David Weber - Hell's Gate

"You were saying, My Lord?"

"Er … I …" He stared, apparently mesmerized, at the hawk for several seconds before he managed to tear his eyes away with a supreme effort. "A thousand pardons, Your Grand Highness. I hadn't realized how large your bird is."

"Really?" Andrin narrowed her eyes. "As a matter of fact, Finena's not particularly large for an imperial falcon, My Lord. Was there some urgent business you wished to discuss?"

He cleared his throat.

"I just wanted to say what an honor it is, to share a voyage of such importance with His Imperial Majesty and Your Grand Highness."

"I see. I was rather looking forward to the voyage myself."

She didn't actually emphasize the verb all that strongly, but it was enough to bring an angry scarlet stain to his cheeks. Clearly, he was more accustomed to setting down others then to receiving the same treatment himself, and his eyes flashed. He started to open his mouth, but then something else happened behind those angry eyes, and the red of his cheeks faded abruptly into something far paler.

"Your Grand Highness, I humbly beg your pardon." His voice was suddenly different as well. Lower, more hurried, without the polished confidence which had sneered through his tone before. "I … seem to have made hash of this conversation, and it was never my intention to be offensive. If I have caused you grief in some fashion, I sincerely beg your forgiveness."

Andrin managed to keep her own eyes from widening, but it was hard, as she saw sweat start along his upper lip. She'd never actually seen anyone do that before. She'd certainly never had that effect on anyone, and she found herself wondering a little frantically what a mere seventeen-year-old girl could have done to so thoroughly unnerve him. Simple surprise kept her silent, and that only made it worse.

And then, as she watched his face lose even more color, she realized with an insight like a thunderclap that it wasn't so much because of what she'd done or said, as because of who she was. Who she might yet become. He truly had expected his nasty little barbed comment to go right past a "mere girl." He'd never anticipated that it wouldn't, and it was the sudden realization of the truly colossal blunder he'd made which had rattled him so thoroughly. Ridiculing the physical size of a person who might one day occupy the imperial throne wasn't the very wisest political move a man could make.

Part of her was childishly delighted by his terror. She'd never before experienced anything like this sudden, visceral understanding that she could reduce grown men to quivering protoplasm merely by displaying her displeasure, and it was a heady sensation. But if part of her was delighted, the rest was quite abruptly shaken to the core. She had a sudden vision of just what sort of disaster she could unleash if she succumbed to the habit of using that power to gratify her own petty emotions, and it terrified her.

One corner of her lips tried to quirk as she contemplated this oaf's probable reaction if she thanked him for his unwitting assistance in her imperial education. She was sorely tempted to do just that, but decided to settle for a slight nod, instead.

"Very well, My Lord. I accept your apology," she said coolly, and he swept off his hat to give her the most elaborate bow she'd ever witnessed.

"I am eternally grateful for your mercy, Your Grand Highness."

Just when she was about to suggest that he'd kept his forehead on the ship's deck long enough, he rose with an elegance that was somewhat spoiled by the ship's motion. He overbalanced and nearly landed flat on his face, but recovered admirably, and gave her a rueful smile that was more genuine than anything else she'd seen from him.

"I fear I haven't yet found my sea legs, Your Highness."

"At least you're on yours, My Lord. I fear lady Merissa is entirely too ill from seasickness to rise from bed at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said softly. "Lady Merissa is a true jewel of the Court, and much beloved by all. I hope she recovers quickly."

Andrin wondered why such a simple statement left her wondering what the earl's marital status might be, and if he had any intention of altering it. She thought she remembered that he'd been married for several years, but she wasn't certain. And if he was married, was he ambitious enough to set aside his wife in favor of the mistress of protocol to his Emperor's daughter? Such back-stair avenues to political influence and power had been used often enough in the Empire's past. Was Ilforth inclined in that direction? Or?her eyes narrowed suddenly?did he have his sights set somewhat higher?

In that moment, Andrin wished fiercely that her mother had come on this voyage, rather than choosing to remain for the present in Estafel with the younger girls. That was not the kind of question she could ask her father.

"I'll relay your well wishes to lady Merissa when I see her again," she said after a moment.

"You're too kind, Your Grand Highness."

Yes, I am, she thought uncharitably. Especially since I'd rather dump you overboard and let you swim to Tajvana. Or perhaps hand you an anchor first.

"Did you have something else to discuss, My Lord?" she asked, determined to be polite, even as she found herself wondering a little frantically how to extract herself from a conversation she didn't want to continue. "Something to do with the Conclave, perhaps?"

"Ah, yes, the Conclave."

He was fiddling with his hat brim, gazing forlornly at the wreckage of the expensive New Farnalian feather he'd foolishly brought out onto a wind-swept deck where the biting wind off the North Vander Ocean came whipping around the southern tip of Ternath Island.

"You're probably wondering what instructions I carry from the House of Lords," he said with a last heavy sigh for his damaged headgear.

Andrin blinked mentally. She hadn't wondered anything of the sort, actually, but she suddenly?and belatedly?realized that she probably should have.

"Are you at liberty to share them?" she asked after a moment, and he looked up from his hat at last, his glance sly.

"Ordinarily, no, Your Grand Highness." He gestured elaborately with one hand, apparently attempting to convey the intricacies with which a man in his position must deal on a daily basis. Unfortunately, he ended up looking merely ludicrous. "However, as your position has, ah, shifted, shall we say, due to the current crisis, I feel it would be remiss of the Lords to endeavor to keep such an important member of the imperial family in the dark."

She only looked at him, waiting for something besides empty flattery, and he cleared his throat.

"Yes. Well. The Lords have made it quite clear that under no circumstances shall we yield so much as a fingertip's worth of Ternathian sovereignty over this business!"

"I see." Andrin pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I should imagine most of the other governments on Sharona share exactly the same sentiments, shouldn't you, My Lord? That wouldn't appear to leave a great deal of room for progress toward a practical governing system to deal with the crisis, would it?"

He blinked.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grand Highness?"

"Clearly, something must be done, administratively, to meet the crisis, or all Sharona could be at risk of attack, My Lord. Possibly even destruction. It seems to me that refusing to yield a fingertip's worth of anything at this particular moment is an exceedingly poor way to handle the worst international crisis in Sharonian history."

An odd, choking sound behind her left shoulder distracted Andrin for a moment. She actually turned to see if her bodyguard had been stricken ill, but though chan Zindico's face was slightly red, he seemed unharmed. Reassured, she returned her attention to the forty-fifth Earl of Ilforth.