"You think it was envy? Something you might be acquainted with yourself, hmm? Don't bristle, I'm not judging you. Everyone has something they desire enough to make themselves a fool." "I'm certain you would be far too honorable to ever covet power yourself," Nichol says.
"And then?"
"It ended," Nichol says. "The Raven secured his rule. Of course, it's hard to control everything. Falathar is a fine scholar and a patron of the theater, but not, perhaps, the child that a martial father might have asked for. Especially a father used to receiving what he asks for. And Liathar has notably refused to marry and is much in the company of his friend Pell. That wouldn't be an unsuitable marriage, but it's not one that will produce an heir of Liathar's body, and the Raven will accept nothing less. Certainly not Falathar as an heir, when Falathar shows the poor taste to be interested in indoor pursuits that do not leave anyone dead on the floor."
"You make the Raven sound like a tyrant."
Nichol shakes his head. "Who would be so impolitic? And that's enough about ancient history. If there's a curse on the city, it's probably no more than the Raven deserves for being the person he is, and no more than we deserve for being the fools that we are. I'll bid you good day, Master Osberht. And drink up myself, as I'm sure that backstage they're already crying out my name like confused little children wandering in the wilderness."
You follow Nichol out. You're both expected at the theater, and Matty will not be amused if you're late for the second performance of your very first play. Somehow, you don't think "I was drinking with Nichol" will impress her as an excuse.
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