In Which Severin Suggests a Title

September 23, 1184

"Her horse? The little slut wants her horse?" Rina's father flung the flint he'd picked up as the other man left to the floor, the resounding clang! bouncing about the walls. A degree of outrage tugged at Severin's mouth in response to the insult to Rina, but he didn't find the man frightening. He might have, had he grown up with him and known firsthand just what restrictions and punishments his cruelty meant, but without that perspective, he couldn't.

All he could think of was his little brother throwing a temper tantrum.

"Like hell I'll give you the horse! I paid for that horse! Get your scrawny peasant ass back to Naroni and remind the stupid girl of that!"

"Her grandfather paid for that horse--you being an heir, you wouldn't have had your own income before he died, and Rina had the horse before that. He was a gift that her grandfather wanted her to have. Are you going to insult your father's memory by denying that gift?"

"Don't dangle my father's ghost in front of me, you little shit!"

Heh. Dangling. "I don't have to. I know."

"Know what?"

Severin jerked his head downward as best he could. The location of the... er, secret made for an awkward angle, but a slight forward twinge in the man's hips--almost a subconscious thrust--seemed to indicate a met target. "I know."

"Don't be absurd, boy! There's nothing to know!" His nostrils flared out and in and in again, not unlike his father's dragon impersonation. His eyes, though, had lost some of their edge. "Who told you?"

"A source. Obviously." Satisfied, Severin crossed his arms and smirked. "Sounds like there is something to know."

"And what if there was? You're clearly not anyone of consequence, especially if you run around with ruined little whores. Even if you did have embarrassing information about me, what channel exists for a piece of shit like you to spread it?"

Good thing it had been a long enough journey for ample planning time. "Garrin Selebray."

"The bard?" Rina's father's eyes narrowed, the twinge of panic squeezing out. Severin had figured that might happen. He'd picked a high-profile name, after all. "Don't fuck with me. Garrin Selebray is a favorite of half the kings on the continent! How in God's name would a kid like you get--?"

"My mother is Thera Selebray." And so the panic swelled again. "His sister."

That did it. The man's eyes snapped wide open. "Wait... Garrin Selebray is..."

"My uncle," Severin finished for him. "He and my mother were the only two siblings, and he never settled down himself, so we're the only family he has. We're very close--and he's always looking for new song material."

"New material?"

"No bard worth his salt limits himself to the classics. And wouldn't that be an amusing treat for King Oswald next time Uncle Garrin is in Dovia? A hilarious new song about one of his noblemen?" A vein throbbed by the side of the man's eye. And now for the coupe de grace. "I wonder what that song might be titled. 'Felron of the Flat Pants'?"

"That's it!" He lunged, snarling--but not like an animal going for the kill. More like a last-ditch attempt to escape a predator's grasp. "You're bluffing! You're fucking with me! You're a rotten little liar!"

Maybe he was. Severin shrugged. "Want to risk it?"

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