Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) by Steven Brust Page A

said Khaavren, while Daro said, “You are charming, sir.”
    “Your arm, Countess?”
    “Here it is, Count.”
    “Come, I will introduce you to the Sorceress in Green.”
    “Ah, permit me to guess: She is the one wearing green?”
    “How did you know?”
    As Morrolan led Daro in one direction, Khaavren took his friend Aerich in the other, finding one of the private rooms that was, by chance, unoccupied. They took chairs, and silently toasted each other, after which Khaavren, looking carefully at Aerich, said, “If youwere Pel, rather than yourself, I should say, ‘my conscience pierces me.’ ”
    “ ‘Stabs’ is the formula, my friend.”
    “Well, stabs then. It doesn’t matter, as you are not Pel.”
    “No, I am not. And yet—he has become the Discreet. I am happy for him.”
    “Yes, his ambition is realized. Or, at least, one of his ambitions. Who knows how many he has?”
    “That is true, dear Khaavren. And Tazendra has realized her ambition—Tazendra Lavode. For myself, I should never have guessed it.”
    “Nor I, and yet we should have. You remember how well she and the Enchantress seemed to understand one another.”
    “That is true, and she has always had an abiding love for sorcery.”
    “And what of your ambitions, my dear Aerich?”
    “Mine? They are all fulfilled. I grow grapes, I watch them turn into wine, I drink the wine. What more could I want?”
    “And that is enough for you?”
    “More than enough, my dear friend.”
    “Family?”
    “Perhaps, someday. It would be good to be able to pass on my estate to an heir, but I am in no hurry.”
    “That is good.”
    “Moreover—”
    “Yes?”
    “I very nearly have a son.”
    “How, you do? You, Aerich?”
    “I said nearly, Khaavren. I was speaking of the young Viscount. He—but what is it, my dear friend?”
    “What is it? Why, you wrote to me.”
    “That is true, but then, you know that the Countess wrote to me.”
    “Well that is true.”
    “She indicated that you would be pleased to speak to me.”
    Khaavren smiled. “I do not deny it. But she said nothing of the subject upon which I desired speech with you?”
    “Not the least in the world. Does it concern your son, my friend?”
    “Aerich, how did you know?”
    “Because of the expression that crossed your countenance when I mentioned his name.”
    “It is impossible to deceive you.”
    “Well then, it does concern the Viscount?”
    “It does, Aerich.”
    “Is he well?”
    “I don’t know. That is to say, I do not know where he is.”
    “How, he has vanished?”
    “He has run off.”
    “But, he must have had a reason.”
    “Oh, yes. I think he had a reason.”
    “Well, relate the entire history to me.”
    “I will do so.”
    Khaavren described his conversation with Piro. Aerich shook his head upon learning that the young Tiassa had wished to marry outside of his House, and looked sad upon hearing of the Viscount’s embittered departure.
    “My poor friend,” murmured Aerich.
    “Tell me frankly,” said Khaavren. “Have I done wrong?”
    “To drive away one’s own son is wicked; to permit him to marry improperly is infamous.”
    “Had I a third choice?”
    “I don’t know, my friend. I am only glad, now, that I was never faced with the challenge of raising a child during a time when there was no Empire. The Empire is all we know of right and wrong; without it, we are lost, as a ship is lost when out of sight of land, with no record of its direction and rate of sail.”
    Khaavren emitted a short, barking laugh—the laugh one gives out of bitterness, rather than amusement—and said, “If the Empire is all we know of right and wrong, then I am surely wrong, for I have left the Empress’s service.”
    “Have you, Khaavren? That astonishes me.”
    “Well, it is good that I can still astonish you on occasion.”
    “Would you care to tell me why you resigned, Khaavren? You needn’t if you don’t wish to.”
    “Bah. This Phoenix annoys