Cassius inclined his head. “I shall,” he assured the young Warden. Indeed, he doubted Rowena would much care, but it had given him a pretext for coming and, he knew, she would be more or less glad to hear that young Rowlin had been honored by her congratulations. Rowena Godiva liked little more than to be headed and admired.
Once again Cassius inclined his head, this time in recognition of a favor done. “Then, you have my thanks. I hope, too, I may tell my friends that this honor extends to them, as well,” he began softly as servants scuttled about, placing heaping piles of food before them. “A contingent of them shall be arriving…presently.” Any day now, he supposed. “As it happens, they are cousins of the late Lord Valles, which is the cause of their coming, and are most honored soon to meet Your Lordship.”
Tilting his head, Cassius listened intently as Rowlin spoke. In truth, he was accustomed to listening so when people spoke of things that did not interest him. After all, he had much practice in the area: he had a seat on the Queen’s Council. “I am sorry to hear that they were not to your liking. Perhaps your forthcoming nuptials will provide ample opportunity to rectify whatever may have been lacking in the ceremonies of your ascension.” The Dragonrider arched his brows. “I suppose that must be difficult. Most men loose such a station when they loose their lives: few are obliged to step down.”
In truth, Cassius had little love for Lucian Moran, and felt that there was little to recommend so severe a man for the position of Warden. However, his replacement also seemed rather to lack the positive qualities that recommended leadership. This was the case all across Aragoth: the West, which was technically led by a four year old child, seemed to have the most capable government. In any case, he found himself biting back a grim smile. He was confident such a sentiment had often been expressed regarding himself.
“I suppose he must have other qualities,” said Cassius, because it seemed the thing to say. He glanced down at his plate, glanced with his most sociable expression (only a few beats away from his usual scowl) to the young Warden. He was, after all, here mostly to make out the character of the young man. “How do you best like to pass your time?”
He must be a fine actor, thought Cassius. He seemed genuinely sullen considering the fate of Jon Valles - and, as Warden, this was required of him when receiving such news - but Cassius could not help but think it must be an act. Who could regret the death of a monster? Certainly, Cassius knew, no one would grieve his own passing. “He shall, my lord. Already he awaits his trial in the Queen’s deepest cells. There is little doubt as to the truth of the matter,” (which was, of course, that Alexandir was innocent and yet destined to die), “And the Queen’s jury shall no doubt see this for themselves, soon enough.” His trial would reach only one conclusion and then his head would be cleaved from his shoulders and the name of Godiva would be at an end. “The Queen,” he began, rather ironically. “Has never shied from justice such as this.”
“Of course,” Rowlin said, “Any friend of yours, is certainly a friend of mine.” He took another sip of wine, “Cousins of the late Lord Valles?” He inquired, considering, “I shall be very eager to meet them. I promise you, i shall make certain that they are comfortable here.” He’d heard something about them: perhaps it was his uncle who had said something? He couldn’t be sure. Whenever his uncle spoke, he tended not to listen to much he had to say. They’d inherited from Valles, he supposed. Or was it that they’d been given the land by his widowed wife? Either way, he was happy to meet them: as relatives to Valles and friends of Montagu, Rowlin was sure that they would prove to be valued acquaintances.
“Indeed. My wedding shall be a grand affair. You are most welcome to attend, of course,” He said. “In fact, I insist upon it!” He added, smiling, as though he had the right to command anything of Cassius Montagu. He suddenly imagined what a grand celebration his wedding would be, especially with a dragon rider in attendance. Few weddings, nowadays, were blessed with such a presence. He planned to count his own amongst them.
He laughed, “I wonder what the old man will get up to these days, now that he’s out of a job. He’ll remain here, I expect, trying to do things for me.” He won’t get far, Rowlin thought. He had no intention of listening to anything Lucian Moran had to say ever again. “He’s getting married, you know.” He commented, “To Margery Mortain from the South. Have you ever met her, my lord? Is she is as old and ugly as they say she is?”
Rowlin took another sip of wine, “I enjoy a great many things,” He said, “Riding and hunting when the weather is warm enough, and attending grand feasts and balls when it is not, and of course,” He smiled mischievously, “attending to my fiancée during all sorts of weather. Have you had the pleasure of meeting Lady Vipont? She is very beautiful. Very beautiful, indeed.”
Rowlin nodded solemnly, “I never doubted the dwarf’s involvement.” He said, “He only visited here once that I remember, but I never liked him. There was something about him ... something that left me feeling suspicious of his character.” The something had been that Alexandir Godiva had not stood for Rowlin’s conduct and had humiliated him in front of everyone. Rowlin hadn’t taken kindly to that. “I’m sorry that someone had to die, for it to finally come to light.”
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