Read Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) for Free Online Page A

caught his breath, looking down the corridor, but she must have run out the door. Probably heading back to Bardic and her room.
    If she was determined to be alone, he was going to have to give her that, even though he really doubted that she should be alone right now. He gave a frustrated growl and stared back the way he had come.
    Her father? But the man hadn’t recognized her! Surely Lena’s father couldn’t have failed to recognize his own daughter. . . .
    He glanced back at the vacated corridor ruefully. Lena certainly seemed to believe he could be capable of that. Her shock had been real . . . but there hadn’t been any surprise. Just bitter unhappiness.
    He thumped the wall, frustrated. Here he was, stuck between two duties, torn between going after his friend and taking the note in his hand to Herald Nikolas.
    Or , a rebellious part of him said, hang the note and go have dinner, and take the note when you’re done . . . Bards be damned . He sighed at that thought. But this was supposed to be about something for the king. And if he didn’t deliver it in a timely manner, that just would show that he was too stupid to be trusted with more important matters. Definitely more trouble than he needed to have hounding him.
    With a second sigh to match the first, he turned away from Lena’s direction and considered where Herald Nikolas could be found. He eyed the entrance to the dining hall, listened to his stomach growl at the wonderful smells coming from it, and then almost kicked himself for missing the obvious.
    :Dallen? Could yer fin’ out from Rolan where Nikolas is?: and then a moment later, for politeness’ sake, he added, :Please?:
    A wry chuckle came back. :And bother his high and mightiness? Since he seems to be just fine with talking to you as well, why don’t you just ask him yourself, hmm?:
    Mags was rapidly feeling irritated enough by this entire mess to do just that, but he mentally counted to three and tried again. :Dallen, I can’ do games reet now. I got a note from a Bard t’ take, an’ Lena says yon Bard’s her pa, an’ he didn’t recognize ’er an’ she’s mortal upset an’ ran off. An’ it’s beef night. So you know that’s upset.:
    :Ah. In that case . . . : There was a pause. :He’s coming to you. Stay where you are.:
    Well that was easy enough; Mags relaxed a little. Perhaps Nikolas would be able to explain what was going on. At any rate, it meant he wasn’t going to have to run all over half the Palace and Collegia to try and find the man.
    The King’s Own Herald appeared at the end of the hallway shortly, recognizable by his silver-trimmed Whites, and Mags trotted down the long polished expanse to meet him, holding out the note. There was a look of faint annoyance on Nikolas’ face, and once again, Mags felt himself shrinking back in guilt. Ah bother. I went an’ interrupted him in something’, an’ now—
    “Wretched Bards,” Nikolas muttered, taking the note. “Think that they stand in one place and the sun rises and sets just to illuminate them properly. Thank you, Mags, you should never have been bothered with this.” He read it quickly, after flashing Mags a hint of an apologetic smile. And as he read, his brow furrowed again with exasperation. “Just as I thought. There is nothing here that I needed to be bothered about. He could just as well—and more appropriately—have gone to the Steward with this nonsense.”
    Nikolas looked as if he very much wanted to crumple up the note and throw it away. He wasn’t angry, at least not that Mags could see, but he was clearly very much annoyed.
    “I dun understand, sir,” Mags said, humbly.
    Nikolas shook his head, and grimaced. “It’s a kind of status game Marchand plays every time he turns up at Court. He just wants an excuse to make the King’s Own jump through his ornamental hoops. Conceited popinjay that he is—he wouldn’t get away with this kind of behavior if he were less Gifted, I can tell you