Hidden Warrior

1

Still caught at the edge of dark dreams, Tobin slowly became aware of the smell of beef broth and a soft, indistinct flow of voices nearby. They cut through the darkness like a beacon, drawing him awake. That was Nari’s voice. What was his nurse doing in Ero?

Tobin opened his eyes and saw with a mix of relief and confusion that he was in his old room at the keep. A brazier stood near the open window, casting a pattern of red light through its pierced brass lid. The little night lamp cast a brighter glow, making shadows dance around the rafters. The bed linens and his nightshirt smelled of lavender and fresh air. The door was closed, but he could still hear Nari talking quietly to someone outside.

Sleep-fuddled, he let his gaze wander around the room, content for the moment just to be home. A few of his wax sculptures stood on the windowsill, and the wooden practice swords leaned in the corner by the door. The spiders had been busy among the ceiling beams; cobwebs large and fine as a lady’s veil stirred gently in a current of air.

A bowl was on the table beside his bed, with a horn spoon laid out ready beside it. It was the spoon Nari had always fed him with when he was sick.

Am I sick?

Had Ero been nothing but a fever dream? he wondered drowsily. And his father’s death, and his mother’s, too? He ached a little, and the middle of his chest hurt, but he felt more hungry than ill. As he reached for the bowl, he caught sight of something that shattered his sleepy fantasies.

The ugly old rag doll lay in plain view on the clothes chest across the room. Even from here, he could make out the fresh white thread stitching up the doll’s dingy side.

Tobin clutched at the comforter as fragments of images flooded back. The last thing he remembered clearly was lying in Lhel’s oak tree house in the woods above the keep. The witch had cut the doll open and shown him bits of infant bones—Brother’s bones—hidden in the stuffing. Hidden by his mother when she’d made the thing. Using a fragment of bone instead of skin, Lhel had bound Brother’s soul to Tobin’s again.

Tobin reached into the neck of his nightshirt with trembling fingers and felt gingerly at the sore place on his chest. Yes, there it was; a narrow ridge of raised skin running down the center of his breastbone where Lhel had sewn him. up like a torn shirt. He could feel the tiny ridges of the stitches, but no blood. The wound was nearly healed already, not raw like the one on Brother’s chest. Tobin prodded at it, finding the hard little lump the piece of bone made under his skin. He could wiggle it like a tiny loose tooth.

Skin strong, but bone stronger, Lhel had said.

Tucking his chin, Tobin looked down and saw that neither the bump nor the stitching was visible. Just like before, no one could see what she’d done to him.

A wave of dizziness rolled over him as he remembered how Brother had looked, floating facedown just above him while Lhel worked. The ghost’s face was twisted with pain; tears of blood fell from his black eyes and the unhealed wound on his breast.

Dead can’t be hurt, keesa, Lhel told him, but she was wrong.

Tobin curled up against the pillow and stared miserably at the doll. All those years of hiding it, all the fear and worry, and here it lay for anyone to see.

But how had it gotten here? He’d left it behind when he’d run away from the city.

Suddenly scared without knowing why, he almost cried out for Nari, but shame choked him. He was a Royal Companion, far too old to be needing a nurse.

And what would she say about the doll? Surely she’d seen it by now. Brother showed him a vision once of how people would react if they knew, their looks of disgust. Only girls wanted dolls.…

Tears filled his eyes, transforming the lamp flame into a shifting yellow star. “I’m not a girl!” he whispered.

“Yes, you are.”

And there was Brother beside the bed, even though Tobin hadn’t spoken the summoning words. The ghost’s chill presence rolled over him in waves.

“No!” Tobin covered his ears. “I know who I am.”

“I’m the boy!” Brother hissed. Then, with a mean leer, “Sister.”

“No!” Tobin shuddered and buried his face in the pillow. “No no no no!”

Gentle hands lifted him. Nari held him tight, stroking his head. “What is it, pet? What’s wrong?” She was still dressed for the day, but her brown hair was unbound over her shoulders. Brother was still there, but she didn’t seem to notice him.

Tobin clung to her for a moment, hiding his face against her shoulder the way he used to, before pride made him pull back.

“You knew,” he whispered, remembering. “Lhel told me. You always knew! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I told her not to.” Iya stepped partway into the little circle of light. It left half her square, wrinkled face in shadow, but he knew her by her worn traveling gown and the thin, iron-grey braid that hung over one shoulder to her waist.

Brother knew her, too. He disappeared, but an instant later the doll flew off the chest and struck the old woman in the face. The wooden swords followed, clacking like a crane’s bill as she fended them off with an upraised hand. Then the heavy wardrobe began to shake ominously, grating across the floor in Iya’s direction.

“Stop it!” cried Tobin.

The wardrobe stopped moving and Brother reappeared by the bed, hatred crackling in the air around him as he glared at the old wizard. Iya flinched, but did not back away.

“You can see him?” asked Tobin.

“Yes. He’s been with you ever since Lhel completed the new binding.”

“Can you see him, Nari?”

She shivered. “No, thank the Light. But I can feel him.”

Tobin turned back to the wizard. “Lhel said you told her to do it! She said you wanted me to look like my brother.”

“I did what Illior required of me.” Iya settled at the foot of the bed. The light struck her full on now. She looked tired and old, yet there was hardness in her eyes that made him glad Nari was still beside him.

“It was Illior’s will,” Iya said again. “What was done was done for Skala’s sake, as much as for you. The day is coming when you must rule, Tobin, as your mother should have ruled.”

“I don’t want to!”

“I shouldn’t wonder, child.” Iya sighed and some of the hardness left her face. “You were never meant to find out the truth so young. It must have been a terrible shock, especially the way you found out.”

Tobin looked away, mortified. He’d thought the blood seeping between his legs had been the first sign of the plague. The truth had been worse.

“Even Lhel was taken by surprise. Arkoniel tells me she showed you your true face before she wove the new magic.”

“This is my true face!”

“My face!” Brother snarled.

Nari jumped and Tobin guessed even she’d heard that. He took a closer look at Brother; the ghost looked more solid than he had for a long time, almost real. It occurred to Tobin that he’d been hearing his twin’s voice out loud, too, not just a whisper in his mind like before.

“He’s rather distracting,” said Iya. “Could you send him away, please? And ask him not to make a fuss around the place this time?”

Tobin was tempted to refuse, but for Nari’s sake he whispered the words Lhel had taught him. “Blood, my blood. Flesh, my flesh. Bone, my bone.” Brother vanished like a snuffed candle and the room felt warmer.

“That’s better!” Taking up the bowl, Nari went to the brazier and dipped up the broth she had warming in a pot on the coals. “Here, get some of this into you. You’ve hardly eaten in days.”

Ignoring the spoon, Tobin took the bowl and drank from it. This was Cook’s special sickroom broth, rich with beef marrow, parsley, wine, and milk, along with the healing herbs.

He drained the bowl and Nari refilled it. Iya leaned over and retrieved the fallen doll. Propping it on her lap, she arranged its uneven arms and legs and looked down pensively at the crudely drawn face.

Tobin’s throat went tight and he lowered the bowl. How many times had he watched his mother sit just like that? Fresh tears filled his eyes. She’d made the doll to keep Brother’s spirit close to her. It had been Brother she’d seen when she looked at it, Brother she’d held and rocked and crooned to and carried with her everywhere until the day she threw herself out of the tower window.

Always Brother.

Never Tobin.

Was her angry ghost still up there?

Nari saw him shiver and hugged him close again. This time he let her.

“Illior really told you to do this to me?” he whispered.

Iya nodded sadly. “The Lightbearer spoke to me through the Oracle at Afra. You know what that is, don’t you?”

“The same Oracle that told King Thelátimos to make his daughter the first queen.”

“That’s right. And now Skala needs a queen again, one of the true blood to heal and defend the land. I promise you, one day you will understand all this.”

Nari hugged him and kissed the top of his head. “It was all to keep you safe, pet.”

The thought of her complicity stung him. Wiggling free, he scooted back against the bolsters on the far side of the bed and pulled his legs—long, sharp-shinned boy legs—up under his shirt. “But why?” He touched the scar, then broke off with a gasp of dismay. “Father’s seal and my mother’s ring! I had them on a chain …”

“I have them right here, pet. I kept them safe for you.” Nari took the chain from her apron pocket and held it out to him.

Tobin cradled the talismans in his hand. The seal, a black stone set high in a gold ring, bore the deep-carved oak tree insignia of Atyion, the great holding Tobin now owned but had never seen.

The other ring had been his mother’s bride gift from his father. The golden mounting was delicate, a circlet of tiny leaves holding an amethyst carved with a relief of his parents’ youthful profiles. He’d spent hours gazing at the portrait; he’d never seen his parents happy together, the way they looked here.

“Where did you find that?” the wizard asked softly.

“In a hole under a tree.”

“What tree?”

“A dead chestnut in the back courtyard of my mother’s house in Ero.” Tobin looked up to find her watching him closely. “The one near the summer kitchen.”

“Ah yes. That’s where Arkoniel buried your brother.”

And where my mother and Lhel dug him up again, he thought. Perhaps she lost the ring then. “Did my parents know what you did to me?”

He caught the quick, sharp look Iya shot at Nari before she answered. “Yes. They knew.”

Tobin’s heart sank. “They let you?”

“Before you were born, your father asked me to protect you. He understood the Oracle’s words and obeyed without question. I’m sure he taught you the prophecy the Oracle gave to King Thelátimos.”

“Yes.”

Iya was quiet for a moment. “It was different for your mother. She wasn’t a strong person and the birthing was very difficult. And she never got over your brother’s death.”

Tobin had to swallow hard before he could ask, “Is that why she hated me?”

“She never hated you, pet. Never!” Nari pressed a hand to her heart. “She wasn’t right in her mind, that’s all.”

“That’s enough for now,” said Iya. “Tobin, you’ve been very ill and slept the last two days away.”

