Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 289
even the things you call foolish. Else how could we know
anything? Anything at all?"
Armiger said nothing, but he nodded in acquiescence.
"Sometimes one’s responsibility goes beyond one’s own
generation," Galas said. She sat in the chair next to Megan’s,
and smiled at her warmly. "I trust you slept well, lady?"
"Yes, thank you, your highness."
"And you, Sir Maut? Do you even sleep?" Her voice
held a teasing note.
He inclined his head. "When it suits me." Then he
frowned. "I hope you don’t view us a pair of jesters, here to
distract you from what’s waiting outside your gates. My
purpose is quite serious--as serious as your own situation."
Galas’ eyes flashed, but she only said, "I remain to be
convinced. That is all."
"Fair enough." Armiger moved from his perch on the
arm of the couch, to sit down properly. "So, who am I, and
what do I want of you? That is what you would like to know."
Galas nodded. Megan saw that the moth-note Armiger
had written her was stuck, folded, through the belt of her dress.
Perhaps she had been rereading it over breakfast. For
reassurance?
Megan couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like for
her, with those men camped outside, waiting permission to
brutalize and destroy everything. Servants killed, treasured
possessions robbed... but Galas was outwardly cool.
She must be crying inside. It’s cruel of Armiger to give
her any hope now.
"Ask me anything," said Armiger. "Ask me something to
test my knowledge, if you wish."
"Were all my mistakes obvious?" blurted the queen. "Is
what I’ve fought for all my life trivially simple anywhere else?