CHAPTER NINETEEN
“BUT I didn’t know she was upset!” protested Tristan, exasperated.
A dinner, an evening and a breakfast spent in Rosalie’s polite but frosty company had been all Tristan could stand. He had finally pulled her into an empty room, closed the door and demanded, “Why are you mad at me?” Now he had his answer, but he still couldn’t fathom it.
“You should have known,” retorted Rosalie.
“But I didn’t. I can’t make myself know something that I don’t know! I was playing with the kids; I didn’t notice her.”
“Right.”
“Huh?”
“You didn’t even notice her. And then you didn’t notice me. All you noticed was your own little game. When are you going to grow up and think about the people around you? Your mother has been through a lot lately, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Tristan flared into anger. “What do you know about my mother? Or me? Gods on fire, you have a nerve!” Catching himself yelling, he broke off and forced himself to speak quietly. It didn’t come out reasonable and calm, though. It came out tight and accusing.
“I know more about the pain my mother carries than you ever will. I was there when she learned of my father’s death. I never claimed to be perfect—but don’t you tell me I don’t care about my own family!”
He was out the door and halfway up the staircase before Rosalie could say another word.
TRISTAN FROWNED AT the parchment spread out before him.
“The talks are in Gaudette? Why so far?”
“The Barilles general and his party want to be close to the pass, so they can examine the battle sites,” Dominic explained.
“Why do they want to do that?”
Dominic shrugged. “They say it’s to understand the tactical situation. Personally, I think they can’t quite believe the attack really happened.” He looked up and caught Tristan’s incredulous look. “Not that they think we are lying about it. Why would we? But you can understand how the threat might not seem real to them, Tris. And maybe they doubt the scope of what we are reporting.”
“Hmm. Well, whatever. We need them to be part of this, so if they want to troop up to Gaudette, so be it.”
“That’s about the size of it,” agreed Dominic. “So the next question is, are you going? You were keen to represent us at these talks before our merchant friend threw a wrench in things. Do you want to take over from here?”
“Yeah, I do,” said Tristan slowly. “Only... It’s twice as far as Ratigouche. We’ll have to head out quite soon. When does General Fortin plan to leave?”
“Three days from now. He wants to arrive a little early and make sure everything is prepared.” Dominic noted Tristan’s glum look. “What?”
“It’s Rosie,” admitted Tristan. “We haven’t exactly been getting along well lately. I just hate to leave with bad feelings between us.”
“Had a lover’s quarrel, have you?”
Tristan declined to answer. His sibling’s tendency to make light of his love life was starting to annoy him.
“Well, you have three days to patch things up. That should be plenty,” remarked Dominic.
“Plenty if you know how,” Tristan answered morosely. He dropped his head onto one hand, a fistful of blond hair sprouting between his fingers, and peered up at Dominic. “You’ve been married a long time. Don’t you and Justine ever fight?”
“Of course we do.”
“So how do you stop?”
Dominic regarded his brother’s tufted hair. “I presume you’ve apologized.”
“Apologized?” Tristan sat up abruptly. “Why should I? I didn’t even do anything!”
“You haven’t apologized.” Dominic shook his head. “You don’t know much about this, do you?”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong! I mean, I guess I did, but I couldn’t help it.”
“Irrelevant.”
“What do you mean, irrelevant?”
“Do you want to make up with her?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then the rest is irrelevant. Apologize. Even if you don’t know what you did, apologize for it.”
“But—”
“It’s code, Tristan,” Dominic said firmly. “Think of it as code.”
“Code for what?”
“Code for, ‘I’m sorry we made each other feel bad, and I want us to be happy again.’ “
Tristan pondered this brotherly wisdom for a minute.
“Does Rosie know it’s code? Or will she take it as an admission of fault?”
“It doesn’t matter,” insisted Dominic. “Look, if the code doesn’t do it for you, just picture heading off into the reaches of La Maronne without so much as a goodbye kiss.”
Tristan gave his hair a hasty rake down with both hands, rolled up the manuscript and stood.
“Point made, big brother. All right, I’m off to apologize. In code.”
“One last pointer? By way of hard-earned personal experience?”
“Why not? Shoot.”
“Don’t say, ‘I’m sorry but.’ Just say you’re sorry. Period.”
Tristan sighed. “I’m gonna feel like a cat choking on a hair ball.” He padded off in search of Rosalie.
Dominic’s encouraging smile spread into a grin as Tristan disappeared down the hall. Wouldn’t I love to be a fly on the wall for this little chat! he thought. Probably the first apology Tristan has ever made.
THE HAIR BALL proved less hard to spit out than Tristan had feared, and its gracious reception did much to soothe his wounded pride.
“I’m sorry too, Tris,” said Rosalie into his chest. He didn’t even remember her getting up from the lawn swing she had been perched on, but she must have because here she was in his arms. Maybe they were pulled together like magnets. “I said things I shouldn’t have, that I had no right to.”
“Hey, that’s okay.” Tristan pulled her tighter and nuzzled into her hair, marveling at his brother’s perception. He had never thought of Dominic as especially brilliant, if the truth be known. More in the reliable-but-dull category. He would have to rethink that opinion now.
TRISTAN WAS CLOSETED with General Fortin, reviewing the list of delegates for the upcoming defense talks and the proposals they would put forward.
“I think it’s good, after all, that we are meeting in La Maronne,” he offered. “As the entry point for the Greffaires, the Maronnais have the most at stake. It makes sense that they should host it.”
Fortin nodded agreement. “There is one last question I wished to discuss with you, Sire. Our first meeting—the one Prince Dominic attended—proved somewhat chaotic.”
“Yes, that was Dominic’s assessment too.”
“It is new to us, this business of planning among four different nations,” continued Fortin, “four heads of state and four generals, all of them used to taking the lead and dominating in a discussion.”
“All of them with their contingent of aides and courtiers, each one bent on making his mark,” added Tristan dryly.
“Precisely.”
“Is there a solution?”
“I was going to suggest we propose appointing a director of the talks. The director’s role is not to put forward his own opinion, but to keep the discussion orderly. People would require the acknowledgment of the director to speak, and he would also be responsible for summarizing any conclusions and confirming the agreement of all parties.”
“Big job,” said Tristan. “You know what the difficulty is?”
“It would have to be a prominent, respected person. If things get heated, he may have to refuse or even reprimand the highest-ranking personages in the Krylian Basin. Right?”
“Yes, that’s true,” agreed Fortin.
“But none of the important people there will wish to play that role because it will limit their ability to promote their own viewpoint.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Dominic stuck his head in.
“Can I interrupt?”
“Of course,” said Tristan. “What’s up?”
Dominic entered the room and waved a roll of parchment at them.
“This just arrived from Blanchette. You won’t believe it.”