“Two?” Tobin looked out the window. A slim crescent moon had guided him here; now it had waxed nearly to half. “What day is it?”

“The twenty-first of Erasin, pet. Your name day came and went while you slept,” said Nari. “I’ll tell Cook to make the honey cakes for tomorrow’s supper.”

Tobin shook his head in bewilderment, still staring at the moon. “I—I was in the forest. Who brought me to the house?”

“Tharin showed up out of nowhere with you in his arms, and Arkoniel behind him with poor Ki,” said Nari. “Scared me almost to death, just like that day your father brought your—”

“Ki?” Tobin’s head reeled as another memory struggled to the surface. In his fevered dreams Tobin had floated up into the air over Lhel’s oak and found himself looking down from a great height. He’d seen something in the woods just beyond the spring, lying on the dead leaves—“No, Ki’s safe in Ero. I was careful!”

But a cold knot of fear took root in his belly, pressing on his heart. In his dream it had been Ki lying on the ground, and Arkoniel was weeping beside him. “He brought the doll, didn’t he? That’s why he followed me.”

“Yes, pet.”

“Then it wasn’t a dream.” But why had Arkoniel been weeping?

It was a moment before he realized that people were still speaking to him. Nari was shaking him by the shoulder, looking alarmed. “Tobin, what is it? You’ve gone white!”

“Where’s Ki?” he whispered, gripping his knees hard as he braced for the answer.

“I was just telling you,” Nari said, her round face lined with new concern. “He’s asleep in your old toy room next door. With you so ill and thrashing about in your sleep, and him hurt so bad, I thought you’d rest easier apart.”

Tobin clambered across the bed, not waiting to hear more.

Iya caught him by the arm. “Wait. He’s still very ill, Tobin. He fell and hit his head. Arkoniel and Tharin have been tending him.”

He tried to pull free, but she held on. “Let him rest. Tharin has been frantic, going back and forth between your rooms like a sorrowful hound all this time. He was asleep by Ki’s bed when I passed.”

“Let me go. I promise I won’t wake them, but please, I have to see Ki!”

“Stay a moment and listen to me.” Iya was grave now. “Listen well, little prince, for what I tell you is worth your life, and theirs.”

Trembling, Tobin sank back on the edge of the bed.

Iya released him and folded her hands across the doll in her lap. “As I said, you were never meant to bear this burden so young, but here we are. Listen well and seal these words in your heart. Ki and Tharin don’t know, and they mustn’t know, about this secret of ours. Except for Arkoniel, only Lhel and Nari know the truth, and so it must remain until the time comes for you to claim your birthright.”

“Tharin doesn’t know?” Tobin’s first reaction was relief. It was Tharin, as much as his father, who’d taught him how to be a warrior.

“It was one of the great sorrows of your father’s life. He loved Tharin just as you love Ki. It broke his heart to keep such a secret from his friend, and it made the burden all that much harder to bear. But now you must do the same.”

“They’d never betray me.”

“Not willingly, of course. They’re both stubborn and stouthearted as Sakor’s bull. But wizards like your uncle’s man Niryn have ways of finding out things. Magical ways, Tobin. They don’t need torture to read a person’s innermost thoughts. If Niryn ever suspected who you really are, he’d know just whose heads to look into for the proof.”

Tobin went cold. “I think he did something like that to me the first time I met him.” He held out his left arm, showing her the birthmark. “He touched this and I got a bad, crawly feeling inside.”

Iya frowned. “Yes, that sounds right.”

“Then he knows!”

“No, Tobin, for you didn’t know yourself. Until a few days ago, all anyone would find inside your head were the thoughts of a young prince, concerned only with hawks and horses and swords. That was our intent from the start, to protect you.”

“But Brother. The doll. He would have seen that.”

“Lhel’s magic protects those thoughts. Niryn could only find them if he knew to look for them. So far, it would seem he doesn’t.”

“But now I do know. When I go back, what then?”

“You must make certain he finds no reason to touch your thoughts again. Keep the doll a secret, just as you have, and avoid Niryn as much as you can. Arkoniel and I will do whatever we can to protect you. In fact, I think it may be time for me to be seen with my patron’s son again.”

“You’ll come back to Ero with me?”

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Yes. Now go see your friends.”

The corridor was cold but Tobin hardly noticed. Ki’s door stood slightly ajar, casting a thin sliver of light out across the rushes. Tobin slipped inside.

Ki was asleep in an old high-sided bed, tucked up to the chin with counterpanes and quilts. His eyes were closed and even in the warm glow of the night lamp, he looked very pale. There were dark circles around his eyes and a linen bandage wrapped around his head.

Tharin was asleep in an armchair beside the bed, wrapped in his long riding cloak. His long, grey-blond hair fell in untidy tangles over his shoulders and a week’s worth of stubble shadowed the hollows of his cheeks above his short beard. Just the sight of him made Tobin feel a little better; he always felt safer with Tharin nearby.

Hard on that thought, however, came the echo of Iya’s warning. Here were the two people he loved and trusted above all others, and now it lay with him to protect them. A wild, rebellious love welled up in his heart as he thought again of Niryn’s prying brown eyes. He’d kill the man himself if the wizard tried to hurt his friends.

Tobin tiptoed toward the bed as carefully as he could, but Tharin’s pale eyes snapped open before he reached it.

“Tobin? Thank the Light!” he exclaimed softly, pulling the boy into his lap and hugging him so hard it hurt. “By the Four, we’ve been so worried! You slept and slept. How are you, lad?”

“Better.” Embarrassed, Tobin gently freed himself and stood up.

Tharin’s smile faded. “Nari says you thought you’d caught the Red and Black Death. You should have come to me instead of running off like that! Anything could have happened to you boys alone on the road. The whole ride but here we expected to find your bodies in a ditch.”

“We? Who came with you?” For one awful moment Tobin feared that his guardian had come looking for him, too.

“Koni and the other guardsmen, of course. Don’t go trying to change the subject. It wasn’t much better finding the two of you like this.” He glanced at Ki, and Tobin knew he was still worried about him. “You should have stayed in the city. Poor Arkoniel and the others have had a time of it. They’re ready to drop in their tracks.” But there was no anger in his eyes as he gazed earnestly up at Tobin. “You gave us all a bad scare.”

Tobin’s chin quivered and he hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

Tharin gathered him in again, patting his shoulder. “Well, then,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “We’re all here now.”

“Ki’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Tharin didn’t answer and Tobin saw tears glazing the warrior’s eyes. “Tharin, he will be well?”

The man nodded, but doubt was plain in his face. “Arkoniel says he’ll probably wake up soon.”

Tobin’s knees went wobbly and he sank down on the arm of Tharin’s chair. “Probably?”

“He must have caught the same fever you had, and with the knock in the head—” He reached to smooth Ki’s dark hair back from the bandage. A yellowish stain had seeped through. “That needs changing.”

“Iya said he fell.”

“Yes. Struck his head quite a blow, too. Arkoniel thinks—Well, it looks like that demon of yours might have had a hand in it.”

A shard of ice seemed to lodge itself in Tobin’s stomach. “Bro—The ghost hurt him?”

“He thinks it tricked Ki into carrying that doll of yours out here for it.”

Tobin’s breath hitched tight in his chest. If this were true, he’d never, ever call Brother again. Brother could starve, for all he cared.

“You—you saw it? The doll, I mean?”

“Yes.” Tharin gave him a puzzled look. “Your father thought it fell with your mother that day and got carried away by the river. He even sent some of the men out looking for it. But you had it all this time, didn’t you? What made you keep it hidden like that?”

Did Tharin know about Lhel, too? Unsure, Tobin could only offer a partial truth. “I thought you and Father would be ashamed of me. Dolls are for girls.”

Tharin let out a sad little laugh. “No one would have begrudged you that one. It’s a shame that’s the only one she left you. If you like, I could probably find you one of the pretty ones she made before her illness. Half the nobles in Ero have them.”

There had been a time when Tobin had wanted one so badly it hurt. But he’d wanted it from her hands, proof that she loved him, or at least acknowledged him as much as she did Brother. That had never happened. He shook his head. “No, I don’t want any others.”

Perhaps Tharin understood, for he said nothing more about it. They sat together for a while, watching Ki’s chest rise and fall beneath the quilts. Tobin yearned to crawl in beside him, but Ki looked so fragile and ill that he didn’t dare. Too miserable to sit still, he finally went back to his own room so Tharin could sleep. Iya and Nari were gone and he was glad; he didn’t want to talk to either of them just now.

The doll lay on the bed where the wizard had been sitting. As Tobin stared down at it, trying to take in what had happened, anger like nothing he’d ever felt gripped him, so strong he could hardly breathe.

I’ll never call him again. Never!

Snatching it up, he thrust the hated thing into the clothes chest and slammed the lid down. “You can stay here forever!”

He felt a little better after that. Let Brother haunt the keep if he wanted; he could have the place for all Tobin cared, but he wasn’t going back to Ero.

He found his clothes folded neatly on a shelf in the wardrobe. Little bags of dried lavender and mint fell out of the folds of his tunic when he picked it up. He pressed the wool to his face and inhaled, knowing that Nari had tucked the herbs there after she’d washed and mended his clothes. She’d probably sat by the bed as she worked, watching over him.

The thought dissolved his anger at her. No matter what she’d done all those years ago, he knew she loved him, and he still loved her. Dressing quickly, he made his way quietly upstairs.

A few lamps burned in niches along the third floor corridor, and moonlight streamed in at the rosette windows overhead, but the passage was still shadowy and cold. Arkoniel’s rooms lay at the far end and Tobin couldn’t help keeping one eye on the heavy locked door across from the workroom, the door to the tower.

If he went to it, he wondered, would he still feel his mother’s angry spirit there, just on the other side? He kept close to the right-hand wall.

There was no answer at Arkoniel’s bedchamber, but light showed underneath the workroom door next to it. Tobin lifted the latch and went in.

