Civil rose abruptly and stalked away. His mother spoke to a woman at her side, who moved swiftly to intercept him before he left the chamber. There were lowvoiced words between them, and the young man's tone was not calm. I could not follow what he said, for Lord Golden's words rose over the general conversation to proclaim, “Would that I had a looking glass to show you, but you must be content to see how well this ornament becomes you by looking into my eyes.”
Earlier in the day, I had been appalled at how brazenly she had stalked Lord Golden and how willing she had been to throw over her young suitor for the strange nobleman. Now I almost pitied Sydel. One "hears of birds charmed by snakes, though I have never seen such a thing. What I witnessed now was more like a flower leaning toward light. She absorbed his attention and blossomed in its warmth. In the space of a few moments, her girlish infatuation with his age and wealth and fine ways had been transformed into a more womanly warmth and fascination with him. I knew with crawling certainty that she was his to bed, if he chose. Should he tap at her chamber door tonight, she would admit him without hesitation.
“He goes too far.” Laurel's breathless whisper was tinged with horror as she strolled past me.
“He excels at that,” I murmured in reply. I shifted my shoulders in the confines of my gaudy jacket. My pretense at being Lord Golden's bodyguard might become real tonight. Certainly the look Civil shot him promised murder.
When Lady Bresinga announced that it was time to dine, Civil made the foolish mistake of hesitating. Before he had even the chance to churlishly refuse to escort Sydel to the table, his rival had offered his arm and the girl had taken it. This left Civil dutybound to escort his slighted mother as they followed their esteemed guest and his prey into the dining hall.
I tried to rein my emotions in and be a stoic observer of that dinner. Lord Golden's tactic revealed much to me. Sydel's parents were obviously torn between courtesy to Lady Bresinga and her son, and the enticing prospect of their daughter winning the attention of this extremely wealthy nobleman. Lord Golden was a far more desirable catch than young Civil, yet they were not unmindful of the danger to their young daughter. To catch a nobleman's eye is not the same as to have the pledge of one. There was a danger that ha might toy with her and ruin her for future marriage. It was a dangerous line for a young girl to walk, and in the way that Lady Grayling picked her bread to pieces I plainly saw her mother's doubts that Sydel could toe it.
Avoin and Laurel tried desperately to kindle a conversation about the day's hunt, and the talk lurched along, but Lord Golden and Sydel were too deeply engrossed in their own quiet talk to pay any attention. Civil, seated to the other side of Sydel, was ignored by both of them. Avoin was holding forth on the uses of rue in training cats, for all knew that a cat would avoid anything marked with the essence of the herb. Laurel said that onion was sometimes used for the same purpose. Lord Golden offered Sydel a tidbit from his plate, and then stared in rapt fascination as the girl ate it. He was drinking heavily tonight, glass after glass, and it appeared as if he was actually pouring it down his throat. I felt anxiety. The Fool, drunk, had always been both unpredictable and volatile. Would Lord Golden have more restraint when in his cups?
Civil's anger must have flared, for I felt a querying Witecho from something. I could not catch the thought, only the emotion that accompanied it. Something was fully willing to rend Lord Golden to shreds on Civil's behalf. I did not doubt that his hunting cat was his Wit'beast. For that unguarded moment of fury, the connection between them sang with bloodlust. It was quenched in an instant, but there was no mistaking what it was. The boy was Witted. And Lady Bresinga? I looked past her, watching her without seeming to.: I felt no trace of the Wit from her, but she radiated maternal disapproval of her son's lapse. Because he had betrayed his Old Blood to any who might be aware of such things? Or because his displeasure showed so plainly on his face? Betraying one's emotions so blatantly was not genteel.
I stood, as I had the previous night, behind Lord Golden's chair all through the meal. I learned little from the words exchanged that night, but much from the glances. Lord Golden's scandalous behavior both fascinated and horrified the other guests. Quiet words were exchanged, as were shocked glances. Lord Grayling, at one point, sat breathing through his whitepinched nostrils for several moments while his wife spoke frantically to him in an undertone. She appeared willing to gamble the Bresingas' good will for the possible benefit of a better match. Through all this interplay, I sifted expressions and exchanges, looking for some sign of who was Witted. It was not information I could quantify, but before the dinner was over, I was satisfied that both Civil and Lady Bresinga were. I was equally certain their Huntsman was not. Of the other guests at their table, there were two I suspected of the Wit. A certain Lady Jerrit had something of the cat in her mannerisms. She was perhaps unaware of how she breathed in the scent of every dish before she ventured to taste it. Her spouse, a hale and hearty man, had a trick of turning his head sideways to the leg of fowl he was devouring, as if he had sharper teeth there with which to scissor the meat free. Small habits, but telling. As the Prince had fled Buckkeep to Galekeep, so he might, when driven from Galekeep, go to another Witfriendly holding. These two lived to the jbÊ
