Page 27 of Paladin's Faith

“You kneel and get up again too easily.”

Shane frowned. “I don’t follow?”

She smiled. “The only people who spend as much time on their knees as knights are whores and holy men. You’re not the latter, though I admit I’m merely guessing with the other one.”

He blinked at her. The tips of his ears went suddenly, blazingly scarlet. Marguerite did not know whether to feel guilty or charmed.

“I. Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Technically. I was knighted as part of my training with the…as part of my training.”

He might as well have held up a sign saying ‘Please Do Not Ask About The Dreaming God.’ Marguerite had no intention of doing so. “It’s not a bad thing,” she said. “I was just curious. Should I be calling you Sir Shane?”

He sighed deeply, and Marguerite wondered how she’d ever thought that he was expressionless. “It would be Sir Shane of Templemarch. And I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Then I won’t.” And now, my finely honed conversational senses are telling me to change the subject. She scanned the water, but saw no sign of the river devil. “You know, I’ve gone up and down this stretch nearly a dozen times, and I’ve never seen a river devil before. I didn’t know they were so large.”

“I had never even heard of them.” He stretched his fingers, shaking out the stiffness. “It is unsettling to think that there are such large creatures passing beneath us.”

Marguerite chuckled. “We’ll soon be at the Court of Smoke. Fewer rays, but a great deal more going on beneath the surface.”

Shane sighed. “I will look forward to being off the boat,” he confessed, “but I am concerned about the rest.”

“You and me both,” said Marguerite with a sigh. “You and me both.”

TWELVE

Their final stop before the court was a small town at the river’s edge. It was divided into two distinct districts, one full of expensive-looking inns and shops, set well back from the water, and one built on and around a network of docks. They disembarked and made their way to an inn on the edge of the wealthy district, where Marguerite bespoke a private dining room.

Once inside, Shane was surprised and a trifle appalled when Marguerite began to strip.

“Uh,” he said.

“Turn your back,” said Marguerite, digging into one of her trunks. “We’re only staying here long enough to turn Wren into a noble and me into a luxury merchant.” She shared an exasperated glance with Wren. “He doesn’t have to change, the lucky sod.”

Shane turned his back and gazed at the wall, trying to ignore the sounds of sliding fabric behind him. He told himself that they might be coming from Wren, and since picturing Wren naked would be tantamount to incest, he managed to hold off any inconveniently erotic images.

“You can turn around,” said Wren, after a few minutes. “We’re decent.”

“Well, as decent as we’re likely to get,” Marguerite added.

He turned around. Wren was wearing something green that was probably fashionable. It had ruffles, anyway, and no one would wear ruffles if fashion wasn’t involved somehow. Marguerite was dressed much as she always was, except that the fabric was of far higher quality and the bodice was cut rather lower. A panel of lace across her cleavage was presumably supposed to provide modesty, but in Shane’s opinion, it was not doing a very good job.

Why did he not own a hairshirt?

“Right,” said Marguerite cheerfully. “And now a carriage, and into the lion’s den.”

The carriage ride took nearly an hour, and by the end of it, Shane’s teeth were beginning to ache from being rattled around in his skull. He rode with the Bishop often enough, to and from court appearances, and he was rather surprised at the difference between cobblestone streets and the road.

Marguerite laughed when he confessed this. “Possibly, but I’d bet money that the Bishop’s carriage has quite good springs, compared to this rattletrap.”

Shane tried not to bridle at the implication. “I cannot imagine that the Bishop would waste money on such a frivolous luxury.”

“Frivolous?” Marguerite’s eyes had a wicked gleam. “She takes that carriage to court, does she not? To meet with the Archon and visiting dignitaries, to make official appearances on behalf of the Rat, that sort of thing?”

Shane nodded. As the Bishop’s guard detail, he had been to more official appearances than he could count, and was always a trifle astonished that Beartongue had no difficulty remembering the name and rank of everyone she was introduced to.

“Tell me, what makes a better impression—stumbling out with your hair mussed and your bones rattled and your stomach roiling, or sweeping in without a hair out of place, looking entirely in control of the situation?”

“Huh.” Shane had to stop and think about that one. Obviously the Bishop had to look…well…bishop-like, whatever that meant. Possibly an investment in that was not frivolous after all.