The High King's Tomb
Page 11
She had to admit that the solicitous attention was nice. She rarely received such courtesy when in uniform.
The tea room was dark after the bright sunshine on the street, the sound muted. There were eight tables inside, mostly occupied by couples. One young woman sat alone by a window scrawling furiously on a sheaf of papers, crossing out most of what she had just written with dramatic sweeps of her pen, and pausing only to sip from her teacup. One of Gryphon Street’s forty poets?
The aroma of delicious baked treats drifted in the air, mixing with something more exotic. Kauv. Kauv was a hot, bitter drink imported from the Cloud Islands that was all the rage among the nobles.
The tea room was not the fancy, formal place Karigan feared it might be, the type of place where noble matrons nibbled on sweet dainties and gossiped the afternoon away. Rather, it catered to the artistic denizens of the neighborhood, as well as a healthy mix of everyone else, from the common laborer to a pair of stylish aristocrats.
Just as Karigan’s feet began to go completely numb in the bloody shoes, a voluptuous woman burst from a back room, seeming to suck in the energy from all those around her.
“Hello, hello, my dears,” she said.
This would be Mistress Lampala no doubt, Karigan thought.
“Be seated, be seated.” She swept them to an open table, Styles scowling all the way.
Judging from Mistress Lampala’s accent and deep bronze skin, she hailed from the Cloud Islands, a likely connection that allowed her to serve kauv in her tea room. Not only did the beans that made kauv grow on the islands, but so did sugarcane, and in Karigan’s opinion, one needed lots of sugar to make kauv palatable, otherwise it tasted rather like burned bark. It was a winning situation for Mistress Lampala who charged an exorbitant price for both, but currency was of no consequence to the wealthy Coyle family, and Braymer ensured there was plenty of kauv, sugar, cream, and sweet treats to go around.
Braymer smiled tentatively at Karigan while she sipped her kauv, but seemed unable to find anything to say. Styles sighed with a roll of his eyes and said something in Rhovan to his ward who straightened his posture and cleared his throat, and then said in a stiff, formal way, “You are very lovely.”
Karigan nearly spewed her kauv, but swallowed hastily, only to have it scald the back of her throat and induce a most unladylike fit of coughing. “Thank you,” she rasped, more amused than flattered. The deadpan way in which he had delivered his compliment made it obvious he had practiced the words many times in front of a mirror.
Styles rolled his eyes again.
“What have I done wrong?” Braymer asked, his forehead crinkled.
Styles spoke quietly to Braymer again in Rhovan, and the young man reddened. “I…I am sorry. I am recently come from the monastery, and I find this awkward.”
Karigan raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Monastery?”
“Yes. My elder brother, you see, was to take over the business from my father, but he, alas, disgraced the family by running off with a harlot and getting her with child.”
Styles groaned and dropped his face into his hands.
“What have I said now?” Braymer asked, clearly bewildered.
“The lady! An indelicate subject—the family embarrassment.”
Karigan’s mouth twitched as she fought laughter.
Braymer glanced from Styles to Karigan. “M–my apologies. You see? I was given to the monastery at a very young age, and I’ve not been outside for many years and certainly…certainly not among,” and here he whispered, “young women.” He blushed madly. “Silence was the rule of the monastery. We spoke only in prayer, and now I do not know what to say.”
Awkward was an understatement. To save Braymer further embarrassment, Karigan decided she’d better redirect the conversation. “Perhaps you could tell me about your life at the monastery.”
Styles brightened and nodded.
Braymer, seeing his approval, smiled in delight. “Of course.” What started as an initially interesting description of the daily life and rituals of the monks in the service to the goddess Aeryon turned into an endless torrent of one-sided conversation. It was as if his years of silence had been uncorked and all the words bottled inside cascaded out.
The torrent lasted all the way from Mistress Lampala’s to the Sacor City War Museum. Karigan hoped the change of venue would dam the constant stream, but it only seemed to open a whole new freshet. Apparently both the monastery and the Coyles owned vast libraries, and Braymer had done his share of reading about Sacoridia and its wars.
Karigan drifted away from Braymer, who seemed not to notice, he was so engrossed in a display of heraldic emblems. The stone exhibition hall had high vaulted ceilings and a marble floor causing Braymer’s voice to echo to all corners. If he said anything of importance, she would hear it. At this point, she didn’t care what Styles thought of her, and he seemed to have given up on his ward himself, after a few interjected instructions about polite conversation went unheeded.
The museum covered the war history of Sacoridia but was devoted largely to arms and armor. There were racks and racks of spears and swords, and numerous suits of armor stood stiffly along the walls. Frankly, she had seen better specimens in the castle. Until, that is, the armor had magically come to life and the king ordered it locked away. She had noticed of late, however, that some of the suits were slowly repopulating the castle corridors, which had seemed strangely empty without them.
Glass cases contained more fragile items, such as documents and bits of uniforms, with cards labeled in hard to read cramped script. She gave up trying to decipher the writing and gazed at the objects with only cursory interest.