Lamps burned everywhere inside, banishing the shadows and filling the large chamber with light. Arkoniel was at the table under the windows, head propped on one hand as he studied a parchment. He started nervously as Tobin entered, then rose to greet him.

Tobin was surprised at how worn the young wizard looked. There were dark hollows under his cheekbones and his face had a pinched look, as if he’d been sick. His curly black hair, always unruly, stuck out in clumps about his head, and his tunic was rumpled and stained with dirt and ink.

“Awake at last,” he said, attempting to sound hearty and failing miserably. “Has Iya spoken with you yet?”

“Yes. She told me not to tell anyone about this.” Tobin touched his chest, unwilling to give voice to the hated secret.

Arkoniel sighed deeply and looked distractedly around the room. “It was a terrible way for you to find out, Tobin. By the Light, I’m sorry. None of us suspected, not even Lhel. I’m so very sorry …” He trailed off, still not looking at Tobin. “It shouldn’t have happened as it did. None of it.”

Tobin had never seen the young wizard look so dismayed. At least Arkoniel had tried to be his friend. Not like Iya, who only showed up when it suited her.

“Thank you for helping Ki,” he said, as the silence drew out uncomfortably between them.

Arkoniel jerked as if Tobin had slapped him, then let out a hollow laugh. “You’re most welcome, my prince. How could I do otherwise? Is there any change?”

“He’s still asleep.”

“Asleep.” Arkoniel wandered back to the table, touching things, picking them up and putting them down without looking at them.

Tobin’s fear crept back. “Will Ki be all right? There wasn’t really any fever. Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

Arkoniel fiddled with a wooden rod. “It takes time, such a wound.”

“Tharin said you think Brother hurt him.”

“Brother was with him. Perhaps he knew we’d need the doll—I don’t know. He may have hurt Ki. I don’t know if he meant to.” He began picking at things on the table again, as if he’d forgotten that Tobin was still there. At last he took up the document he’d been reading, holding it up for Tobin to see. The seals and florid looping handwriting were unmistakable. It was the work of Lord Orun’s scribe.

“Iya thought I should be the one to tell you,” Arkoniel said despondently. “This arrived yesterday. You’re to go back to Ero as soon as you’re fit to travel. Orun is furious, of course. He’s threatening to write to the king again, demanding that you take a different squire.”

Tobin sank down on a stool by the table. Orun had been trying to replace Ki since their first day in Ero. “But why? It wasn’t Ki’s fault!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t care about that. He sees an opportunity to get what he’s always wanted—someone who’ll keep a closer eye on you.” Arkoniel rubbed at his eyes and ran his fingers back through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than ever. “Of one thing you can be certain. He’ll never let you run off like that again. You’re going to have to be terribly careful now. Never give Orun or Niryn or anyone else any reason to suspect you’re more than the king’s orphaned nephew.”

“Iya explained about that already. I don’t see much of Niryn anyway if I can help it. He scares me.”

“Me too,” Arkoniel admitted, but he looked a bit more like his old self. “Before you go back, there are a few things I can teach you, ways to shroud your thoughts.” He managed the ghost of a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just a matter of concentration. I know you don’t care much for magic.”

Tobin shrugged. “I can’t seem to get away from it, though, can I?” He picked unhappily at a callus on his thumb. “Korin told me how I’m the next heir after him, until he has an heir of his own. Is that why Lord Orun wants to control me?”

“Ultimately, yes. But for now he has control of Atyion—in your name, of course, but control all the same. He’s an ambitious man, our Orun. If anything were to happen to Prince Korin before he marries …” He shook his head sharply. “We must keep a close eye on him. And don’t worry too much about Ki. Orun doesn’t have final say on that, no matter how much he blusters. Only the king can decide that. I’m sure it will all get sorted out when you get back.”

“Iya’s going to Ero with me. I wish you’d come, instead.”

Arkoniel smiled and this time it was his real smile, all kind and awkward and well-meaning. “I wish I could, but for now it’s best that I stay hidden here. The Harriers already know Iya, but not about me. Tharin will be with you, and Ki.”

Seeing Tobin’s crestfallen look, he knelt beside him and took him by the shoulders. “I’m not abandoning you, Tobin. I know it must feel that way, but I’m not. I never will. If ever you need me, you can be certain I’ll find my way to you. Once Orun calms down, perhaps you can convince him to let you visit here more often. I’m sure Prince Korin will take your side in that.”

That was little comfort to him now, but Tobin nodded. “I want to see Lhel. Will you take me? Nari will never let me go out alone and Tharin still doesn’t know about her, does he?”

“No, though I wish more than ever now that he did.” Arkoniel rose. “I’ll take you to her first thing tomorrow, all right?”

“But I want to go now.”

“Now?” Arkoniel glanced at the dark window. “It’s after midnight. You should go back to bed …”

“I’ve slept for days! I’m not tired.”

Arkoniel smiled again. “But I am, and Lhel will be sleeping, too. Tomorrow, all right? We can go as early as you like, as soon as it’s light. Come on, I’ll walk down with you and see how Ki’s doing.” He pointed to the lamps in turn, snuffing all but the one at his elbow. Then, to Tobin’s surprise, he shuddered and hugged himself. “It’s gloomy up here at night.”

Tobin couldn’t help glancing nervously toward the tower door as they went out, and was sure he saw the wizard do the same.

2

Tobin woke up in the armchair with the sun in his face and Tharin’s cloak tucked around him. He stretched, then leaned forward to see if Ki looked any different.

His friend hadn’t moved, but Tobin thought there was more color in his cheeks than there had been the night before. He reached under the blankets and found Ki’s hand. It was warm, another encouraging sign.

“Can you hear me? Ki, you’ve been sleeping forever. It’s a good day for a ride. Wake up. Please?”

“Let him sleep, keesa.”

“Lhel?” Tobin turned, expecting to find the door open.

Instead, the witch floated just behind him in an oval of strange light. He could see trees around her, firs and bare oaks dusted with snow. As he watched, big lacy flakes fell, catching in her dark curls and on the rough fabric of her dress. It was like looking at her through a window. Just beyond the oval the room looked exactly as it should, but she seemed to be standing in her camp.

Amazed, Tobin reached out to her, but the strange apparition shrank back and in on itself until he could see nothing but her face.

“No! No touch,” she warned. “Arkoniel bring you. Let Ki rest.”

She vanished, and left Tobin gaping at the place she’d been. He didn’t understand what he’d just seen, but he took her at her word. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Ki and, on impulse, bent and kissed him lightly on his bandaged forehead. Blushing at his own foolishness, he hurried out and took the stairs to Arkoniel’s room two at a time.

In daylight the corridor looked safe and ordinary, and the tower door nothing but another door. The workroom door stood open and he could hear Iya and Arkoniel talking inside.

Arkoniel was weaving a pattern of light above the table as Tobin entered. Something struck the wall close to Tobin’s head and skittered across the floor. Startled, he looked down and saw it was only a speckled dry bean.

“And that’s as far as I’ve gotten with it,” said Arkoniel, sounding frustrated. He still looked tired and when he caught sight of Tobin the worry lines deepened around his mouth. “What is it? Is Ki—?”

“He’s asleep. I want to go see Lhel now. She said I should come. You said you’d take me.”

“She said—?” Arkoniel exchanged a look with Iya, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll take you.”

It was snowing outside, just as it had been in his vision of Lhel. The fat, wet flakes melted as they touched the ground, but they stayed on the tree boughs like sugar on a cake and he could see his breath on the air. The road behind the keep was covered with fallen leaves, a faded carpet of yellow and red that whispered under Gosi’s hooves. Ahead, the peaks glistened white against the dull grey sky.

He tried to explain the strange visitation to Arkoniel as they rode.

“Yes, she calls that her window spell,” said the wizard, not sounding the least surprised.

Before Tobin could question him further, the witch stepped from the trees to meet them. She always knew when they were coming.

Dirty and gap-toothed, dressed in a shapeless brown dress decorated with polished deer teeth, she looked more beggar than witch. Squinting up at them, she shook her head and grinned. “You keesas has no breakfast. Come, I feed you.”

As if it were just another day and nothing strange had ever happened between them, she turned and walked back into the trees. Tobin and Arkoniel tethered their horses and hurried after her on foot. Another of the witch’s peculiar magics guarded her camp. In all the time Tobin had known her, she had never used the same path twice, and he and Ki had never been able to find their way to her on their own. He wondered if Arkoniel knew how.

After many twists and turns, they came out in the clearing where her oak house stood. He’d forgotten how huge it was. Grandmother oak, Lhel called it. The trunk was as wide as a small cottage, and a natural split had hollowed a great space inside the trunk without killing it. A few leathery, copper-colored leaves still fluttered on the upper branches, and the ground around it was strewn with acorns. A fire crackled near the low opening that served as Lhel’s door. She disappeared inside for a moment, returning with a bowl of dried meat strips and a few wrinkled pippins.

Tobin wasn’t interested in food, but Lhel put the bowl in his hands and wouldn’t say another word until he and Arkoniel had done as they were told.

“You come now,” she said, going back to the oak. Arkoniel rose to follow, but she forestalled him with a look.

Inside, another small fire burned in a pit at the center of the packed-earth floor. Lhel pulled the deerskin door flap down and sat on the pelt-covered pallet beside the fire, patting the place beside her. When Tobin joined her, she turned his face to the light and studied him a moment, then opened the neck of his tunic to inspect the scar.

“Is good,” she said, then pointed down at his lap. “You see more blood?”

Tobin blushed and shook his head. “That won’t happen again, will it?”

“Someday later. But you may feel moontide in the belly.”

Tobin remembered the ache between his hipbones that had driven him here. “I don’t like that. It hurts.”

Lhel chuckled. “No girl like that.”

Tobin shivered at the word, but Lhel didn’t seem to notice. Reaching into the shadows behind her, she handed him a small pouch containing dried bluish green leaves. “Akosh. If pains come, you make tea with just this much, no more.” She showed him a generous pinch of leaves and mimed crumbling them into a cup.

