Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles, #4)

by Ilona Andrews

Arland raised his eyebrows. “I’ve survived countless attempts at manipulation before. I appear to be too dense for it. However, I am open to being seduced.”

“You told your mother.” “Of course I did. You’re not some shameful secret I’m going to hide.” “No, I’m a disgraced exile who had the audacity to turn down the most beloved son of House Krahr.” He considered it. “Not the most beloved. My cousin is much more adorable than me. He is two and his hair is curly.”

Arland’s face took on the stony expression of a man who was either about to charge the enemy line for the fifth time in a single day, or do his taxes.

“Where were you?” she asked quietly. “Dealing with an idiot. One of Karat’s knights challenged her in direct violation of my orders.” So that’s why Karat wasn’t at dinner. “How did it go?” Arland shrugged. “He’ll walk again. Some day.”

“’A man who never does anything deserving repercussions will never taste victory,’” she said with a straight face. “That idiot couldn’t find his way out of a boot with floodlights and scout support. Trust me, victory is not in his future.”

“What were you doing all that time in his rooms?” “Helen watched a movie. We talked. It was sweet.” “So, you took the child with you…Wait.” Karat paused. “Did you just say my cousin was sweet? Arland Krahr? The Bloodmace? The Bone Crusher? The Ravager of Nexus? That Arland?”

“A human goes off to walk the Lantern Vigil, while my cousin the Marshal stays home to babysit,” Karat said. “I realize now why I have never fallen in love. I’m entirely too sane for that nonsense.”

“Would I have time to devote to hobbies and leisurely pursuits?” Arland frowned, pretending to think. “Let me ponder. Two weeks! I took two weeks off in the last six years, and my uncle came to fetch me as if I were a wayward lamb. Because the great House of Krahr cannot endure without my constant oversight. My job, my hobby, my off time, my ‘me’ time, all my time consists of taking care of the never-ending sequence of mundane and yet life-threatening tasks generated by the well-honed machine that is the knighthood of House Krahr. I haven’t had a moment to myself since I was ten years old.” Lord Soren stood up, took a small blanket off the back of the nearest chair, walked up to Arland, and draped it over his nephew’s head like a hood. Okay. She hadn’t encountered that before. “He is giving me a mourning shroud,” Arland said and pulled the blanket off his head. “Like the mourners wear at funerals.” “So you may lament the tragic loss of your youth,” Soren said.

“It brings me and the Lord Consort great joy,” Maud said. Lord Consort projected all of the joy of a boiling thundercloud.

“Do you feel I need assistance defending my honor?” Arland leaned back and glanced into her quarters. “What are you doing?” Maud asked. “Checking to see where your sword is before I answer.”