Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) Read Online Free
Author: Lindsay Buroker
Tags: General Fiction
doing now.
He swallowed, the necklace bumping awkwardly as he signed with it dangling from one hand: Is it something you would consider? I have come to value you a great deal. You are one of the few people who understands me and the only one of our people who doesn’t condemn me for what I’ve had to do to survive . He grimaced, wishing he were explaining himself better. He didn’t want her to think that the only reason he cared for her was because she didn’t scowl at him and promise he was going to Hell because he had chosen violence over death.
“Leyelchek,” Elwa said slowly. “You’re kind and loyal, and have many other wonderful qualities. Now that you’re working on behalf of our people, I’m sure more of them will be able to look past your scars and see that. You’re a good man, and maybe you’ll even be a great man someday, but I’m not… attracted to you in that way.”
Basilard’s hands drooped, the wooden disk bumping against his thigh. Even if he’d still had access to his voice, he couldn’t have spoken then, not with his throat constricting and disappointment pricking at his eyes.
Elwa shifted her weight, wrapping one hand in the fabric of her dress, her face twisting with discomfort. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe otherwise. I didn’t mean…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Amid his own disappointment, Basilard also felt miserable for having made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, then strode away.
Her sleeve brushed some of the thorns on the rosebushes, and she pulled it away hastily, the fabric ripping. She kept walking, her pace almost a run as she fled the garden.
For a long moment, Basilard stood there, his chin drooped to his chest. He did not know where to go. Back to his room? A room next door to Elwa’s? Would it make her more uncomfortable to know he was so close? Would knowing she was only a wall away and would always be at least a wall away make him miserable? More miserable?
He stuffed the woven necklace into his pocket. He almost dropped it into the pot instead, since it wasn’t as if he would need it again, but he didn’t want to explain himself if some gardener found it, recognized it as a Mangdorian item, and brought it to his door.
With slow shambling steps, Basilard headed for the gate. Full darkness had fallen, and he had no idea where he would go. Perhaps he would wander the streets of the capital, a city so populous and so different from his mountain homeland that he sometimes felt the press of all the people choking him, making him long for the sparsely populated forests that no longer wanted him.
“Psst,” came a male voice from the shadows outside of the garden gate.
It was an indication of Basilard’s distraction that he hadn’t noticed Maldynado lurking nearby. Once, he had been a great hunter with keenly honed senses, and he had survived countless life-or-death fights here in Turgonia. Maybe his months of sitting at tables and talking to the Turgonian president and other diplomats had dulled his skills.
“How did it go?” Maldynado asked, ambling out of the shadows, a broad-brimmed hat masking his features. Not that Basilard wouldn’t have recognized his voice from miles away. “Or should I not ask? Usually, it’s not a good sign when the woman flees. I’ve heard. Marriage proposals aren’t something I’ve tried often. Why marry a woman when you can simply charm her into your bedroom, eh?”
Basilard sighed and stopped walking, though a part of him was tempted to continue past, ignoring Maldynado. But when Maldynado leaned against the wrought-iron frame of the gate, folding his arms over his chest, his expression held more sympathy and concern than the flippant words would have implied. He tilted back the brim of his hat, the excessive width appropriate for keeping him dry in a storm and perhaps gathering a few gallons of rainwater for later, as well, then smiled down and thumped Basilard on the
He swallowed, the necklace bumping awkwardly as he signed with it dangling from one hand: Is it something you would consider? I have come to value you a great deal. You are one of the few people who understands me and the only one of our people who doesn’t condemn me for what I’ve had to do to survive . He grimaced, wishing he were explaining himself better. He didn’t want her to think that the only reason he cared for her was because she didn’t scowl at him and promise he was going to Hell because he had chosen violence over death.
“Leyelchek,” Elwa said slowly. “You’re kind and loyal, and have many other wonderful qualities. Now that you’re working on behalf of our people, I’m sure more of them will be able to look past your scars and see that. You’re a good man, and maybe you’ll even be a great man someday, but I’m not… attracted to you in that way.”
Basilard’s hands drooped, the wooden disk bumping against his thigh. Even if he’d still had access to his voice, he couldn’t have spoken then, not with his throat constricting and disappointment pricking at his eyes.
Elwa shifted her weight, wrapping one hand in the fabric of her dress, her face twisting with discomfort. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe otherwise. I didn’t mean…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Amid his own disappointment, Basilard also felt miserable for having made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, then strode away.
Her sleeve brushed some of the thorns on the rosebushes, and she pulled it away hastily, the fabric ripping. She kept walking, her pace almost a run as she fled the garden.
For a long moment, Basilard stood there, his chin drooped to his chest. He did not know where to go. Back to his room? A room next door to Elwa’s? Would it make her more uncomfortable to know he was so close? Would knowing she was only a wall away and would always be at least a wall away make him miserable? More miserable?
He stuffed the woven necklace into his pocket. He almost dropped it into the pot instead, since it wasn’t as if he would need it again, but he didn’t want to explain himself if some gardener found it, recognized it as a Mangdorian item, and brought it to his door.
With slow shambling steps, Basilard headed for the gate. Full darkness had fallen, and he had no idea where he would go. Perhaps he would wander the streets of the capital, a city so populous and so different from his mountain homeland that he sometimes felt the press of all the people choking him, making him long for the sparsely populated forests that no longer wanted him.
“Psst,” came a male voice from the shadows outside of the garden gate.
It was an indication of Basilard’s distraction that he hadn’t noticed Maldynado lurking nearby. Once, he had been a great hunter with keenly honed senses, and he had survived countless life-or-death fights here in Turgonia. Maybe his months of sitting at tables and talking to the Turgonian president and other diplomats had dulled his skills.
“How did it go?” Maldynado asked, ambling out of the shadows, a broad-brimmed hat masking his features. Not that Basilard wouldn’t have recognized his voice from miles away. “Or should I not ask? Usually, it’s not a good sign when the woman flees. I’ve heard. Marriage proposals aren’t something I’ve tried often. Why marry a woman when you can simply charm her into your bedroom, eh?”
Basilard sighed and stopped walking, though a part of him was tempted to continue past, ignoring Maldynado. But when Maldynado leaned against the wrought-iron frame of the gate, folding his arms over his chest, his expression held more sympathy and concern than the flippant words would have implied. He tilted back the brim of his hat, the excessive width appropriate for keeping him dry in a storm and perhaps gathering a few gallons of rainwater for later, as well, then smiled down and thumped Basilard on the
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