Greensleeves was all my joy,
And who but Lady Greensleeves?"
Kieron could imagine the boy—lolling foolishly before the glittering Ivane, trying to win with verses what any man could have for a pledge of loyalty to the Consort.
The Valkyr glared at Landor. "I'm not to be received, is that it? By the Seven Hells, why don't you say what you mean?"
Landor's smile was scornful. "You outworlders! You should learn how to behave, really. Perhaps later...."
"Later be damned!" snapped Kieron. "My people are starving now! Your grubbing tax-gatherers are wringing us dry! How long do you think they'll stand for it? How long do you imagine I will stand for it?"
"Threats, Valkyr?" asked the First Lord, his eyes suddenly venomous. "Threats against your Emperor? Men have been whipped to death for much less."
"Not men of Valkyr," retorted Kieron.
"The men of Valkyr no longer hold the favored position they once did, Kieron. I counsel you to remember that."
"True enough," Kieron replied scornfully. "Under Gilmer, fighting men were the power of the Empire. Now Toran rules with the hands of women ... and dancing masters."