Tobin stuck the bag inside his tunic, then stared down at his clasped hands. “I don’t want this, Lhel. I don’t want to be a girl. And I don’t want to be—queen.” He could hardly get the word out.

“You not change your fate, keesa.”

“Fate? You did this. You and the wizards!”

“Goddess Mother and your Lightbearer tell it must be so. That make fate.”

Tobin looked up to find her watching him with wise, sad eyes. She pointed skyward. “The gods be cruel, no? To you and Brother.”

“Brother! Did Arkoniel tell you what he did? I’m never going to call him again. Never! I’ll bring you the doll. You keep him.”

“No, you will. You must. Souls tied tight.” Lhel locked her hands together.

Tobin’s hands curled to white-knuckled fists on his knees. “I hate him!”

“You need him.” Lhel took his hands and spoke in his mind without words, the way she always did when she wanted to be clear. “You and he must be together for the magic to hold. He is cruel. What else could he be, angry and alone all the time and seeing you live the life denied him? Perhaps you can understands little, now that you know the truth?”

Tobin didn’t want to understand, or to forgive but her words struck home all the same. “You hurt him, when you sewed the bone into my chest. He cried blood.”

Lhel grimaced. “He was not meant to be, child. I’ve done all I could for him, but he’s been the burden of my heart since you were born.”

“Your burden?” Tobin sputtered. “You weren’t there when he was hurting me, hurting my mother and father and driving servants away—And he almost killed Ki!” The fire blurred before him as tears welled up. “Have you seen Ki? He won’t wake up!”

“He will. And you will keep the doll and care for Brother.”

Tobin wiped angrily at his eyes. “It’s not fair!”

“Hush, keesa!” she snapped, pulling her hands away from his. “What gods care for fair? Fair I stay here, far from my people? Live in tree? For you, I do this. For you we all suffer.”

Tobin shrank back as if he’d been slapped. She’d never spoken to him like that; no one had.

“You be queen for Skala. That your fate! Would you abandon your people?” She stopped and shook her head, gentle again. “You young, keesa. Too young. This will end. When you take off Brother skin, you both be free then.”

“But when?”

“I no see. Illior tell you, maybe.” She stroked his cheek, then took his hand and pressed it to her right breast. It was soft and heavy under the coarse wool. “You will be a woman one day, keesa.” Her voice was a dark caress in his mind. “I see the fear in your heart, fear you’ll lose your power. Women have power, too. Why do you think your moon god made queens for Skala? They were all warriors, your ancestors. Never forget that. Women carry the moon in their blood tide, too, and in their heart blood.”

She touched the inside of her wrist where the fine blue veins showed through. A thin cresecent moon appeared there, etched in fine black lines. “That you now—sliver moon, most of you dark.” She moved her finger and a circle appeared, just touching the outer curve of the crescent. “But when you grown like belly moon, you will know your power.”

With the eye of an artist, Tobin knew there must be more to balance the design—a waning moon—but she didn’t show him or speak of it. Instead, she touched his flat belly. “Here you will make great queens.” Her eyes met his and Tobin saw respect there. “Teach them about my people, Tobin. Teach your wizards, too.”

“Iya and Arkoniel know. They went to you when they needed help.”

Lhel let out a snort and sat back. “Not many like them,” she said aloud. Drawing the silver knife from her belt, she pricked her left thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. With it she drew a crescent on Tobin’s brow, then enclosed it in a circle. “Mother protect you, keesa.” She kissed the mark she’d made. “You go back now.”

As Tobin left the clearing with Arkoniel he paused at the spring, wanting to see what the blood mark looked like. There was no sign of it; perhaps it had vanished when she kissed him. He looked for that other face, too, and was glad when he saw only his own.

Tobin spent the rest of the day with Ki, watching Cook and Nari gently spooning broth between his lips and changing the thick woolen pads underneath him when he soiled himself. It hurt to see his friend so helpless. Ki was thirteen, and wouldn’t think much of being treated like a baby.

Tobin wanted nothing more than to be alone, but everyone seemed determined to look after him. Tharin brought modeling wax and sat with him. Sergeant Laris and some of the other men came up, too, offering to play bakshi and knucklebones, but Tobin didn’t want to. They all tried to cheer him up, joking and talking to Ki as if he could hear them, but that only made Tobin feel worse. He didn’t want to talk about horses or hunting, not even with Tharin. It seemed like lying, to speak of such ordinary things. Lhel’s words haunted him, making him feel like a stranger in his own skin. His new secrets lodged like caneberry seeds between his teeth, threatening to work loose and fly out at any moment if he wasn’t careful.

“Now look, you’ve tired poor Tobin out!” Nari exclaimed, coming in with a stack of fresh linen. “He’s only just up out of his own sickbed himself. Go on now and let him have some peace.”

She shooed the soldiers out, but Tharin hung back. “Would you like me to stay, Tobin?”

For once, he didn’t. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”

“You should go back to bed,” said Nari. “I’ll fetch you some broth and a warm brick for the foot of your bed.”

“No, please. Just let me sit with him.”

“He can sleep here if he needs to. That chair is good for napping.” With a final wink over his shoulder at Tobin, Tharin gently guided Nari out of the room before she could fuss over Tobin any more.

Tobin curled up in the armchair and watched Ki’s chest rise and fall for a while. Then he stared at his friend’s closed lids, willing them to open. At last he gave that up and picked up the wax Tharin had brought. Breaking off a bit, he rolled it between his palms to soften it. The familiar feel and sweet smell calmed him as it always had and he began shaping a little horse for Ki; those were his favorites. Tobin had given him a little wooden horse charm soon after Ki came to the keep and he still wore it on a cord around his neck. Tobin’s skill had improved since then and he’d offered to make him a better one, but Ki wouldn’t hear of it.

Tobin had just finished marking the mane with his fingernail when he sensed someone in the doorway. Iya smiled at him when he looked up and he guessed she’d been standing there for some time.

“May I join you?”

Tobin shrugged. Taking that as an invitation, Iya drew up a stool and leaned in to see the horse. “You’re very good at that. Is it a votive?”

Tobin nodded; he should make an offering at the house shrine. The horse’s head was too long, though. Pinching off a bit of the nose, he reshaped it, but now it was too small. Giving up, he rolled the whole thing into a ball.

“I just want to stay as I am!” he whispered.

“And so you shall, for a good while longer.”

Tobin touched his face, tracing its familiar contours. The face Lhel had shown him was softer, rounder through the cheeks, as if a sculptor had added a little wax and smoothed it in with his thumbs. But the eyes—those had still been his own. And the crescent-shaped scar on his chin.

“Does it—can you see—her?” He couldn’t bring himself to say “me.” His fingers found the wax again and he pinched at it nervously.

Iya chuckled. “No, you’re quite safe.”

Tobin knew she meant safe from King Erius and his wizards, but they weren’t whom he meant. What would Korin and the other boys say if they found out? No girls were allowed to serve as Companions.

Iya rose to go, then stopped and looked down at the new horse taking shape in his hands. Reaching into a pouch at her belt, she took out a few soft buff-and-brown feathers and gave them to him.

“Owl,” said Tobin, recognizing the pattern. “A saw what.”

“Yes. For Illior. You might consider making offerings to the Lightbearer now and then. Just lay them on the fire.”

Tobin said nothing, but when she’d gone he went down to the hall, filled a small brass offering basin with embers from the main hearth, and set it on the shelf of the house shrine. Whispering a prayer to Sakor to make Ki strong again, he laid the wax horse on the embers and blew on them until the wax melted. Every bit of the little votive was consumed, a sign that the god had been listening. Taking out one of the owl feathers, he twirled it between his fingers, wondering what prayer was proper. He hadn’t thought to ask. Laying it on the coals, he whispered, “Lightbearer, help me! Help Ki, too.”

The feather smoldered for a second, sending up a thread of acrid smoke, then caught fire and disappeared in a flash of green flame. A sudden shiver seized Tobin, leaving his knees a little shaky. This was a more dramatic answer than Sakor had ever sent. More scared than reassured, Tobin dumped the coals back into the hearth and hurried upstairs.

The following day was much the same and passed even more slowly. Ki slept on, and to Tobin’s worried eye, he was looking paler even though Nari said otherwise. Tobin made twenty-three horses, watched from the window as Laris drilled the men in the barracks yard, dozed in the chair. He even played idly with the little boats and wooden people in the toy city, though he was much too old for it now and got up hurriedly whenever he heard anyone coming.

Tharin brought supper on a tray and stayed to eat with him. Tobin still didn’t feel much like talking but was glad for the company. After supper they played bakshi on the floor.

They were in the middle of a toss when the faint stir of bedclothes caught Tobin’s attention. Jumping to his feet, he bent over Ki and took his hand. “Are you awake, Ki? Can you hear me?”

His heart leaped when Ki’s dark lashes fluttered against his cheek. “Tob?”

“And me,” Tharin said, smoothing Ki’s hair back from his brow. His hand was shaking, but he was smiling.

Ki looked around blearily. “Master Porion … tell him … too tired to run today.”

“You’re at the keep, remember?” Tobin had to stop himself from squeezing Ki’s hand too tightly. “You followed me out here.”

“What? Why would …” He stirred against the pillow, struggling to stay awake. “Oh, yes. The doll.” His eyes widened. “Brother! Tobin, I saw him.”

“I know. I’m sorry he—” Tobin broke off. Tharin was right there, overhearing everything. How was he going to keep Ki from blurting out more?

But Ki was fading again. “What happened? Why—why does my head hurt?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Tharin.

“I the doll … I remember riding …” Ki trailed off again and for a moment Tobin thought he’d gone back to sleep. Then, eyes still closed, he whispered, “Did I find you, Tob? I don’t remember anything after I got to Alestun. Did you get the doll?”

Tharin pressed the back of his hand to Ki’s cheek and frowned. “He’s a bit warm.”

“Hungry,” Ki mumbled peevishly.

