"P. N. Elrod & Nigel Bennett - His Father's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

He got it steady enough to control the pouring of a thin stream.
“Don’t stint with it, you fool.” Ambert shot his hand out and upset the cask. It was an old trick, the object
being to add stains to Richard’s clothing. The elegant new garments he wore now had obviously not
escaped Dear Brother’s notice; the temptation was irresistible. The result was different this time, though,
for Richard quickly moved out of the way, letting the thing crash to the floor. The wine flew in all directions,
a goodly amount of it splashing onto Ambert. He gasped and snarled, but only for a moment. The
startlement was clear on his face when he saw just how far out of the way Richard had taken himself in
the merest blink of an eye. He was at the other end of the long table.
“That was clumsy, wasn’t it?” said Richard, calmly surveying the damage. “Your fine coat is all
spoiled.”
“Bastard,” Ambert spat, throwing him a murderous look.
“That’s the whole point for you, isn’t it? I’m not a bastard. If I were, you wouldn’t be so afraid of me.”
“I fear you not, sweet Dickon. ’Tis only wisdom to keep a sharp eye on the ambitions of the third-born.”
“And so you always cast upon me what you’d want yourself were our stations reversed. A tiresome
game it’s become. You know I’ve no desire for your share.”
“So you say to all within hearing. You’ve said it too much, too loudly. No one believes you.”
“I’m thinking no one gives a bloody damn anymore. You’ve provided our father with a grandson; your
position is secure.”
“Aye, but brats die so easily. Three times it took before that bitch finally birthed something that lived.
How you must have prayed otherwise.”
Richard held to an immobile face, but his hand, still clutching the empty goblet, compressed into a sudden
fist. There was a crumping sound of strained metal. He looked down. The cup portion was crushed in, the
shape of his fingers clearly defined in the thick brass. He felt a brief smile twitch over his features and
carefully set the ruined object on the table where Ambert could see it.
Dear Brother’s eyes went wide at the sight, and for once in his life Ambert seemed to have nothing to
say.
“Sorry,” said Richard, offering him a thin, insincere smile.
“You—you’ll pay for that,” Ambert finally spluttered out. “God’s death, but you’ll pay for that before
you leave.”
“With what, pray?”
Ambert took the offered bait, seizing it for a new weapon. “Aye, you lost all at the tourney, to the
disgrace of our house.”
“You’ve a new champion to take my place. The honor of the house is safe.”
“With that overgrown pup?”
“At least he’s a true bastard, so you’ve no need to worry over his ambitions. They probably don’t extend
much past his next meal and place to sleep, which he’s already gotten from me.” The boy had been quick
enough to claim Richard’s weapons, armor, and other gear for his winnings. He was welcome to all of it
now.
“You’re not suffering from what I see.” Ambert nodded at Richard’s new clothing, the finely woven
wools, leather boots, the thick blue cape with gold embroidery along the hem, and the jewel-trimmed knife in
his belt. “Mayhap you’ll get the payment from that rich whore you’ve been riding in her grand pavilion by
the lake.”
That Ambert would know of his liaison with Sabra was no surprise; Dear Brother always kept himself
abreast of all the gossip. That he would try for the easiest of insults was not unexpected either. Richard
held to his smile, refusing to react. He looked at the remains of the goblet and tapped it lightly with his
fingers a few times before flicking it over. It made a thump against the wood.
Ambert stared now with raw hate, but mastered himself after a moment, replacing it with a sly look.
“Mayhap,” he drawled, “mayhap I should see to collection myself. I have heard she is most fair of face. If
she will not part with any coin, then she’ll trade something else to me instead.”
He has everything; why does he need to be cruel?