A Red-Rose Chain

“I see.” Jolgeir’s attention shifted to Tybalt. “I suppose I can see the appeal of a novelty. It’s always nice to have something that no one else has.”


Tybalt’s eyes narrowed, but his tone was pleasant as he said, “I would watch myself, were I you, old man. Some people might say that senselessly baiting me was a sign that you wished to be rid of your Kingdom entire.”

“Only if you could take me, kit, and I doubt you can. You couldn’t do it last time.” Jolgeir moved closer, until he and Tybalt were almost nose to nose. They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough that I was starting to consider shoving my way between them. I might regret it for a moment, but I could recover from whatever damage they did to me. The same couldn’t necessarily be said of the damage they would do to each other.

Then something changed in the air between the two men, and they burst out laughing. Tybalt put his hand on Jolgeir’s shoulder; Jolgeir bent forward until his forehead was resting against Tybalt’s, his entire body shaking with merriment. I stared at them, baffled.

“Oh, Rand, your sense of humor remains your best quality! Never let it go, and don’t let marriage change you. The temptation will be there, but I assure you, you and your lady will both enjoy matrimony more and for longer if you remain exactly as you are.”

“You old cat,” said Tybalt, and pounded Jolgeir on the back. “To speak to me of marriage so! How is your Libby? Still wild and full of mad ideas?”

“Older than she was, but lovelier every day than she was the day before.” Jolgeir pulled away from Tybalt, gathering his dignity—such as it was—back around himself before turning to me. “My lady wife, who will not be joining us this day, is of the mortal persuasion. Thirty years she’s been a bride, and three children she’s borne me, and never have I questioned my good fortune. See to it that you and your husband-to-be feel the same.”

“Do my best,” I said. “So is there a rule that says Kings of Cats have to talk like they’re in a BBC production, or am I just lucky with the ones that I run into?”

Tybalt snorted. Jolgeir looked amused. “Being here makes it easy to fall into the old ways of speech. Remember, the modern world is a moving target. For centuries, men of learning and sophistication spoke the way we do.”

“In certain parts of the world, anyway,” said Tybalt.

Jolgeir rolled his eyes. “Must you always make corrections?”

“It is my one true joy; begrudge me not such a simple thing,” said Tybalt.

“I will begrudge you whatsoever I like on my own lands,” said Jolgeir, and offered me his arm. “Walk with me, if you would, milady October? I will show you what lies beyond the briars, and you may tell me what it is that brought you hence. Rand has given me some of the story, but I always like to hear it from the source when possible.”

“If you turn down the romance novel dialog a little bit, I’d be happy to,” I said, and placed my hand on his arm as he roared laughter. Behind him, Tybalt nodded approvingly. I was doing the right thing, then: good. I hated to think what would happen if I acted wrong.

“As I was saying, the modern world is a moving target,” said Jolgeir, recovering his composure and starting toward the thorn wall, tugging me along with him. “Once, modernity was measured in horses and carriages, then in steam trains, and now in cars. I have a station wagon. I bought it in 1984. It still runs like it was made yesterday, and the man I was in my youth would have seen it as impossible magic, too powerful for mortal hands to steer, much less build. Everything changes. I can talk like the men you see on the streets—I do, in my shop, although most of my younger patrons will tell you that I’m old-fashioned. They think I’m quaint.”

“If only they knew,” I said, smiling.