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s like the tension of a drawn bow in the room。 Blaise drew a long breath and noted； with some surprise； that most of the people around him were doing the same。
There would have been other cries of approval doubtless； a swelling of applause to honour the singer and the troubadour who'd written the song； but just then the door to The Liensenne banged loudly open； letting in raucous noises from the darkening street outside。 Blaise turned quickly to look and saw who was standing there； and the shape and nature of the evening changed entirely in that moment。
He was looking at the man he had killed on the black horse by Lake Dierne。
CHAPTER 5
It wasn't； of course。 It wasn't the same man； the dead remained dead； even here in Arbonne； even on Midsummer Eve。 But the dark…skinned； arrogant look was the same； the heft and build； the muscled； dangerous quality of the Arimondan was exactly as Blaise remembered it from that afternoon by the lake with the Arch of the Ancients just beyond。
And the man was gazing at him with a look pounded equally of hatred and fierce joy。
Beside Blaise； Valery said quickly out of the side of his mouth； 〃I did mean to tell you before。 I should have。 His brother； same birth。 Be very careful。〃
Blaise registered this without taking his eyes off the Arimondan by the door。 The man was clad in the green livery of Miraval and he； too； wore a sword； the curved blade of his own country。
Urté de Miraval rose； without haste； so too； on the other side of Ariane de Carenzu； did Bertran。 The lady remained sitting； though she had turned in her chair to glance over her shoulder at the door。
〃Quzman；〃 said the duke of Miraval； 〃I wondered where you were； and so long。 See； as I promised you； there is a Gorhautian coran here you have expressed a desire to meet。〃
〃I do see that；〃 said the Arimondan。 His voice was deep； almost musical。 He smiled。 〃I am most pleased。 In my country we have a saying： murderers must be dealt with swiftly lest the green grass wither beneath their tread。 Will you e outside with me； or do you only fight from a distance？〃
〃It was not murder；〃 said Valery sharply before Blaise could reply。 〃The priests and priestesses of Rian's Isle were witnesses and have told their tale。〃
The man called Quzman seemed not to have heard。 There was something uncanny about his smile； the way his entire being seemed focused upon Blaise。 Once； in a Gotzland castle； Blaise had seen a man look at another in that way； and death had followed before the night was done。 Now； in response to the nakedness of this challenge； Blaise felt his own anger rekindling； a memory of the encounter by the lake； the luxuriously articulated； ugly words of the Arimondan on the black horse。
〃You do seem distressed；〃 he said to the man by the door； keeping his own voice relaxed； almost lazy； in the way his friend Rudel or even Bertran de Talair would say this thing。 〃Tell me； did I kill your brother or your lover there？ Or were they one and the same？〃
〃Careful！〃 Valery whispered urgently again。 But Blaise had the pleasure of seeing the Arimondan's smile stiffen into something harsh and artificial； a rictus； as of death。
〃You have a foul murderer's tongue； Northerner。〃 It was Urté de Miraval。 〃I do not see why we should suffer it to wag freely among us； and then carry back a spy's tale to Ademar of Gorhaut。〃
So that was brought into it too； now。 Predictably。
〃That last is the thought of a fool；〃 said Bertran calmly。 〃And as for murder： this man was set upon by while riding in peace on the countess's high road。 His pony was slain and his horse； and six cowards in your service sought to kill him。 I would not speak so glibly of murder； my lord of Miraval。 I might； instead； give a passing thought to the petence of my corans were it my own six killers who were slain by one man alone。〃
〃These are words；〃 said Quzman of Arimonda contemptuously。 〃Words and posturings； the sad vices of Arbonne。 This man and I can end this alone outside； no one else need be part of it。 Unless he is truly afraid。 As for the new law you mention 。。。 〃
He took two strides into the room； graceful as a hunting cat； and knelt before Urté。 〃My lord； matters touching upon the honour of my family pel me to ask leave to withdraw from your service for a time； that my actions need have no bearing on your own affairs。 Will you grant me leave？〃
〃He will not；〃 said a clear； cold voice。 The only voice in the room that could have tried to wield authority in that moment。
They all turned to her。 Ariane de Carenzu had not troubled to rise or even fully turn to face the men。 She was still looking over her shoulder； casually； her black hair tumbling down the back of her chair。 There was nothing casual about her words though。 〃In the name of the countess of Arbonne I forbid this duel。 There is a land price placed on deaths between Talair and Miraval。 It has been proclaimed and posted and cannot be evaded…understand me； my lords…by sham devices of this sort。 I will not let the countess be mocked。 Nor will I allow this night of the goddess to be marred in such a way。 I hold you both strictly accountable； my lords； for the conduct of your men。〃
〃Surely so； but if he leaves my service…〃 Urté de Miraval began。
〃He requires your consent and you will not give it。〃
The woman's voice was precise and authoritative； the flat tone of someone absolutely versed in mand。 Even after months in Arbonne； Blaise found it disconcerting to see the two dukes so accepting of a woman's unveiled note of power。
He opened his mouth to speak； his own anger strong within him； and received a hard elbow in the ribs。 〃Don't do it！〃 Valery muttered； as if reading his mind。
He probably had； Blaise thought…the path of his thinking would have been clear enough。 Blaise was； by his own insistence； not bound to Bertran de Talair by any oaths of fealty。 He was a hired mercenary and could end his contract at any time； forfeiting only whatever pay was due to him and as yet untendered and freeing himself to fight the Arimondan； without seeking a by…your…leave from anyone； including this black…haired woman who styled herself a queen； if only of the troubadours' Court of Love。
He drew a slow breath； met Valery's gaze for a moment and held his peace。 He looked around the room。 No one else seemed to have dared to move。 With mild surprise he saw that the girl with the harp； still wearing Bertran's blue cloak； was staring at him from across the room。 He couldn't read her gaze from a distance； but he could guess。 She had thrust herself forward to defend the honour of the troubadour he'd wounded。 She would probably be quite content if he died by a curved； bejewelled Arimondan sword。
His gaze swept past her and upwards。 On the upper storey of the inn； men and women had crowded to the railings； first for the music and now for what had followed。 Most of their faces were hidden by the cross…beams； a procession of legs lined the hallway above his head； cut off at the trunk。 It was odd； in a way； an audience of feet and calves and thighs in variously coloured hose。
〃You came here bearing a message； I think；〃 Ar