" I found the other two in Bran’s room, and one look at their faces made it abundantly clear that they felt no better than I did. Not that the Marquis had a red nose or a thick voice--he even looked aristocratic when sick, I thought with disgust. But Bran sneezed frequently, and from the pungent smell of bristic in the air, he had had recourse to the flagon.
“Mel!” he exclaimed when I opened the door. And he laughed. “Look at you! You’re drowning in that kit.” He turned his head to address Shevraeth. “Ain’t anyone undersized among your people?”
“Obviously not,” I said tartly, and helped myself to the flagon that I saw on the bed. A swig of bristic did help somewhat. “Unless the sight of me is intended to provide some cheap amusement for the warriors.”
“Well, I won’t come off much better,” Bran said cheerily.
“That I resent,” the Marquis said with his customary drawl. “Seeing as it is my wardrobe that is gracing your frame.”
Branaric only laughed, then he said, “Now that we’re all together, and I’m still sober, what’s the word?”
“The latest report is that the King is a day or two’s march from here, well ensconced in the midst of his army. Debegri is with him, and it seems there have been some disagreements on the manner in which you two are to be dealt with. Galdran wants to lay Tlanth to waste, but Debegri, of course, has his eye to a title and land at last.”
Bran rubbed his chin. “Only one of that family not landed, right?”
“To the Baron’s festering annoyance. Despite their pose of eternal brotherhood, they have never really liked--or trusted--one another. It has suited Galdran well to have Nenthar Debegri serve as his watch-beast, for Debegri has been scrupulous about enforcing Galdran’s laws. Enthusiastic, I should say. If he cannot have land, Debegri’s preference is to ride the countryside acting the bully. It has made him unpopular, which does Galdran no harm. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)