Trickster's Choice by Tamora Pierce Read Free Book Online Page A

lips were thin almost to the point of invisibility.

    Like most luarin nobles, he wore the fashions of the Eastern Lands, remade for a jungle city: elegant blue silk hose and a blue linen tunic over a semi-sheer shirt of white lawn. The tunic was embroidered in the raka style along the collar and hems in a silver design of coiling dragons. He was dressed for an elegant spring party. His blue leather shoes were not meant for walking or riding in the rain, and he wore jeweled rings on every finger, a gold earring with a diamond bauble in one ear, and several gold chains on his chest.

    He caught Aly’s eye and smiled, his face lighting with humor and tremendous charm. “I know. I’m scarcely attired for the weather.”

    Aly gave him a sidelong glance, that of a woman who likes what she sees. He probably saw that look all the time and surely expected it. He smirked at her.

    “It’s not for me to say, my lord prince,” Aly murmured. The relationship between Tortall and the Isles had always been unsteady. She would get a measure of this man now so that she could add to her father’s notes about him when she returned. Their people seldom got the chance to talk to one of the most powerful men in the Copper Isles.

    Bronau’s eyebrows came together with an almost audible snap. “Come here, girl,” he said, beckoning.

    Aly obeyed. There was little danger that he might try anything improper. Under slave etiquette, another man’s slaves were to be left alone, unless the master or the slave involved indicated otherwise.

    The prince gripped Aly’s chin with his hand and inspected her face. “Not a drop of raka blood in you, is there?” he asked, curious.

    “No, my lord prince,” murmured Aly, keeping her eyes down.

    Bronau released her. “I don’t like the precedent, keeping luarin slaves. It gives the raka ideas. See here—if these raka dogs bother you, don’t hesitate to tell Duke Mequen,” he told Aly sternly. “He looks out for the slave women, and you can’t trust the raka to behave themselves unless they know there’s a whip close to hand.”

    “My lord prince is too kind,” Aly said, bowing once again. Bronau obviously didn’t know that Chenaol, who could juggle razor-sharp cleavers with ease, had discouraged most problems of that sort. “If you will excuse me, I will bring some refreshment to you,” she murmured.

    Bronau nodded and settled into his chair, watching the embers in the nearest brazier. Aly fetched the pitcher of wine and the tray of fruit, cakes, and cheese the cook had put together to the sitting room. As she set the tray where Bronau could reach it, then poured him a glass of wine, she made sure that nothing in her manner told him that she was interested in giving him more than food and drink. It wouldn’t take more than the right look and the right smile with this man. She would be in his lap with his hand under her tunic before she could sneeze. Chenaol was right: Bronau had a flirt’s air. When Aly got home, she’d suggest to Da that they try one of their female agents with him. Bronau might tell far more than was prudent to a pretty, listening ear.

    Once he was served, she left him. She fetched a mop and set to work cleaning up the water the guests had tracked onto the marble floor of the hall. She was nearly finished when Ulasim raced down the steps from the family quarters. He slowed when he approached the azure sitting room, straightened his tunic, then went in to the prince. Both men emerged a moment later, to climb upstairs.

    Aly watched them go. She’d give much to know what Bronau told the Balitangs. He’d said “royal business”—was that code for problems with the king? It could be. Oron was insane. Most of Rittevon House was these days. Aly’s own mother had been forced to kill a Rittevon princess years before, when that lady started to kill people with an axe. The present Isles king was her uncle, a fearful and unstable man who turned on favored courtiers