Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 by A Pride of Princes (v1.0) Read Free Book Online Page B

meaning to say to them?"
                "Whatever comes out of my mouth
at the moment."
                He took her arm and escorted her
into yet a third chamber, a private withdrawing room.
                "You will be giving them a
chance, then." But she did not sound at all convinced.
                Niall indicated she was to sit down
in one of the X-legged chairs. "Promise me, meijha, you will leave the
punishment to me."
                "In other words, you are
wanting me to be silent." She scowled at him as she sat down, but it
lacked the determination to have much of the desired affect. " Tis for you
to do, then," she agreed. "They are your sons, not mine." And
she folded her hands primly in her lap.
     
                "Oh, gods," Brennan said
when Taggart had told them where they must go. "He is angry."
                "And are you a woman or a
warrior?" Corin demanded crossly. "We are too big to spank, Brennan;
why do you dread facing him so much?"
                "Probably because only rarely
have I had to be reprimanded. It is you who have spent so much of your time in
his bad graces." Brennan turned on his heel and marched out of the solar.
                "So has Hart," Corin said
defensively, following. Still he cradled the sore wrist, wondering if it were
cracked or merely badly bruised. "I am not the only one who has been sent
before our jehan."
                "Is that a point of
pride?" Brennan asked acidly.
                "Your arm hurts," Hart
announced, bringing up the rear. "You are irritable, rujho."
                "If I am irritable, it is
because I am plagued with a young rujholli who lacks the wit to know when to
humble himself," Brennan declared. "He will only make it worse, if he
gives our jehan defiance instead of contrition."
                Corin swore in disgust. "It was
Reynold's fault, not mine. And I was the last to join the fight. You, Brennan,
were first."
                "Aye," Hart agreed.
"And that is precisely why I think he will not be so angry. He is
accustomed to our scrapes, Corin. But with Brennan involved in this one, I
think he will believe it had merit."
                Brennan sighed. "That is
something, I suppose." And he swung into the open doorway to the Mujhar's
royal apartments.
                Niall watched them file in. Brennan
first, of course; as always. The eldest was plainly out of sorts in clothing as
well as temper, though he tried to hide both by forcing his face into a calm,
neutral expression and attempting to straighten the fit of his velvet doublet.
Niall saw wine stains, blood stains, gaping rents. Through the remains of the
left sleeve, lir-gold gleamed faintly.
                Hart, now second in line, looked
much worse. His dark blue doublet was as stained and torn, but his face was
badly bruised and already showed the beginnings of a black eye. There was no
blood or wound visible, but he walked with the odd, stiffly upright posture of
a man afraid to move anything above his waist. Ribs, then.
                As for Corin, the youngest trailed
the other two as if to defy his father, jaw jutting out to advertise his unwillingness
to accept responsibility for his actions. It was a familiar posture to Niall,
who murmured inwardly that one day, if it pleased the gods, Corin might grow
up—and was relieved to see the son who looked so much like him showed no signs
of serious physical discomfort. Even if he did favor his right wrist, which
looked suspiciously swollen.
                Brennan glanced briefly at Deirdre,
so silent in her chair, and halted before his father. Niall stood before one of
the casements, hands folded behind his back. He waited as Hart halted, and then
Corin, who promptly sat down on the nearest stool.
                Hart leaned a little in Corin's
direction and hissed,