Treachery of Kings

TWENTY-NINE

Though his rage, his anger, his wounded pride, were somewhat abated by suppertime, an ember still smoldered here and there, and he was more than ready to pounce on Dostagio when he arrived-ready to impale the fellow with a quiver of questions on Badgies, bells, Bowsers and seers.

Especially seers, the kind that stunned perfect strangers with a spell, damn near knocked them dead.

But, in spite of this fervent intent, Finn had drifted back into restful sleep by the time Dostagio arrived. He woke, somewhat later, grumbled for a while, then fell onto the feast of thorncake, clutter soup, peppered kale, and a jug of nutty dark ale.

“Did he say anything?” Finn asked at last, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin, bearing the arms of the King. “I wish I could have talked to the fellow. There's plenty these people have to answer for.”

“He didn't say a thing, dear. Only that the Bowser scare is likely over, and the palace is secure.”

“That's something, then. If it's so, we can get out of here early. I think I can find Bucerius. He knows that shopkeeper, what's-his-name, the one that sells greens. If he's not there, I expect he's at the balloon grounds. They surely have one here…

“Letitia, I don't mean to be rude, but that seer's chicanery has left me weak as a child. I cannot seem to stay awake, I'm shamed to say. I'm not at all certain what I was talking about before I dropped off. Was it anything I ought to recall?”

“Nothing that won't wait till the morrow, Finn. I'm sure you'll feel stronger by then.”

“Yes, well, if you think so, tomorrow's fine with me.”

It must be a most delicious dream, he decided, one granted to the weary and oppressed, the anxious and the stressed, those who deserve a lovely treat in the deep, deep hours of the night.

The room was dark, except for the dim, pleasant glow of a candle against the far wall. There, the light flickered on golden scales, shimmered in ruby-red eyes, as Julia practiced her imitation of a nap.

That image vanished in a blur, as a finer, far more dazzling vision took its place.

There was, to say the least, passion in this dream, wild and joyous moments that took his breath away, swept him up to dizzy, incredible heights. And, just as quickly, took him gently into sweet and lazy bliss.

A thousand sensations assaulted his body, burned into his soul. There were tantalizing scents, elegant caresses, and secret delights. There were hollows, hills, slender limbs and iridescent eyes. There was love remembered, and whispers in the night.

“That was most elegant and fine,” Finn muttered to himself, “truly the loveliest dream I ever had.”

“Call it what you like.” Letitia smiled. “Now go to sleep, dear… “

Finn was woken by the sound of a gentle, but quite persistent tap, the kind you know simply won't go away. He pulled on his breeches, grabbed up his Eastern blade, in case it was the Badgie again, and stumbled to the door.

“I do hate to bother you, sir,” said Dostiago, “I know it's not a decent hour, but I must ask you to dress and come with me.”

“Where and what for? What new foolery is this? I have followed you before, and it always leads to trickery and deceit, lunch on a battleground, a cardiac attack.”

“I am appalled that you would think I do not hold you in the highest regard, Master Finn. I am deeply pained, sir.”

“I strongly doubt that.” Finn peered around the fellow, checking to see if any rogues or rascals were about.

“I don't believe I've ever seen you pained, Dostagio. Or, for that matter, delighted, saddened, concerned with anything at all.”

“Yes, sir. The King would like your presence at once. You are to bring your gift to His Grace, and the device you call your lizard. Do hurry, sir. The King is anxious to get to sleep… “