The Jaguar Knights by Dave Duncan Page B

conjuration on her and she had bespelled Athelgar. The Blades knew that this was not true; her hold over him was not spiritual at all. The Guard called her the Hag.
    About two weeks after Wolf’s binding, a rumor swept through the Court that the Marquesa was with child. The news rolled on to echo in all the courts of Eurania, but in fact it was mere speculation, which passage of time disproved. She had experienced a mild dizzy spell, no more.
    Bloodhand and Wolf were on ornamental duty outside the ballroom door, required to stand there like candelabra until the palace burned down or rabid Baels came foaming along the corridor, smiting bystanders with axes. The clotted cream of Chivian society swept through between them in jewels and finery without a glance. Except, for some fateful reason, Celeste, who arrived like an empress regnant, leading her train of ladies-in-waiting. Her overskirt was a wonder of scarlet-and-gold brocade, rich and weighty, as were her puffed and slashed sleeves. Thosewere tasteful and respectable, but her lace bodice was fine as gossamer and virtually transparent. Athelgar encouraged her to flaunt what he could enjoy and other men could not.
    As she swept past Wolf, he winked. She carried on into the hall as if nothing had happened, trailing attendants and a faint scent of lilac. The babble hushed for a moment, which was normal and predictable. Suddenly women screamed. The two Blades ran to investigate. The lady had fainted, that was all.
    It had taken her a moment to make the connection. Boys change much more than girls do, and she had not seen him before in that context. Wolf was sorry he had startled her so badly, but that, he thought, was that.
    Wrong.
    How could the King’s mistress possibly snatch a private word with the most junior member of the Royal Guard? For Celeste this was no problem at all. She was at the height of her powers then, able to manipulate Athelgar like a silken glove on her subtle little hand. She began by persuading him to declare that the annual Apple Blossom Night festivities would include a masked ball, thus throwing the Court into panic and canceling sleeping time for every tailor and seam-stress in the city. The Guard detested nothing in the world more than a masked ball. Leader canceled all leave for that evening.
    Celeste was more than a perfect body driven by a lust for power. She also had an incomparable sense of humor, and that evening she chose to dress in Guard livery. Needless to say, no Blade had ever revealed so much of his chest in public, nor had such a chest. Never had silken hose looked as good on their legs as it did on hers. At an appropriate moment, she excused herself and in the powder room concealed her costume under a white domino, which one of her maids had brought for her. With the hood raised to hide her resplendent hair and a white mask in place of her former blue one, she returned to the ball anonymous.
    Wolf was on duty beside a table of comfits, although spirits know what good he was supposed to be doing. He caught a whiff of lilac and looked around to see familiar sea-green eyes peering out at him. He knew every gold fleck in them.
    “Hello, Amy,” he said. “Congratulations.”
    “I think you have made a mistake, Sir Blade.”
    “Really? How are Tim and Sarah and Eli and all the other Sprats? How are things in Sheese anyway?”
    She sighed. “Much duller after you left, Ed.” Amy Sprat was a realist. Aghost of a smile played over the rose petal lips. “And what is the price of your silence?”
    “That smile is ample reward, my lady.” He could smile too. “I didn’t talk then and I won’t talk now.”
    “You swear?”
    “I swear on my soul and on the happiest of memories. Your secret is safe with me. Take him for all you can get.”
    She moved closer to the table to sample the sweetmeats. She reached for some treat; her breast touched his arm. The Guard’s orgying lessons had not yet expunged all his innocence, but he knew