looked up from the napkin to catch the stare only after a few moments of silence. She answered herself, “no, of course not. I’m lucky to find out that there was an attack at all. All right, then, go on about your guardly duty.”
Anni sat down cross-legged a respectable distance from Jaksen’s door. Tayron began to pace again, and quickly lapsed into the zone so that the young reporter’s presence wouldn’t bother him. It worked out quite well until she tried to strike up a conversation.
“What’s it like,” she asked as he passed her for the umpteenth time, “guarding someone as important as Lord Jaksen.”
Without turning to face her or breaking stride, he answered, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been at it since yesterday.” He hoped the bite in his voice made it clear that he took his duty seriously, and that idle chatter wasn’t appropriate while he was at it.
“Wow. Must be tough, then, with all the pressure that’s on now, with the king ill. And you had to face an assassination plot so soon.”
Tayron gave no answer, passing by her silently.
“Ought to do a story on your experience if this all clears up. I might suggest it to Mr. Munghel.”
Thoroughly uninterested, Tayron continued stolidly.
“Of course, It’d be tough to do a story when the subject’s a mobile statue,” Anni goaded with no effect. It only encouraged Tayron to increase his monotonous concentration. A rebellious area of his mind dimly recommended that Anni should be invited to report on any upcoming battle. If she didn’t distract the enemy or force Tayron into ever-deeper levels of focus, she’d at least be willing cannon fodder.
Anni seemed to realize she was talking too much, and kept quiet for the remainder of the time. This significantly improved Tayron’s impression of her, and he was more than willing to give her a second chance. Once Jaksen’s preparation time expired, Tayron entered the living area again, telling Anni tersely “stay here.”
Jaksen stood in the living room resplendent in his most formal military attire. It was striking that he chose his military formals instead of emphasizing his lordly rank. Since he would be addressing the palace knights, it made sense, but at times like this the proper symbolism took new importance. Tayron couldn’t remember if someone had told him this, or if it was an original thought.
“Good timing for someone without a clock to go by,” Jaksen commented as his bodyguard entered. “They teach you that at the academy?”
Tayron nodded without elaboration. “There’s a reporter outside. She wants to cover your speech, and wonders if you’ll give her permission. She wants to know where the meeting’s being held.”
“This the girl that you were staring at in the audience chamber?” Jaksen said shrewdly, but to his dismay Tayron made no sign of embarrassment. “Well, its very kind of her to ask – usually they just show up. I hope I don’t need to remind you that you have to be careful around these reporters.”
“You don’t”
“Good. In that case, having her around might be useful. Tell her yes, and tell her that on top of that, she’ll act as my liaison to the press through you. This will have to be kept unofficial, or we’ll catch Munghel’s hostility – he usually likes to keep such connections for himself. What’s the girl’s name?”
“Anni.”
Jaksen took a drink from the cooler and started to drain it. Between gulps he said, “go ahead and tell her.”
Tayron stepped out and informed Anni, still sitting cross-legged in the same place, of Jaksen’s decision. Her face brightened the room and she shot up, rising to her feet with almost warrior intensity.
“Incredible! I could get a full reporting job because of this. But I have to keep the whole liaison thing a secret,” Anni reminded herself, “and that might be tricky. Still, I can’t believe this happened. Thank you – most of the time people just tell me to go away.”
She looked like she could have hugged him. He didn’t know what look he was giving, but it must have sent some message because Anni cooled drastically from her fervor and kept a respectable distance as she repeated “thank you. I really didn’t expect anybody at the palace to be so kind.”
Jaksen strode out of the door, preventing any further awkwardness from developing. “Let’s go.”