Alaire nodded mutely. Close enough.
"1 agree," Lyam said. "She's a little -- well, light- minded would be the polite term."
Alaire looked up, somewhat dazed. He was going to call her something else, and I bet I know what that something else was!
"Some women are worth courting," Lyam contin- ued, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully. "For a long time. Months. Years, sometimes. And then, when the moment is right, and you love the woman and she returns it, the results that come with that love are appropriate."
Alaire started to relax with this man; this was not the same person he had been sparring with earlier that day. Lyam was more like a concerned father now; not a vicious opponent. His bump of caution told him he should be a little more wary around this man, but his heart was telling him it wouldn't be necessary.
"Where did the Prince go?" Lyam asked suddenly.
He must know the answer, Alaire knew, but he humored him anyway. He nodded towards the door.
Lyam's eyes rolled, and he slowly shook his head.
"And you don't approve," Alaire said.
The man grimaced. "I gather you do not, either."
Since it was clear to him his masculinity was no longer in doubt, he felt free to speak "No, sir, I don't.
In our kingdom, ladies do not behave that way. Or if they do -- well, they are not ladies, and their conduct is not appropriate. And -- sir, no prince should have friends of that sort."
"Those women are no friends of his," Lyam "Nor is Sir Jehan," Alaire blurted.
Lyam regarded him with a hard stare. Alaire instantly regretted the slip. What are you saying, you fool! he screamed at himself. You don't know what side he's on! The stare softened, and Lyam nodded, in agreement.
"Indeed he isn't" Lyam replied, regarding him fur- ther, with an expression that made Alaire think of hidden blades, and ambushes in dark places. "I just don't know what to think of you, young bardling. You are -- a careful observer."
But his eyes told Alaire that he had made up his mind alread Wait a minute! Young bardling? How does he know that?
Yes. How could he know that? Alaire wondered about his safety then. Lyam. I'm sitting in the same room, unarmed, with a master swordsman who could only know I was studying to be a Bard if he wer King's Spymaster as well as the Captain o Guar Alaire tensed suddenly, looking for an escape.
Lyam sat without motion, his gaze unwavering.
"I would not speak, or move very quickly, if I were you," came the deep, reassuring voice of Alaire's Mas- ter, from somewhere behind the length of curtains.
The curtains fluttered, and Naitachal stepped out from behind them, as casually as if he'd entered the room under common circumstances.
Lyam did not react, nor did he seem surprised. His expression remained bland.
Naitachal offered no explanation of his presence, and Lyam didn't ask for one. The Dark Elf's black cloak fluttered in the breath of air that came in from the hall; he paced forward with his flowing, graceful walk, as smoothly as a cat. He stood a few feet away, looking as serene as he'd ever been.
How in the world did he get back there? Alaire wondered. He had no idea how his Master done so without using magic, but still Alaire was very grateful to see him there. I might live now. He could only guess that Naitachal knew, somehow, that he and Kai would come to this balcony, and had crept behind the curtains unnoticed before they arrived.
Lyam continued to sit very calmly, showing no sign of alarm. "Believe me, Ambassador, if I had wanted your protege dead, he would be so now."
"Using the same tactics your underling employed against me last night?" Naitachal asked smoothly.