He turned back to enter just as the hounds rose, stiff-legged and ears flat. First, two stewards entered and took down the two shutters. After them came a brace of guardsmen, then Captain Lukas, and finally Lady Sabella. She sat on one of the couches and examined Alain for a while without speaking. In this light, he saw that the tapestries depicted the famous battle of the Nysa River in which young King Louis, the last independent king of Varre, had met his death.
“They say,” remarked Sabella into the silence, “that no one knew whose hand struck the blow that killed Louis the Fair. In Wendar it is said he was killed by an Eika prince. But in Varre, it is said he was killed by a traitor in thrall to the Wendish king, who wanted all for himself.”
“I’ve heard that tale. I grew up by Osna Sound.”
“Within the lands overseen by the count of Lavas.”
“Yes.”
Her stare was meant to intimidate, but he accepted it placidly. The hounds grumbled very soft growls whenever she looked their way. Outside, rain hissed on the stones.
“Why have you come here? What do you want?”
“I have promised to discover the true heir to the county of Lavas.”
“Ah.” She smiled without showing her teeth. “You have heard that Lord Geoffrey betrayed me.”
Rage yipped as the door opened and half a dozen people flooded in, led by Conrad the Black. His presence filled the room. He was laughing.
“Squalling like a rooster!” he was saying to one of his companions. “Good God! What can she have been thinking, to believe the little lad was dead just like that?”
“I hope you slapped some sense into her,” said Lady Sabella.
Conrad looked at her with disgust, perhaps with loathing, and flung himself onto the other couch. He noted Alain standing with his back to the cold hearth, and then the hounds in shadow to either side. “Look at you!” he said in the tone of a man who loves and understands dogs. “What handsome creatures you are!”
Sorrow’s tail thumped once. Rage’s ears lifted, but neither hound moved one paw.
“He is the one,” said Sabella to Conrad as though Alain could not hear them. “Lavastine’s bastard.”
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, still admiring the hounds. “What matter to us?”
“Lord Geoffrey matters to us.”