Gavin gave a vigorous nod. “As much as I’ve wanted the life of a normal man. Maybe more.” His gaze searched his father’s face. “I feared you wouldn’t be able to stand with me when Cinnia and I married.” Shadows darkened his eyes. “Who knew a woman’s love would turn the curse so vicious?”
Ballard shrugged. “A woman’s hatred brought it to life.” He turned to retrieve his cloak.
Gavin grasped his elbow, making him pause. “I’d take it back if I could. Shoulder what should be mine.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” Ballard never had a day’s regret in agreeing to Ambrose’s plan of redirecting the curse to him.
Gavin’s grip tightened. “Curse or no curse, I am proud to be the son of the noblest of men.”
Floundering before Gavin’s unexpected praise, Ballard sought footing in wry humor. “Good thing I’m the ugliest man too, or I might have challenged you for the lovely Cinnia.” He smiled at Gavin’s disbelieving snort.
“She’s far too soft for your tastes. You like them with teeth and claws to match yours.” The two grinned at each other until Gavin’s features turned somber once more. “She’s a walking sheaf of dried thistles, but Louvaen is also kind. I’m glad she chose otherwise, but I wouldn’t have forbidden her from taking Cinnia with her right after the wedding. I don’t know that it’s safe for anyone to be here with us, even now with the flux at ebb tide.”
The same thought plagued Ballard. The hard inner jerk on his spine always forewarned him of a coming flux. In the past they had time to prepare for the curse’s onslaught. Ballard feared they’d get no warning before the next flux.
Gavin continued. “It’s dangerous for the women to travel with pack horses loaded down with gold. Ambrose will enchant the contents of the treasury so they appear inside Mistress Duenda’s house. Clarimond and Joan already started filling chests.” He offered Ballard a grim smile. “Cinnia will be a rich widow, with plenty left over for the others.”
Ballard motioned for Gavin to follow him as he returned to his bedchamber for his cloak. “As long as Louvaen can keep her father from wasting every last coin on risky ventures.”
“I doubt she’ll let that happen again.”
Ballard prayed he was right. He reached for his finest cloak, a garment made of oil-tanned leather so soft and supple it flowed over his hand like velvet.
“Leave the cloak. Come down as you are.” Gavin tried to pull the cloak out of Ballard’s resisting grasp. “We’re your family,” he said. “You don’t have to hide from us.”
Ballard wrested the garment back and tossed it over his shoulders. “Louvaen will murder me, as will Cinnia,” he joked. “I’d have a lot to answer for if everyone gawked at me instead of your bride on her wedding day. The cloak stays on.”
Gavin sighed. “Then come down to the kitchens and share a flagon of wine with me. I’ve a virgin to gentle in my bed tonight.” His eyebrows wiggled playfully. “I could use a dram or six.”
Ballard strode out of the bedchamber. “I’ll take a sea monster over a virgin any day. You’ll need something a lot stronger than wine.”
They found themselves alone in a kitchen saturated with the scents of freshly baked bread, saffron and cinnamon. Gavin opened one of the cupboard doors, revealing a towel-covered platter. He peeked beneath the cloth and whistled. “I think Magda is the magician here, not Ambrose. She’s made fig pies for the celebration.”
Ballard sat down in his customary seat at the table. “She’ll split you from gullet to navel if you thieve so much as a crumb off that plate. Go get us the wine you promised.”
Gavin grinned and left for the buttery. He returned with a full pitcher and two goblets. Ballard poured, and the two men toasted each other before quaffing the first cup.
Ballard savored the time with his son, this layered camaraderie existing not only between parent and child but between two battle-weary fighters who faced a common enemy and soon a common end. He wished he might face the last alone.
They made small talk between them, Ballard recounting tales of the various weddings he’d been forced to attend for reasons of courtesy and politics. “I’m surprised I remember half of them,” he said. “I was cupshot through most of those celebrations. So was everyone else.”
Gavin refilled their goblets a fourth time. “It isn’t a wedding if you can’t empty the host’s stock of wine and ale in an evening.”
Ambrose discovered them a few minutes later. He eyed the pitcher and pulled a third goblet from one of Magda’s many cupboards. “Tell me there’s a little more. I’ve just escaped a flock of harpies.”
Ballard blinked. “You went to the bower? Were you looking to die?” He’d faced armies populated with berserkers without flinching; he wouldn’t dare approach a bride’s bower before the wedding.
The sorcerer swelled up like an adder. “I was in the hallway making my way to the stairs and minding my own business. Magda lured me into that death trap with a sweet smile.”
Gavin choked on his wine. A hard thump across the back from his father, and he cleared his throat. “That should have been your first warning,” he said between gasps of wheezy laughter.
Ambrose poured the last of the wine into his cup and drained it to the dregs. He smirked at the two men. “Well here’s a warning from the grand demoness herself: be in the great hall by the time Cinnia reaches the mezzanine, and you better be able to stand without swaying.”
Gavin’s face paled. He jerked up from his seat and swayed. Ballard and Ambrose groaned in unison. “I’m not drunk,” he assured them.
Ambrose slid a glance to Ballard who shrugged. “He shouldn’t be. It was just one flagon split between us.” He smiled wryly at his son. “I’d say you’re suffering from wedding terrors.”
Gavin nodded and gripped the table’s edge so hard his fingernails turned white.