“Well, that’s a good sign.” Tharin straightened up. “I’ll fetch you some cider.”

“Meat.”

“We’ll start with cider and see how you do with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ki rasped as soon as Tharin was gone. “I shouldn’t have said anything about—him.”

“It’s all right. Forget it.” Tobin sat on the edge of the bed and took Ki’s hand again. “Did Brother hurt you?”

Ki’s eyes went vague. “I—I don’t know. I don’t remember …” Then, abruptly, “How come you never told me?”

For one awful moment Tobin thought Ki had seen him with Lhel and Arkoniel, after all, and guessed his secret. He’d have blurted out the truth if Ki hadn’t spoken first.

“I wouldn’t have laughed, you know. I know it was your mother’s. But even if it was just some old doll, I’d never have laughed at you,” Ki whispered, eyes sad and full of questions.

Tobin stared down at their interlaced fingers. “The night Iya first brought you here, Brother showed me a vision. I saw the way people would look at me if they knew I had it.” He gestured helplessly. “I saw you and you—I was afraid you’d think badly of me if you knew.”

Ki let out a weak snort. “Don’t know that I’d believe anything he showed.” He looked around, as if fearing that Brother was listening, then whispered, “He’s a nasty thing, isn’t he? I mean, he’s your twin and all, but there’s something missing in him.” His fingers tightened on Tobin’s. “I didn’t understand why he wanted me to bring it before, but now—He thought it would make trouble between us, Tob. He’s always hated me.”

Tobin couldn’t deny that, especially after what had happened.

“I’d have come after you anyway, though,” Ki said, and a deep hurt crept into his voice. “Why’d you run off without me like that?”

Tobin clasped Ki’s hand with both of his. “It wasn’t like that! I thought I had plague. I was afraid I’d give it to you and Tharin and the others. All the way out here I was so scared it was already too late, that the deathbirds would nail you all up in the palace and—”

Tobin broke off in alarm as a tear trickled down Ki’s cheek.

“If you had been sick … If you’d gone off and died somewhere alone on the road … I couldn’t have stood it!” Ki whispered, voice quavering. “I’d just as soon die as live with the thought of it!” He clutched at Tobin’s hand. “Don’t you ever—Don’t!”

“I’m sorry, Ki. I won’t.”

“Swear it, Tob. Where you go, I go, no matter what. Swear it by the Four.”

Tobin shifted their right hands into the warrior’s clasp. “I swear it by the Four.”

Brother was wrong, he thought angrily. Or he lied to me, just for spite.

“Good. That’s settled.” Ki tried to turn his head and dry his cheek but couldn’t quite manage it. Tobin used the edge of the sheet to finish the job.

“Thanks,” Ki said, embarrassed. “So what did happen?”

Tobin told him what he could, though he had no idea how Ki had found his way to Lhel’s camp, and Ki still didn’t remember.

“Wonder what Old Slack Guts will have to say about all this?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” Ki wasn’t strong enough yet to hear about the letter.

Satisfied for now, Ki closed his eyes. Tobin sat with him until he was certain his friend was asleep. When he tried to let go of his hand, however, Ki’s fingers closed tighter around his.

“I’d never a’made fun, Tob,” he mumbled, more asleep than awake. “Never would.” Another tear seeped out from under his lashes and trickled down toward his ear.

Tobin wiped it away with his finger. “I know.”

“Don’t feel so good. Cold … Climb in, would you?”

Tobin kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers, trying not to jostle him. Ki muttered softly and turned his face Tobin’s way.

Tobin watched him sleep until his own eyes grew heavy. If Tharin did come back with the cider, Tobin didn’t hear him.

Arkoniel and Iya met Tharin in the hall and heard the good news. Arkoniel nearly wept with relief, both that Ki was awake at last and that he recalled nothing that would endanger his life. Whether that was thanks to Brother or Lhel, he didn’t care, so long as Ki was safe.

“I think I’ll sleep in Tobin’s bed tonight,” Tharin said, kneading his lower back ruefully. “I’ve had enough of chairs, and it’s certain Tobin won’t leave Ki.”

“You’ve earned a decent rest,” said Iya. “I believe I’ll do the same. Are you coming up, Arkoniel?”

“I’ll sit up awhile.”

“He’ll be fine,” she told him, giving him a reassuring smile. “Come up soon, won’t you?”

Tharin started after her toward the stairs, then turned to Arkoniel. “Do you know of anyone the boys call ‘Brother’?”

Arkoniel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Just something Ki said as he came around. Something about someone’s brother giving him that doll. No?” He yawned mightily and ran his hand over his chin. “Well, he was still pretty groggy. His mind must have been wandering.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Iya said, slipping her arm through his and leading him to the stairs. “Or perhaps you heard wrong? Come along now, before we have to carry you up.”

Arkoniel waited until the household was asleep, then stole in to see the boys. Tobin had crawled into bed with Ki. Even asleep he looked sad and depleted, but Ki was smiling. As Arkoniel watched, Tobin stirred and groped for his friend’s shoulder, as if to assure himself that he was still there.

Arkoniel sank into the chair, not trusting his legs to hold him up. It was always worse at night, the memory of what he had done. And what he’d nearly done.

He’d relived that awful moment in the forest a hundred times over the past few days. Tossing on his bed at night, he saw Ki coming toward them through the trees, breaking into that ready smile of his as he caught sight of Tobin huddled over the spring, revealed in her true form. Ki raised his hand, waving to—who? Had he seen her, recognized her, or had it been Arkoniel he was greeting? Lhel had thrown a fur robe over Tobin, but had she been quick enough?

He’d clung to that crumb of doubt, even as he lifted his hand to keep the vow he’d made to Iya and Rhius the day they’d agreed to let another child come to the keep. He himself had told Iya the new companion should be a child no one would miss.

Yes, he’d meant to keep that vow and kill Ki, but his heart had betrayed him and marred the spell; he’d tried to change it to a blinding at the last moment and instead released an unfocused blast that had knocked Ki through the air as if he weighed no more than a handful of chaff. It would have killed him if Lhel hadn’t been there to coax his heart back to life. She’d claimed to take away whatever memories Ki might have had of seeing Tobin, too, weaving in their place vague memories of illness. If Arkoniel and Iya had only known such a thing were possible …

If only they hadn’t been too arrogant to ask.

Glad as he was that Ki lived, Arkoniel could not escape the truth; he’d failed in his duty by not killing Ki, just as he’d betrayed the boy by trying.

For years he’d told himself he was different than Iya and Lhel. Now it seemed his supposed compassion was instead simply weakness.

Ashamed, he slipped away to his lonely chamber, leaving the two innocents to a peace he might never know again.

3

Ki was still too weak and dizzy to get up the next day, so Cook served Tobin’s belated name day cakes to them in the sickroom. Everyone crowded in and ate their portion standing. Nari presented Tobin with a new sweater and stockings she’d knitted, and Koni, their fletcher, gave him six fine new arrows. Laris had carved bone hunting whistles for him and Ki and Arkoniel shyly offered him a special pouch for carrying firechips.

“I’m afraid my gift for you is still in Ero,” Tharin told him.

“And mine,” said Ki around a mouthful of cake. His head was still mending but his appetite had recovered.

For the first time in a long time things began to feel safe and normal again. Tobin’s heart swelled as he looked around at the others laughing and talking. Except for Iya’s presence, it could have been any name day party he’d ever had.

By the next day Ki was well enough to be restless, but Nari wouldn’t hear of letting him out of the sickroom. He sulked and complained so much that she took his clothes away with her, just in case.

As soon as she was gone Ki climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in a blanket.

“There, at least I’m up,” he muttered. After a moment he began to feel sick again, but wouldn’t admit that Nari had been right. Fighting down nausea, he insisted on playing bakshi. After a few tosses, however, he began to see two of everything and let Tobin help him back into bed.

“Don’t tell her, will you?” he pleaded, closing his eyes. Trying to make the two Tobins frowning down at him join back into one made his head hurt.

“I won’t, but maybe you should listen to her.” Ki heard him settle in the chair by the bed. “You’re still looking peaked.”

“I’ll be all right tomorrow,” Ki said, willing it to be true.

The weather grew colder. Small sharp flakes drifted down from a hazy sky and the dead grass in the meadow sparkled with thick frost each morning.

Ki wolfed down all the broth and custard and baked apples Cook sent up, and was soon demanding meat. He continued to grumble at being shut in and made light of his condition, but Tobin knew he was far from his old self yet. He got tired suddenly, and his eyes still bothered him sometimes.

They grew bored with games long before Ki was strong enough to play at swords or go downstairs. Anxious to keep him quiet, Tobin arranged a nest of bolsters and blankets from him beside the toy city and they made a new game of tracing familiar routes through the city streets and trying to guess what the other Companions might be up to there.

Ki lifted off the roof of the box that served as the Old Palace and took the little golden tablet from its frame by the wood block throne. Tilting it to catch the light, he squinted at the tiny inscription there. “My eyes must be getting better. I can read this. ‘So long as a daughter of Thelátimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.’ You know, that’s the first time I’ve really looked at this since Arkoniel taught us to read.” His dark brows drew together as he frowned. “Did you ever think maybe it wouldn’t do you any good if your uncle knew about this? The one in the real throne room is gone, remember? My father claimed Erius melted it down when he destroyed all the stone copies that used to stand at crossroads.”

“You’re right.” In fact, Tobin had never considered the risk before; now the idea took on a more dire cast than it would have a month earlier. He looked around, wondering where he should put it for safekeeping. Dangerous it might be, but it was still a gift from his father.

And not just a gift, but a message. For the first time it occurred to him that the toy city had not been simply a child’s diversion; his father had been teaching him, readying him for the day—

“Tob, you all right?”

Tobin closed his hand around the tablet and stood up. “Yes, I was just thinking of my father.” He looked around again, then inspiration struck. “I know just the place.”

