was no thick-witted northern lout.
‘The duke of Talair just now humiliated a troubadour you say will be famous long after I am forgotten. He as much as called him an uneducated, drunken schoolboy. At a guess, that will have hurt rather more than the scratch from my blade. Will you agree that there are times when authority must be asserted? Or, if not, are you brave enough to turn that fire of yours against the duke right now? I’m the easy target, an outsider in a room full of people you know. Would that be a part of why you are pushing me like this? Would it be a fair thing to be doing?’
He was unexpectedly clever, but he hadn’t answered her question.
‘You haven’t answered her question,’ said Bertran de Talair.
Blaise of Gorhaut smiled again, the same wry, sideways expression as before; Lisseut had a sense that he’d almost been expecting that from the duke. She wondered how long they’d known each other. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ he said quietly. ‘If I agreed with those laws I’d be home right now, wouldn’t I, very likely wed to a properly disciplined woman, and very likely plotting an invasion of Arbonne with the king and all the corans of Gorhaut.’ He raised his voice at the end, quite deliberately. Lisseut, out of the corner of her eye, saw the Portezzans at their booth by the near wall exchange quick glances with each other.
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