Read The Towers Of the Sunset for Free Online Page A

bleeding.”
    “… not soft enough for me, thanks.”
    Creslin can tell that Llyse is having trouble in refraining from smiling at his discomfort, and he tightens his lips.
    “I’d still try him…”
    “The Marshall would have your guts for breakfast.”
    As they step up to the dais, Aemris rises from her seat at the far right end of the table. Four places are set.
    “Your graces…” The guard commander’s voice is low and hard.
    “Be seated, please,” indicates Llyse. Creslin only nods, since any words from him are merely decorative.
    Llyse raises her eyebrows. Neither she nor Aemris will seat themselves until he does. Then everyone will rise when the Marshall arrives. Creslin could keep all three of them standing. He has done it before, but tonight it is not worth the effort.
    He sits at the end opposite Aemris, and Llyse lets out her breath slowly, in turn sitting next to her brother but in one of the two chairs facing the hall and the tables below.
    Aemris turns to Llyse. “The winter field trials start the day after tomorrow.”
    Llyse nods.
    Creslin had hoped to participate in the trials, using the skis and holding to the winds that howled off the Westhorns-those winds that might give him an edge-but Aemris is saying that Llyse will be there and he will not. Still, he looks toward Aemris.
    The Guard Commander ignores his glance, instead turning to the curtains behind Llyse and rising. Creslin and Llyse follow suit as their mother steps forward, raising her hands to prevent the assemblage from rising.
    The dark-haired woman in the black leathers with the square face and well-muscled shoulders that belie the intelligence behind the dark flint-blue eyes glances at her guard commander, her son, and her daughter. Then she sits without ceremony.
    A serving boy springs forward with two trays, and Creslin begins to pour the lukewarm tea from the heavy pitcher into the tumblers.
    “Thank you.” His mother’s voice is formal.
    “Thank you,” echo Llyse and Aemris.
    He nods in return, pouring his own tea last and setting down the pitcher.
    A low, roaring whisper rises from the guards and those below as they are served the same food as that of those on the dais.
    Creslin’s eyes flicker down to the front tables, glad that the meal has stopped the ogling for the time. Llyse holds one of the platters. He spears three thick slices of meat from one end of it and a heavy roll from the other.
    Another platter contains various honeyed and dried fruits and pickled vegetables. Though scarcely fond of the vegetables, Creslin takes his share, even if he will have to wash it down with tea.
    “Creslin?”
    “Your grace?”
    “Aemris has doubtless indicated in her best manner that it will not be possible for you to participate in the field trials. That was my order.”
    “I’m sure you had the best of reasons.”
    “I did, and I do. Which I will announce shortly. Do you know the Tyrant of Sarronnyn?” The Marshall waits.
    His stomach tightens as his mother speaks, but he keeps his gaze level upon her face. “We guested there last fall.” He remembers most of it all too well, including the incident in the formal gardens, the one which the Marshall will not let him forget.
    The Marshall smiles. “Your expertise with a blade was noted.”
    “I remember.”
    “At the time, not much was said,” she adds. “Apparently Ryessa was quite impressed. The negotiations were rather involved, since a proposal from the Marshall of Southwind had also been considered.”
    Creslin does not understand. Throughout the fall and early winter, he has heard of how his rash action has destroyed any chance of his becoming a respected consort outside of Westwind. And he cannot stay much longer in the citadel of the winter. For his own sanity, at the very least, he must depart.
    Beside him, Llyse draws in her breath, like the whisper of the winds just before the mistral.
    “I’m somewhat in the dark. Are you indicating that-”•