Ki followed him as he hurried back to his own room and threw open the clothes chest. He hadn’t touched the doll since he’d hidden it here, but fetched it out now and found a seam in its side with stitches long enough to slide the tiny tablet through. He pushed it in deep, then shook it to make certain it slipped down inside. When he’d finished he buried it again and grinned at Ki. “There. I’m used to hiding this already.”

The sound of hooves on the frozen Alestun road broke the winter quiet the following afternoon. Ki left off his bakshi toss and the boys hurried to the window.

“Another messenger from Lord Orun,” Tobin said, frowning at the yellow-liveried rider approaching the bridge. Sefus and Kadmen met him at the outer gate.

Ki turned to stare at him. “Another one? What did the last one want? Tobin?”

Tobin picked at a spot of lichen on the stone sill. “He wants me back in Ero, but Tharin sent word I was too sick to ride.”

“That’s all?”

“No,” Tobin admitted. “Orun said he was writing to the king again.”

“About me.”

Tobin nodded grimly.

Ki said nothing, just looked back out the window, but Tobin saw the worry in his eyes.

Tharin brought the news up to them. “The same as before. Your guardian is impatient for your return.”

“And to get rid of me,” said Ki.

“I’m afraid so.”

Ki hung his head. “This is my fault, isn’t it, Tharin? I gave him a reason. I should have gone to you as soon as I knew Tobin was missing. I don’t know why I listened—” He rubbed absently at the discolored lump on his forehead and gave Tobin a sorrowful look. “All I could think of was catching up with you. Now look what I’ve done!”

“I won’t let him send you away. What did this letter say, exactly?”

Tharin handed Tobin the folded parchment and he scanned it quickly. “He wants me to start back today! Ki can’t ride yet.”

Tharin gave him a humorless smile. “I doubt that’s of much concern to Lord Orun. Don’t worry, though. Nari’s down there explaining to the messenger how your fever is still too high for you to travel. You’d better keep to your room until he leaves. I wouldn’t put it past Orun to have sent us a spy.”

“Nor would I,” said Iya, looking in at the door. “Before you go into hiding, though, would you come upstairs? I’ve something to show you. Privately,” she added, as Ki started after him.

Tobin threw his friend an apologetic look as he followed her out.

“What is it?” he asked as soon as they were in the corridor.

“There are things we must speak of while there is still time.” She paused. “Bring the doll, please.”

Tobin did as she asked and they continued upstairs. Arkoniel met them in the workroom and to Tobin’s surprise, he was not alone. Lhel sat at the long table just behind him. Everyone looked very serious, but he was glad to see her, all the same.

“You have call Brother?” asked Lhel, and he guessed that she already knew the answer.

“No,” Tobin admitted.

“Call now.”

Tobin hesitated, then spoke the words in a nervous rush.

Brother appeared in the corner farthest from the door. He was thin and ragged, but Tobin could feel the cold power of his presence from across the room.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Iya.

Lhel squinted hard at Brother, then shrugged. “I tell you the binding stronger now. So he stronger, too.”

“I wonder if Ki is still able to see him?” murmured Arkoniel.

“I won’t have him around Ki.” Tobin turned angrily on the ghost. “I won’t call you at all, ever, unless you promise never to hurt him again! I don’t care what Lhel says!” He shook the doll at Brother. “Promise, or you can stay away and starve.”

Tobin saw a flicker of hatred in the ghost’s black eyes, but it was directed at the wizards, not at him.

“No one saw him in Tobin’s sickroom,” Iya was saying, as if she hadn’t noticed his outburst.

“Those have the eye see him more now,” said Lhel. “And he make others see when he wants.”

Tobin looked at Brother again, noting how the lamplight seemed to touch him the same way it did the rest of them; it never had before. “He looks more—real, somehow.”

“Be harder to put you apart, comes the time, but must be so.”

For a moment curiosity overcame his anger. “Come here,” he told the ghost. Tobin reached to touch him; but as always, his hand found only colder air. Brother grinned at him. He looked more like an animal baring its teeth.

“Go away!” Tobin ordered, and was relieved when the spiteful ghost obeyed. “Can I go now?”

“A moment more, if you please,” said Arkoniel. “You remember how I promised to teach you to guard your thoughts? It’s time we had that lesson.”

“But it’s not magic. You said so, remember?”

“Why do you fear magic so, Tobin?” asked Iya. “It’s protected you all these years. And wonderful things can be done with it! You’ve seen that for yourself. With a wave of my hand, I can make fire where there is no wood, or food in the wilderness. Why do you fear it?”

Because magic meant surprises and fear, sorrow and danger, Tobin thought. But he couldn’t tell them that; he didn’t want them to know what power they had over him. So he just shrugged.

“Many magics, keesa,” Lhel said softly, and he caught a flicker of the secret symbols on her cheeks. “You wise to be respecting. Some magic good, some evil. But we do no evil with you, keesa. Make you safe.”

“And this isn’t real magic, just a protection against it,” Arkoniel assured him. “All you have to do is imagine something very clearly, make a picture in your head. Can you imagine the sea for me?”

Tobin thought of the harbor at Ero at dawn, with the great trading ships riding at anchor and the small fishing boats bobbing around them like skimmer beetles.

He felt the briefest cool touch on his brow, but no one had moved.

Iya chuckled. “That was very good.”

“I tell you,” Lhel said.

Tobin opened his eyes. “That’s all?”

“That’s a beginning, and a very good one,” Arkoniel replied. “But you must practice as often as you can, and do it whenever Niryn or any of the Harriers notice you. The real trick is to not look like you’re thinking of something else.”

“Arkoniel used to screw his face up like he had a cramp,” Iya said, looking at him fondly, the way Nari looked at Tobin sometimes. “But you can’t always think of the same thing. It’s safest if you focus on something you’ve just been doing. For instance, if you’ve been hawking, think of jesses or wing markings, or the sound of the bells.”

Tobin tried again, thinking of the game he and Ki had been playing.

“Well done again!” Arkoniel said. “Just remember, though, that your best defense against Niryn and his kind lies in never giving them a reason to look into your head.”

Tobin’s apologies were carried back to Ero the following day. The boys watched from Ki’s window, sticking their tongues out at the retreating horseman.

Ki was finally well enough to escape Nari’s strictures and they spent the day wandering around the keep and visiting at the barracks. Ki wanted to visit Arkoniel, but the wizard didn’t answer his door.

Ki looked back over his shoulder as they walked away. The sight of that closed door left him oddly depressed. “Where do you suppose he could be?”

“He’s around,” Tobin said with a shrug. “What’s wrong? I just saw him yesterday.”

“I haven’t seen him since your name day party,” Ki reminded him. “I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me.”

Tobin punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Now why would he do that?”

Ki was surprised at how quickly his newfound energy deserted him. By midafternoon he was feeling weak again, and having spells of double vision. That frightened him, for Iya had assured him they would pass. The thought that she might be wrong was too frightening to contemplate. What good would a blind squire be to anyone?

As always, Tobin seemed to sense without being told how Ki felt and asked for an early supper upstairs.

That night they slept in Tobin’s room. Ki sighed happily as he sank back against the soft bolsters. Even if it was only for a few nights more, it was good to have things as they used to be. He hadn’t thought about Ero or his enemies among the Companions in days.

Tobin’s thoughts were running along similar lines as he watched the candle shadows dance overhead. Part of him missed Korin and the others, and the excitement of palace life. But Orun’s angry letters tainted all that. Not for the first time, he wished things were the way they used to be.

“This damn thing itches,” Ki grumbled, rubbing at his forehead. He turned his face for Tobin to see. “How does it look?”

Tobin pushed Ki’s soft brown hair back for a better look. A swollen, crusted gash two inches long still stood out over Ki’s right eye, just below the hairline. The lump was fading from purple to a nasty mottled green. “You must have hit a rock or something when you fell. Does it still hurt?”

Ki laughed up at him. “Don’t you start fussing over me! I’m worse off from being kept indoors so long. My old dad would never have stood for it, I can tell you.” He dropped back into the country accent he used to have. “ ’Less you got a broke leg or guts hanging out, you can damn well get out and tend to yer chores.”

“Do you still miss your family?”

Ki folded his hands across his chest. “Some of ’em, I guess. Ahra, and a couple brothers.”

“After we get things settled in Ero, we could go visit them,” Tobin offered. “I’d like to see where you come from.”

Ki glanced away. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You just wouldn’t.” He gave Tobin a quick grin. “Bilairy’s balls, I don’t want to go back there. Why would you?”

Tobin let it go; why shouldn’t Ki have a few secrets of his own and, anyway, that was all a long time ago. He pushed his fingers back through Ki’s hair, pretending to take a closer look at the wound. “Anyway, it should leave a good scar.”

“Not one to brag of, though,” Ki grumbled. “Think the girls would believe me if I said we met with Plenimaran raiders on the road, or bandits, maybe? I bet Una and Marilli would believe me.”

Tobin chuckled, but at the same time felt a familiar twinge of jealousy. He’d heard enough stories about his friend’s hot-blooded kin, and Ki already had an eye for anything in skirts.

Tobin’s own bashfulness in that regard had earned him his share of teasing among the Companions. Even Ki wasn’t above the occasional good-natured jibe. Everyone—including Tobin himself—had always put it down to his youth and natural shyness.

Until now.

Now, fingers still twined in Ki’s warm hair, Tobin had his first inkling of what that angry little knot in his belly might mean. He took his hand away and lay back, pulling the covers up under his chin.

I don’t like girls that way because I—

He threw an arm across his face to hide the rising blush burning his cheeks and used Arkoniel’s trick. He thought of Gosi’s rough winter coat, the feel of cold rain down his neck, the bite of his hawk’s talons on his fist—anything but the guilty heat coursing through him. Anything but the way his fingers remembered the weight of his friend’s soft hair.

I’m a boy! Ki would never—

Ki had gone quiet, and when Tobin dared lift his arm he found him frowning up at the rafters. After a moment he let out a long sigh.

“What about Orun? What if he does get your uncle to send me away this time?”

