Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 445
she did not remember him.
Oh, but she did.
His bruises impressed the bodyguards. She told Lavin
later that otherwise they would have pitched him out the door,
as they did with the merchants and effete local noble’s sons
who came to pay homage. Lavin was no courtier; he wanted
no political favours. So they let him stay--but only if he drank
to match them.
Never before or since in his life had Lavin been so sick.
His only consolation was a dim memory of the princess
crouched beside him also throwing up the indeterminate
remains of today’s--or perhaps several day’s--lunch.
Deep and lasting bonds are forged in such moments.
It seemed that by achieving the worst nausea possible, he
had found a standard by which to measure his injury. Over the
next two days he made a remarkable recovery, primarily by
discovering in her company sufficient motivation to overcome
his dizziness.
Lately, reading the secret diary, he had recovered the
memory of her voice. He remembered now how they had
debated politics in those first days. She was passionate and
angry, and he was willing to indulge her for he was learning
she was not the insane creature of reputation, but a young lady
cursed with an intelligence that had no outlet within the life
prescribed for her. Lavin understood ambition. He wanted to
lead armies, be a great general like the heroes whose faces
were carved in the keystones of the academy. So he and she
became soulmates, even though he censored from his own
awareness half of what she said to him.
He had not been fair, he saw in retrospect. That was
why, when disaster struck in the form of her coronation, he had
not been invited to her side. She knew that though he