the little round man said proudly, waving his hand around the horizon, his words almost lost in the keening wind. Gareth, still not used to the title, considered what he was looking at. The stone house just behind him was huge, four-storied, with square towers at either side. It sat in a slight vale, just low enough to block the strongest winds from the sea. Behind it, protected by plane trees, were outbuildings and a formal garden. Strangely, there was no wall around the estate, front or rear, and the grounds were carefully maintained so that anyone in the house had a clear view — or shot — in any direction. Gareth noted two small cannon atop each tower. “The former householder liked to feel safe,” he said dryly. The round man cleared his throat nervously. “The lord had his enemies … ‘tis a pity he chose to live as he did.” “You mean, die,” Cosyra said, hiding mirth. “Yes, well, he should not have defied King Alfieri.” “Or,” Cosyra put in, “if he was going to tell the king he was an idiot who not only didn’t deserve his taxes, but his fealty either, he should’ve at least stayed mewed up in this castle rather than return to court.”
