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Scyld had no idea how much of Linduial’s tirade was for show and how much was genuine, but he nevertheless felt entirely relieved at it. At least he knew how to deal with this. His wonted smirk had lodged itself back on his face, and not even the soggy, disgusting eggs she hurled at him wiped it off; shock him though it did, he was much more amused than annoyed. Rubbing his face on his sleeve, he mused that this part of her irritation was almost certainly genuine. He did not know why this did not bother him, except that he figured that if she really was as honorable as she claimed, a bit of annoyance with him would not cause her to revoke her offer.
“You are hardly in a position to make demands,” he answered, “but I shall inform Sorn of your wish.” He stood up, and as he walked past her he picked a stringy bit of egg off his shirt and flung it at her face. “Although you may wish to blame the cook for the quality of the eggs…” he murmured to her.
He tramped heavily up the stairs as if he truly were fed up with her and pasted an exasperated look on his face. He deliberately left the cellar door open as he went to find Sorn, and unsurprisingly found him rather close to the door, confirming Scyld’s guess that it had indeed been Sorn who had heard them. Sorn obviously did not know much about eavesdropping, Scyld thought with contempt. Not only had he let himself be known, but he had also not made a show of doing something else.
“The Lady wishes to speak to you,” Scyld announced without preamble. “And I do believe she was ready to throw her glass at me next if I did not find you.”
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