The King's Blood Read Online Free PDF

that from her.
    “Did you say that I would?”
    “I said I’d speak to you about it,” Dawson said. “You aren’t bound to anything.”
    “Thank you. I’ll think on it.”
    Dawson leaned against the wall. A sparrow darted in through the window, whirled twice through the narrow space, and vanished again in a panic of wind and dust.
    “Are you against the thought of war or of speaking to the new Baron Ebbingbaugh?” Dawson asked.
    “I don’t want to go off to war unless we have to,” Jorey said. The first time he’d faced going on campaign, he’d been equal parts anxiety and joy. The experience of it had pressed both out of him. “But if we have to, we will. It’s only that Geder… I don’t know.”
    For a moment, Dawson saw the ghosts of Vanai reflected in his son’s face. The city that Geder Palliako had burned. It was easy to forget that Palliako had that potential for slaughter in him. But perhaps it was hard for Jorey.
    “I understand,” Dawson said. “Do what you think best. I trust your judgment.”
    For some reason Dawson couldn’t fathom, the blush in Jorey’s cheeks returned and deepened. His boy coughed and wouldn’t meet his eye.
    “Barriath sent me a letter,” Jorey said. “I mean another letter. Inside his. It’s from Lord Skestinin. It’s a formal introduction to Sabiha. His daughter.”
    The pause that followed seemed to have some weight. Jorey’s dread was as palpable as it was strange.
    “I see,” Dawson said. “Introduction to his daughter, you say? Hmm. Well, if you don’t care to make the connection, we could say the letter went astray…”
    “I had asked, sir. I asked for the letter.”
    “Ah,” Dawson said. “Well. Then good you have it, yes?”
    Jorey looked up. His eyes betrayed his surprise.
    “Yes,” he said. “I suppose it is. Sir.”
    They stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Dawson nodded, turned, and walked back down the narrow spiral stair, his head almost against the stone of the steps above him, with the uncomfortable sense of having given his blessing to something.
    Clara, of course, understood at once.
    He’d no sooner mentioned Lord Skestinin’s daughter than Clara’s eyebrows tried to rise up to meet her hairline.
    “Oh good God,” she said. “Sabiha Skestinin? Who would have guessed that?”
    “You know something about the girl?” Dawson asked.
    Clara put down her needlework and drew the clay pipe from between her lips, tapping its stem gently against her knee. The window of their private room was open, and the smell of the lilacs mixed with the smoke of her tobacco.
    “She’s a clever girl. Very pretty. Sweet-tempered, so far as I can tell, but you know how it is with these girls. They know more ways to lie than a banker. And, more to the point, she’s fertile.”
    Dawson’s confusion resolved and he sat on the edge of his bed. Clara sighed.
    “She had her boy two years ago by no one in particular,” Clara said. “He’s being raised by one of the family retainers in Estinport. Everyone’s been very good about pretending it doesn’t… he doesn’t exist, but of course it’s common knowledge. I imagine Lord Skestinin’s quite pleased to write letters of introduction for anyone with a drop of noble blood, and lucky for the chance.”
    “No,” Dawson said. “Absolutely not. I won’t have my boy wearing secondhand clothes.”
    “She isn’t a coat, dear.”
    “You know what I mean,” Dawson said, rising to his feet. He should have known. He should have guessed by the shame in Jorey’s body that the girl was a slut. And now Dawson had said that getting the letter was a good thing. “I’ll find him now and put a stop to this.”
    “Don’t.”
    Dawson turned back at the doorway. Clara hadn’t risen. Her face was soft and round, her eyes on his. Her perfect rosebud lips curled in a tiny smile, and with the light spilling across her, she looked… no, not young again. Better than young again. She looked like