The tea room was dark after the bright sunshine on the street, the sound muted. There were eight tables inside, mostly occupied by couples. One young woman sat alone by a window scrawling furiously on a sheaf of papers, crossing out most of what she had just written with dramatic sweeps of her pen, and pausing only to sip from her teacup. One of Gryphon Street’s forty poets?
The aroma of delicious baked treats drifted in the air, mixing with something more exotic. Kauv. Kauv was a hot, bitter drink imported from the Cloud Islands that was all the rage among the nobles.
The tea room was not the fancy, formal place Karigan feared it might be, the type of place where noble matrons nibbled on sweet dainties and gossiped the afternoon away. Rather, it catered to the artistic denizens of the neighborhood, as well as a healthy mix of everyone else, from the common laborer to a pair of stylish aristocrats.
Just as Karigan’s feet began to go completely numb in the bloody shoes, a voluptuous woman burst from a back room, seeming to suck in the energy from all those around her.
“Hello, hello, my dears,” she said.
This would be Mistress Lampala no doubt, Karigan thought.
“Be seated, be seated.” She swept them to an open table, Styles scowling all the way.
Judging from Mistress Lampala’s accent and deep bronze skin, she hailed from the Cloud Islands, a likely connection that allowed her to serve kauv in her tea room. Not only did the beans that made kauv grow on the islands, but so did sugarcane, and in Karigan’s opinion, one needed lots of sugar to make kauv palatable, otherwise it tasted rather like burned bark. It was a winning situation for Mistress Lampala who charged an exorbitant price for both, but currency was of no consequence to the wealthy Coyle family, and Braymer ensured there was plenty of kauv, sugar, cream, and sweet treats to go around.
Braymer smiled tentatively at Karigan while she sipped her kauv, but seemed unable to find anything to say. Styles sighed with a roll of his eyes and said something in Rhovan to his ward who straightened his posture and cleared his throat, and then said in a stiff, formal way, “You are very lovely.”
Karigan nearly spewed her kauv, but swallowed hastily, only to have it scald the back of her throat and induce a most unladylike fit of coughing. “Thank you,” she rasped, more amused than flattered. The deadpan way in which he had delivered his compliment made it obvious he had practiced the words many times in front of a mirror.
Styles rolled his eyes again.
“What have I done wrong?” Braymer asked, his forehead crinkled.
Styles spoke quietly to Braymer again in Rhovan, and the young man reddened. “I…I am sorry. I am recently come from the monastery, and I find this awkward.”
Karigan raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Monastery?”
“Yes. My elder brother, you see, was to take over the business from my father, but he, alas, disgraced the family by running off with a harlot and getting her with child.”
Styles groaned and dropped his face into his hands.
“What have I said now?” Braymer asked, clearly bewildered.
“The lady! An indelicate subject—the family embarrassment.”
Karigan’s mouth twitched as she fought laughter.
Braymer glanced from Styles to Karigan. “M–my apologies. You see? I was given to the monastery at a very young age, and I’ve not been outside for many years and certainly…certainly not among,” and here he whispered, “young women.” He blushed madly. “Silence was the rule of the monastery. We spoke only in prayer, and now I do not know what to say.”
Awkward was an understatement. To save Braymer further embarrassment, Karigan decided she’d better redirect the conversation. “Perhaps you could tell me about your life at the monastery.”
Styles brightened and nodded.
Braymer, seeing his approval, smiled in delight. “Of course.” What started as an initially interesting description of the daily life and rituals of the monks in the service to the goddess Aeryon turned into an endless torrent of one-sided conversation. It was as if his years of silence had been uncorked and all the words bottled inside cascaded out.
The torrent lasted all the way from Mistress Lampala’s to the Sacor City War Museum. Karigan hoped the change of venue would dam the constant stream, but it only seemed to open a whole new freshet. Apparently both the monastery and the Coyles owned vast libraries, and Braymer had done his share of reading about Sacoridia and its wars.
Karigan drifted away from Braymer, who seemed not to notice, he was so engrossed in a display of heraldic emblems. The stone exhibition hall had high vaulted ceilings and a marble floor causing Braymer’s voice to echo to all corners. If he said anything of importance, she would hear it. At this point, she didn’t care what Styles thought of her, and he seemed to have given up on his ward himself, after a few interjected instructions about polite conversation went unheeded.
The museum covered the war history of Sacoridia but was devoted largely to arms and armor. There were racks and racks of spears and swords, and numerous suits of armor stood stiffly along the walls. Frankly, she had seen better specimens in the castle. Until, that is, the armor had magically come to life and the king ordered it locked away. She had noticed of late, however, that some of the suits were slowly repopulating the castle corridors, which had seemed strangely empty without them.
Glass cases contained more fragile items, such as documents and bits of uniforms, with cards labeled in hard to read cramped script. She gave up trying to decipher the writing and gazed at the objects with only cursory interest.
