Scent of Magic Read Online Free Page B

there was movement on one of the Chancellor's shoulders which continued down his right arm until, from under the heavy embroidery of his wide cuff, there appeared a sleek black head. So dark was the fur that covered it that one could only catch a gleam now and then of yellow reflecting the candlelight from two eyes above a narrow pointed snout. The Duke watched distastefully as the whole of Vazul's pet appeared—though the creature seemed more than just an animal and certainly its lithe, long-bodied shape, the very short legs sharply clawed, could not be seen anywhere else in Kronen that Uttobric knew of. He hated the creature, still something had always prevented him from ordering the Chancellor to at least keep the thing out of the ducal presence. It sat up now and licked down its chest.
    The Duke made an effort to ignore it. Instead he returned to his querulous question of earlier.
    “Do I go, hat in hand, and approach Hawkner throughLord Perfer? Our ambassador is a fool, and we do not know how much he can be trusted.”
    “Not quite yet.” Vazul was drawing his hand down the back of the creature. “Has Your Highness spoken with the Lady Mahart? She is certainly of an age to be thinking of marriage—of a handsome prince—”
    “She chatters like a hoobird if I welcomed it,” snapped the Duke. “Possibly within a breath she would spill it all to that Lady Zuta and then it would be common knowledge.”
    “Just so. However"—the Chancellor continued to stroke his pet—"I did not mean make free with the heart of the matter, merely speak to her of marriage. Who knows such a rumor might bring the Lady Saylana's attention and push her supporters out of their holes to your advantage.”
    The Duke chewed a fingernail; his glance swept from the Chancellor to those piles of reports. Yes, if they could just stir the pot a little some useful steam might arise.
    “Well enough,” he said. “That much can certainly be done. Summon Burris—one might as well get to the thing.”
    The Chancellor arose and went to pull the bell rope which would bring the Duke's personal servant. He neither smiled nor displayed any change in feature. It was becoming very easy to bring Uttobric to his way of thinking—-but overconfidence was a sin.
    The great bell's boom broke into the most pleasant of dreams. Mahart had never seen the world outside these ancient walls since she was a very small girl, but tonight she had skimmed away from her tower to a place she barely remembered when awake-—a great open field in which brilliant gems of flowers bent under a breeze which carried the scent of summer itself.
    The scent of summer—her brows drew together in a faint frown of one seeking a memory. Of course! Now she squirmed free of the tangle of silk and velvet and satup. Her attention was on the small brazier which sat on the edge of her wide dressing table. No fragrant smoke threads arose upward from it now, but, as she stretched her arms wide, she felt she could purr like one of the guard cats who kept the castle free of vermin.
    She was indeed a Herbmistress—that Halwice—to produce an incense which supplied such peaceful and comforting dreams. They said she was a mistress of scents so powerful that they could draw or repel another. Mahart's dissatisfied gaze went on to the array of fancifully fashioned bottles on that same dressing table. Many of those held rare fragrances from overseas—her father was very apt on Winter Turn day to present her with something new of that sort. It was as if in his mind a bottle of scent was an excellent substitute for the dolls of an earlier day— though he had actually continued to present those before someone, probably Vazul, had pointed out that she was at last grown up.
    She did not ring for Julta, her maid. Rather, she freed herself from the cocoon of covers, thrust her feet into her waiting fur-lined slippers, and crossed to seat herself on the bench of the dressing table, bending at once to sniff