Master Of The Planes (Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

their way through the ornate porticos which separated the different sections of Rugan’s elaborate winter gardens.  The queen gave a shiver at his side and Kimbolt cursed his negligent discourtesy.  The day was cold and she was clad only in another borrowed gown and a thin shawl.  He plucked his cloak from about his shoulders and pressed it on her.  “Here, your Majesty,” he insisted.
    “Why did you go?” She demanded even as she pulled the thick material close around her neck.
    “Your Majesty?”
    “I woke up alone. You had gone. Why?”
    “It seemed better, safer, your Majesty.”
    “I told you, my name is Niarmit.”
    “Last night you were Niarmit and I was Kimbolt; today you are the queen and I am a mere captain in your service.”
    “You’re my seneschal, Kimbolt. Not a mere captain.”
    He broke his stride, suddenly uncertain of her meaning or intention.  “I am a commoner by birth and, as Rugan has noted so well, a traitor by behaviour.  I do not think the council would approve if they had guessed at how we…”
    “Fuck the council,” she said with such sudden heat that he stopped in astonishment.  She had gone a stride and a half on before she realised, and then she turned to face him.  Her eyes were hooded with doubt as she scanned his face with a fierce intensity.  With some effort he kept his expression impassive.
    There was a bench seat beneath a leafless arbour to their left.  She waved him towards it and then sat beside him.  He thought she had been about to speak two or three times before she actually began.   “I want you to know something, somethings.”
    “Your Majesty.”  He was all obedient attentiveness.
    “When I was seventeen I was betrothed, his name was Davyn.  We were young, we were going to be married.”  She gazed out over the snow clad gardens, seeing something else.  “He was so eager that it seemed unnecessary for us to wait, to wait for the formality of a ceremony to bless...”  She hesitated a moment, then holding his gaze with her eyes, she said with heavy emphasis, “to wait to bless our union.” She gulped a deep breath down.  “But then came Bledrag field and all things changed and we were never married.”
    Kimbolt searched his mind for the appropriate absolution one might offer for such a private confession.  He had begun to build a response around the phrase ‘no shame’ but as he opened his mouth to speak she commanded his silence with a shake of her head.
    “There was another, in the long years when we fought the invaders from hiding.  It was a difficult time, it was a mistake.”  She rubbed the fingers of her right hand absently along the line of her jaw. “A bad mistake.  Kaylan would have killed him if the orcs hadn’t first.”
    “Kaylan is very protective of you, your Majesty.” Kimbolt’s voice was thick, a tumult of ungoverned emotions seethed within him.
    She took his hand, placed it between her own.  “And then there was you, Kimbolt.”
    “Your Majesty.”  He replied, unable to identify any other response.
    In a long uncomfortable silence, the only thing that grew was a sense that he was disappointing her.
    “I just wanted you to know,” she said with a flick of her head.  “To know that…” she stopped.  Further words eluded her.
    “Yes, your Majesty.”
    “Can you stop calling me that.”
    “Yes, your…. yes Niarmit.”
    “That’s better.”  She scanned the bare branches of the trees and bushes.  “It’s strange you know, how you can spend your days surrounded by people and yet feel so alone.”
    He put his other hand with hers.  “Whatever companionship you want of me, I will gladly give it.”
    “I wanted you to stay with me until I woke up.”
    He swallowed the rebuke with a slow nod of apology. “I’m sorry.”
    She shrugged off his regret and at the other end of a long drawn silence he asked, “and what do you want now?  Niarmit?”
    The use of her name brought a smile to her