“I told you, I won’t let him.”

“Oh, I know.” Ki’s buck-toothed grin flashed as he caught Tobin’s hand in his, but he was worried. “I’ll tell you this, Tob; whatever happens, I’ll always stand by you, even if it’s only as a soldier in your guard.” He was dead serious now. “No matter what happens, Tobin, I’m your man.”

“I know that,” Tobin managed, caught between gratitude and guilt. “And I’m yours. Go to sleep now, before Nari comes in and makes you sleep next door.”

Orun countered with another messenger the next day and, without thinking, Tobin went to get the news. Tharin was with the man in the hall and looked up in surprise as Tobin clattered down the stairs. He was too distracted for the moment to register what that look meant.

Their visitor turned out to be a most unlikely courier. It was Orun’s own valet, Bisir. He was a meek, quiet fellow, pretty in the way that all the young men in Orun’s household were. With his big, dark eyes and soft, nervous hands, Bisir had always reminded Tobin of a hare. He was one of the few people in that household who was always pleasant to him and, more importantly, the only one who was polite to Ki.

“A letter for you from my lord Orun, Prince Tobin,” Bisir said, looking apologetic as he handed Tobin the sealed parchment. “And may I say, my prince, that it’s good to see you looking so well. Captain Tharin’s last letter gave my master to believe that your health might be in some danger.”

Too late Tobin realized his mistake. It would be no use writing back of ill health now. He opened the letter and saw it made no difference, anyway. Orun was threatening to bring him home by cart, if need be.

“It’s all right,” Ki said, as Tobin fretted in their room. “I can ride now, really.”

Iya wasn’t so certain, however, and they went to bed that night in low spirits. Unable to sleep, Tobin sent up a half-formed plea to Sakor and Illior, then wondered if the gods ever heard a petition without the offering smoke to carry it.

When he woke the following morning the first thing he noticed was something white on the floor. It was snow. A shutter had come open and a little drift of it had piled on the rushes under the window. More was blowing in. Jumping out of bed, he dashed to the window and leaned out, laughing as the driven flakes peppered his cheeks.

The meadow was gone, lost behind thick, shifting curtains of white. He could just make out the angle of the barracks roof but the bridge was nothing but a dark blur beyond it.

He scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at Ki to wake him. Evidently the gods had been feeling generous.

The blizzard lasted for three days, heaping snow halfway up the doorposts and trapping Bisir in with them. This presented certain complications. Iya had made herself known, but Arkoniel had to stay hidden upstairs in case Bisir decided to wander where he wasn’t wanted.

The young valet was awkward and ill at ease at first, clearly feeling out of place in this rude country household. There was nothing for him to do here, no one to serve. The women didn’t want him underfoot in the hall, so Koni and some of the younger guardsmen took charge of him and dragged him off to the barracks. Ki and Tobin watched from the top of the stairs as they all but carried him out. Surrounded by rough, coarse-spoken soldiers, Bisir looked like he was on his way to be hanged.

They didn’t see him again until breakfast the next day. Though uncharacteristically rumpled, he was actually laughing with Koni and the others, something Tobin had never seen the timid fellow do.

Even after the storm ended the roads were so choked with snow that for the present there was no question of travel. For three golden weeks they lived as if they’d never gone to Ero.

The snow kept them from riding, but they spent hours shooting, fighting snowball battles against the guardsmen, building whole squadrons of snowmen, and practicing their swordplay in the barracks. Koni somehow pulled Bisir into these pastimes, but the valet proved to be no warrior.

On those rare occasions when Ki and Tobin did manage to slip away unattended, they looked for Lhel at the edge of the forest, but the witch was either snowed in or refusing to show herself.

Ki grew strong again, but still had trouble seeing clearly sometimes when he was shooting. He thought about going to Tharin but instead ended up at Iya’s door one night after Tobin was asleep. Once there, fear made it hard to tell her what the matter was. Iya was kind, seating him by her fire and giving him spiced wine. When he finally blurted out what the matter was, she seemed relieved.

“You eyes, is it? Well, let’s see what I can do.” Iya bent over him and pressed a hand to his brow. She said nothing for a few minutes, just stood there with her eyes half-closed, as if she was listening inside his head. Ki felt a tingling coldness against his skin; it tickled a little, but it felt good, too.

“You never told me you were a healer.”

“Oh, I know a thing or two,” she murmured.

Whatever she was doing, she soon seemed satisfied. “I wouldn’t fret about it. That knock on the head is still mending. I’m sure this will pass.”

“I hope so. When we get back—”

“You’ll have to prove your worthiness all over again,” she guessed, wise as always. “Your worth is known to your friends, and you won’t change the minds of your enemies no matter what you do.”

“My friends,” Ki murmured, thinking of Arkoniel. No matter what Tobin or anyone else said, Arkoniel was avoiding him. He’d done no more than peek in at the doorway when Ki lay sick, and they’d hardly seen each other since. It hurt. Ki had always liked the wizard, even when he was forcing him to learn reading and writing. This sudden, unexplained coolness between them was hard to bear.

He had not dared ask Tharin about it, scared of what the answer might be. But now he couldn’t hold back any longer. Iya knew Arkoniel better than anyone else. “Is Arkoniel angry with me for letting Tobin run off?”

Iya arched an eyebrow at him. “Angry? Why would you think that? You know he can’t risk being seen by our houseguest.”

“He was avoiding me before Bisir got here.”

“He asks after you all the time.”

Ki blinked. “He does?”

“Certainly.”

“But I never see him.”

Iya smoothed her hands down the front of her robe. “He’s been busy with some spell he’s working on. That takes up much of his time.”

Ki sighed. That hadn’t stopped Arkoniel from sending for Tobin, just not for him.

Iya must have seen the doubt in his eyes, or maybe she touched his mind to read it, for she smiled. “Don’t worry about this, my dear. Your illness frightened him more than he likes to admit. Perhaps he has an odd way of showing it, but he cares for you a great deal. I’ll speak to him.”

Ki rose and gave her a grateful bow. He was still too much in awe of her to hug her. “Thank you, Mistress. I’d be awfully sad if he didn’t like me anymore.”

Iya surprised him with a soft touch on his cheek. “You mustn’t ever think that, child.”

4

It amused Niryn greatly to watch Orun fume and fret over Prince Tobin’s absence. He’d suspected from the start that the Lord Chancellor had engineered the guardianship for himself, hoping to cement his connection to the royal family through Tobin. If the child had been a girl, no doubt he’d even have gone so far as to ask for a betrothal. He was powerful, it was true, and his oily loyalty to the king’s mother had gained him both wealth and status; Erius might have considered such a match.

Instead, here was this skinny, skittish little boy, heir to the richest estates in the land, and Orun held the purse strings. Niryn’s own hold on the king was secure enough, but it irked him to see such a plum fall into the lap of the most odious man in Ero. So he bided his time and kept spies in the house to see if Orun would trip himself up. Orun’s penchant for young boys was no secret, though he’d wisely limited himself to servants and whores who could be counted on not to tattle. But if he should forget himself with Tobin? Well, that would certainly be a bit of luck. The wizard had even considered helping the matter along.

It was all moot anyway, though. Anytime the king chose—and here Niryn did have some influence—Erius could with impunity seize Tobin’s estates, his lands, and treasuries. Tobin was young and virtually friendless among the nobles; with his parents dead, such a child was not worth anyone’s loyalty.

If Ariani’s daughter had lived, rather than this sprat, it would have been a different matter. As the plagues and droughts worsened and the peasants turned to Illior, it had not been terribly difficult to make the king see that any female of the blood posed a threat to his line. If the Illiorans had their way, any one of these pretenders could claim to be a “daughter of Thelátimos” and raise an army against him. The solution was the usual time-honored one.

Niryn had made a near-fatal error, however, when he pointed out obliquely that the king’s sister, Ariani, posed the greatest threat of all. Erius had very nearly ordered Niryn’s execution; that had been the first time Niryn used magic against the king.

The incident passed and Niryn was glad when it became apparent that the king’s forbearance did not extend to his sister’s children. They’d both taken it as an auspicious sign when Ariani’s daughter was stillborn. Later, the princess’ descent into madness had done Niryn’s work for him. Not even the most fanatical Illiorans would want another mad queen on the throne. No one would back Ariani, or her demon-cursed son.

Yet that still left others. A girl, any girl, who could claim even tangentially to be a “daughter of Thelátimos” might find that the Prophecy of Afra had not been forgotten, no matter how many priests and wizards the king burned. It was a fact Niryn counted on.

No one had noticed when Niryn began paying monthly visits to Hear. He dressed as a wealthy merchant and added a spell to fuddle the minds of any who might recognize him. In this way he’d come and gone as he pleased all these years. Who would dare spy on the leader of the Harriers?

Riding into the market town that misty winter afternoon, he reveled as always in his anonymity. It was poulterers’ day, and the crowing, quacking, and honking of the birds in their pens echoed loudly inside the walled marketplace. Niryn smiled to himself as he guided his mount through the crowd. Who among them guessed that the horseman they jostled or muttered at or smiled upon had the power to end their lives with a word?

Leaving the markets behind, he rode up the hill to the most affluent neighborhood and the fine stone house he owned there. A young page answered, and Vena, the half-blind old nurse, met him in the hall.

“She’s been fretting at her window since morning, Master,” she scolded, taking his cloak.

“Is that him?” a girl called from upstairs.

“Yes, Nalia, my dear, it’s me!” Niryn replied.

Nalia hurried down the stairs and kissed him on both cheeks. “You’re a whole day late, you know!”

Niryn kissed her back, then held her at arm’s length to admire her. A year older than Prince Korin, she had her kinsman’s black hair and eyes, but none of his handsome looks. She was a homely girl, made homelier by a weak chin and the irregular pink birthmark that ran like spilled wine down her left cheek and shoulder. It made her shy, and she shunned society of any sort. This had served him well, making it a simple matter to keep her hidden away in this remote backwater town.

