Chapter 22 book 3 is live
Demands:
“I’ve been curious about that portrait in your study, Papa.”
“What portrait?” frowned his father.
“Well--not portrait, exactly. The Porfino. Of Neya.”
“Oh?” said Harsin in surprise. “What about it?”
“I was wondering perhaps if I could...borrow it for a little while, hang it in my study? Not permanently,” he hastened. “I know you like it. Just for a bit.”
“I should think there were enough naked women pretending to be Neya in your life already,” his father said sourly.
About as many as in your life, thought Temmin. But aloud, he said, “As it happens, Teacher’s been telling me the story behind that painting. Rose Herrada and all that. I just thought it’d be interesting to have the painting of her in my study while we’re, ehm, studying it.”
“You’re learning about Rose Herrada? Whatever for?”
“Teacher seems to think that if I learn her story I mightn’t get into as much trouble as my predecessor--some of my predecessors.” As soon as the slip was out of his mouth, Temmin cringed inside. If he were a small boy, he’d have hid under the table. But he was a man, and he faced his father’s darkening face with as much manly fortitude as he could muster.
“Trouble,” said his father crisply. “And what would you know about your predecessors and their troubles?”
“I know they had them,” said Temmin. “And I’m hoping I can avoid them.”
“So you’re passing judgment on your grandsires, are you? And me, too, I’d wager. You know nothing of ruling,” snapped Harsin. “You can’t even grow a proper beard yet, and you spend most of your week indolently lying around getting petted at the Lovers’ Temple.”
“I’ve been curious about that portrait in your study, Papa.”
“What portrait?” frowned his father.
“Well--not portrait, exactly. The Porfino. Of Neya.”
“Oh?” said Harsin in surprise. “What about it?”
“I was wondering perhaps if I could...borrow it for a little while, hang it in my study? Not permanently,” he hastened. “I know you like it. Just for a bit.”
“I should think there were enough naked women pretending to be Neya in your life already,” his father said sourly.
About as many as in your life, thought Temmin. But aloud, he said, “As it happens, Teacher’s been telling me the story behind that painting. Rose Herrada and all that. I just thought it’d be interesting to have the painting of her in my study while we’re, ehm, studying it.”
“You’re learning about Rose Herrada? Whatever for?”
“Teacher seems to think that if I learn her story I mightn’t get into as much trouble as my predecessor--some of my predecessors.” As soon as the slip was out of his mouth, Temmin cringed inside. If he were a small boy, he’d have hid under the table. But he was a man, and he faced his father’s darkening face with as much manly fortitude as he could muster.
“Trouble,” said his father crisply. “And what would you know about your predecessors and their troubles?”
“I know they had them,” said Temmin. “And I’m hoping I can avoid them.”
“So you’re passing judgment on your grandsires, are you? And me, too, I’d wager. You know nothing of ruling,” snapped Harsin. “You can’t even grow a proper beard yet, and you spend most of your week indolently lying around getting petted at the Lovers’ Temple.”
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