“The Veretian palace, afroth with ornament, paid only lip service to defence. The parapets were purposeless curving decorative spires. The slippery domes that he skirted would be a nightmare in an attack, hiding one part of the roof from the other.”

“You have to admire it,' said Laurent, in a detached voice. 'It's the perfect time to attack Akielos. Kastor is dealing with factional problems from the kyroi. Damianos, who turned the tide at Marlas, is dead. And the whole of Vere would rise up against a bastard, especially one who had cut down a Veretian prince. If only my murder weren't the catalyst, it's a scheme I would wholeheartedly support.”

“When Laurent turned to face him, hiseyes were dark. His lips were parteduncertainly. He had lifted his hand to hisown shoulder, as though chasing a ghosttouch there. He did not look exactlyrelaxed, but the movement did look alittle easier.”

“Stay back, old man. It isn't your business. This is the Prince of Vere.' 'But---I only paid three coppers for him,' said Volo, sounding confused.”

“It was a kind of fire dance in which the stick was thrown and caught, and the flame, tossed and twirled, created sinuous shapes, circles and ever-moving patterns. Ancel's red hair created a pleasing aesthetic alongside the red and orange fire. And even without the hypnotic movement of the flame, the dance was beguiling, its difficulties made to look effortless, its physicality subtly erotic. Damen looked at Ancel with new respect. This performance required training, discipline and athleticism, which Damen admired. It was the first time that Damen had seen Veretian pets display skill in anything other than wearing clothes or climbing on top of one another.”

“No," said Laurent, almost as if he wasrealising it for the first time. "I don'tthink you would. But I know you don'tlike it. I remember how much itmaddened you in the palace, to be boundand powerless. I felt yesterday howbadly you wanted to hit someone."Damen found he'd moved withoutrealising it, his fingers lifting to touchthe bruised edge of Laurent's jaw.He said, "The man who did this to you.”

“He found himself looking down at Laurent, his eyes passing slowly over the delicate skin, the lamp-darkened blue eyes, the elegant curve of cheekbone, interrupted by a stray strand of blond hair.”