Chapter 17: Pour It

Leander took him down to the study as the sky began to grey.

The fire was out.

On the desk, in the pale window light, stood a silver tray with three crystal glasses and a decanter of the Dauntrey red.

Leander had set it there while Corwin was dressing.

"Close the door," Leander said.

Corwin closed it.

"Pour me the third glass from the left."

Corwin stood with his bandaged arm against his chest and looked at the tray.

He had stood in front of that tray a hundred times.

It had never once felt heavy.

"Leander."

"I'm not asking, Corwin.

"I'm giving you an order.

"The one that has killed me four times.

"I want to hear it answered by you."

His hands were shaking at his sides.

His chin was up.

Corwin took the decanter in his good hand.

He poured the third glass slowly, a hand's breadth of red.

His hand was steadier than he would have believed, and he set the decanter down.

He lifted the glass and held it out to Leander with both hands.

"My lord," he said.

Leander took it.

The wine caught the grey light and turned the colour of old blood.

He looked into it for a long moment.

He was shaking so hard the surface trembled.

Then he lifted his eyes to Corwin's, and drank.

He drank all of it without stopping, with his gaze fixed on Corwin's face.

He set the empty glass on the desk with a small click.

They stood there, listening.

Nothing happened.

A bird began to sing in the garden.

"Say something," Leander whispered.

"It's wine," Corwin said.

"It's only wine, Leander.

"It's a very good vintage and it will give you a headache."

A noise came out of Leander.

It wasn't a laugh or a sob.

He took two steps forward and caught the front of Corwin's shirt in both fists.

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