Her mother, a second cousin to the king on the matrilineal side, had been even uglier, but somehow managed to find a husband and whelp a pair of girls. Her good fortune had been Niryn’s. He’d seen to the murders himself, stopping the father’s heart as he opened the door to the wizard and killing the mother in the birthing bed. That had been in the early days of Erius’ massacres, when Niryn still saw to such things personally.

Nalia’s twin had been a pretty little thing, untouched by the unkind fate that had marred her mother and sister. She would have grown up a beauty, and beauty was hard to hide. Or control.

Niryn had meant to kill all of them, but as he’d lifted the second squalling infant from her dead mother’s side he’d had the vision—the one that had guided his every action since. From that moment on, he knew he was no longer merely the king’s coursing hound, but the master of Skala’s future.

Other wizards glimpsed her in their own visions, and some of the Illioran priests, too. Preying on the king’s fears for Korin, Niryn had wrested the power and the means to crush others before they could see clearly and reveal his sweet, tractable little Nalia. No one but he must bring this future queen forward when the time was right. No one but he must control her when she reached the throne.

He controlled Erius, but knew he would never be able to control headstrong young Korin. The boy had too much of his mother’s blood in him and no hint of madness. He would rule long, while plague and ill fortune grew on the land until Skala gave way to her enemies like a rotten beam.

Mad Agnalain and her brood had tainted the crown; no one would argue that. His Nalia could trace her lineage back to Thelátimos on both sides. Niryn could prove it, when the time came. He, and only he, would restore the Sword of Ghërilain to a woman’s hand when the Lightbearer gave the sign. In the meantime, she had grown up safely anonymous, unknown even to herself. She knew only that she was an orphan, and Niryn was her kindly benefactor and guardian. Allowed no other male companions, she doted on him and missed him terribly when he was away—as she believed—attending to his shipping business in the capital.

“It’s very cruel of you to make me wait so long,” she said, still chiding, though he saw the flush rising in her unblemished cheek as she drew him by the hand to his chair in the sitting room. Settling happily on his lap, she kissed him again and gave his beard a playful tug.

Despite her disfigured face, she’d grown into a shapely young woman. Niryn circled her slender waist with one arm and ran a hand lovingly over the generous swell of her breasts as he kissed her. At night in their unlit bedchamber, she was as beautiful as any mistress he’d ever taken, and the most abjectly devoted.

Let Orun have his little stick figure prince for now. Without Duke Rhius’ power behind him—and Niryn had helped that demise along, too—the son of Ariani was just another male usurper to the throne, and a cursed one at that. He’d be easy enough to deal with when the time came.

5

A warm wind from the south ended Tobin’s exile in early Cinrin. Midwinter rains melted the drifts like sugar loaves. The snow forts crumbled and their army of snowmen lay like scattered pockmarked corpses, felled by the plague of mild weather.

Two days later a royal courier arrived with a letter from Korin and another sharp summons from Lord Orun.

“That’s it, then,” said Ki after Tobin read it out to Tharin and the others around the hearth fire.

Bisir had grown ruddy and rather cheerful during his unintended stay, but he had that frightened rabbit look again now. “Does he say anything about me?”

“Don’t worry about Orun,” said Tobin. “It wasn’t your fault you got snowed in. He can’t hold the weather against you.”

Bisir shook his head. “But he will.”

“We’ll head back at first light tomorrow,” said Tharin, looking no more pleased than the valet did. “Nari, see that their things are packed.”

“Of course I will!” Nari snapped, offended, but Tobin saw her dab at her eyes with a corner of her apron as she went up the stairs.

Cook prepared a fine farewell supper that night, but no one was very hungry.

“You are still coming with me, aren’t you, Iya?” Tobin asked, pushing a bit of lamb around his bowl.

“Maybe you could be Tobin’s court wizard,” Ki offered.

“I doubt the king would approve of that,” Iya replied.

“But I’ll come for a little stay, just to see how the wind’s blowing.”

Tobin’s heart was heavy as he and Ki dressed by candlelight the next morning. He had no appetite for breakfast; there was a lump in his throat, and another heavy as a stone in his belly. Ki was quieter than usual, and made his good-byes hastily when the time came to leave. Bisir looked downright grim.

The day dawned rainy and cold as they passed through Alestun. The roads were churned to thick, sucking mud and made for slow riding. The rain came in squalls as they descended through the wooded hills to the rolling open country beyond. Dusk came on early so late in the year. They spent the night in a wayside inn and came in sight of the coast at noon the next day. The sky was the color of iron, the sea and the distant river black against the winter brown fields. Even Ero looked like a city of ash on her high hill.

They kicked their horses into a gallop over the last few miles and the sharp tang of the sea blew in to greet them. That and the excitement of galloping with his own men at his back lifted Tobin’s spirits a little. By the time they reached the broad stone span of Beggar’s Bridge, he felt ready to face his guardian. Even the slums between the bridge and the city wall did not dampen his spirits. He emptied his purse of coppers and silver, tossing the coins to the beggars who lined the way. Tobin and his warriors saluted the crescent and flame carved on the great stone arch of the south gate, touching hearts and hilts to honor the city’s patron deities. Tharin announced Tobin’s arrival and the pike-men bowed to him as he rode by. Iya reined aside to show the silver badge she wore and one of the guards marked something down on a wax tally board. The wizard’s lips were pressed in a hard angry line as she caught up with Tobin. Tobin knew about the badges the Harriers made the free wizards wear, had seen the one Iya wore. Only now did he begin to understand what they really meant.

The narrow streets seemed all the more dark and filthy to Tobin after weeks in the mountains. This was a poor quarter and the faces he saw peering out from windows and doorways were pinched and pale as ghosts.

“Stinking Ero,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Iya gave him an odd look from under her hood, but said nothing.

“Guess we were gone long enough to get the smell out of our noses,” said Ki.

Urging their mounts on at a gallop, they clattered up the steep, twisting streets to the walled Palatine. The streets grew marginally cleaner in the upper precincts, and in some the woven ropes of evergreen boughs and wheat had already been hung over some doorways in preparation for the Festival of Sakor.

The captain of the Palatine Guard greeted Tharin at the gates. “Prince Korin left word for Prince Tobin, my lord,” he said, bowing low. “He bids his cousin come to the feasting hall as soon as he arrives.”

“Did Lord Orun leave any message?” asked Tobin.

“No, my prince.”

“That’s good, anyway,” muttered Ki.

Tobin turned reluctantly to Bisir. “I suppose you’d better take your master the news.”

The young man bowed in the saddle and rode on ahead without a word.

The branches of the ancient, winter-bare elms lining the avenue formed a netted tunnel over them as they cantered on.

Tobin paused by the Royal Tomb and saluted the remains of his parents, which lay in the catacombs below. Through the age-blackened wooden pillars that supported the flat tile roof, Tobin could see the light of the altar fire flickering over the faces of the queens’ effigies.

“Do you want to go in?” Tharin asked.

Tobin shook his head and rode on.

The New Palace gardens were a palette of grey and black. Lights twinkled from windows everywhere in the maze of fine houses that crowned Ero’s high hill, like a flock of fireflies in winter.

At the Old Palace Iya went on with Laris and the others to quarters at the villa that had been Ariani’s. Tharin stayed with the boys and accompanied them into the Companions’ wing. Uncertain of his welcome, Tobin was glad of his company and Ki’s as they made their way along the faded corridors.

The messroom was empty but sounds of merriment led them on to Korin’s feasting chamber. The double doors stood open and light and music spilled out to greet the prodigals. Hundreds of lamps lit the room and the chamber felt stifling after the day’s cold ride.

Korin and the other noble Companions sat at the high table, accompanied by a few select friends and favorite girls. The squires were busy serving. Garol stood ready with his wine pitcher behind Korin’s chair and Tanil was busy carving on his left. The only person who seemed to be missing from the usual gathering was Swordmaster Porion. He was nowhere to be seen. As much as Tobin liked the gruff old veteran, he was in no hurry to hear what the man had to say about his absence from training.

Scores of guests of every age sat at two long tables below. Looking around, Tobin saw the usual collection of entertainers, as well. At the moment, a company of Mycenian acrobats were throwing each other into the air.

Korin hadn’t noticed their arrival. Aliya was sitting on his lap, laughing and blushing over something he was whispering in her ear as he played with one of her braids. As Tobin approached the table, he saw with little surprise that his cousin was flushed with wine, despite the early hour.

Near the end of the table, Tobin’s friends Nikides and Lutha were talking with dark-haired Lady Una, though they looked more earnest than flirtatious.

Lutha was the first to notice them. His narrow face lit up as he elbowed Nikides, and shouted, “Look, Prince Korin, your wayward cousin is home at last!”

“Come here, coz!” Korin exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “And you, too, Ki. So you finally dug yourselves out, did you? We’ve missed you. And missed your name day, as well.”

“I’ve had my old seat back for a while,” Caliel said, laughing. Giving up his place of honor at Korin’s right, he shouldered in next to red-bearded Zusthra.

Ki went to join the other squires serving at table. Tharin was given a seat of honor among Korin’s older friends at the right-hand table. Tobin looked around uneasily for his guardian; Orun inserted himself into Korin’s doings whenever he could manage it. But not this time, Tobin noted with relief.

Ki had seemed welcome enough, too. Perhaps Orun hadn’t done anything, after all. Down the table, however, he caught sight of their old nemesis, Moriel the Toad. The pale, sharp-faced boy was watching his rival with open dislike; if Orun had had his way, Tobin would be sharing chambers with him instead of Ki.

As he looked around to see if Ki had noticed, he was caught by a pair of dark eyes. Lady Una gave him a shy wave. Her open regard had always discomforted Tobin. Now, with his new secret lodged like a splinter in his heart, he had to look away quickly. How could he ever face her again?

“Ah, someone’s glad to see you home,” Caliel observed, misinterpreting Tobin’s sudden blush.

“Mazer, butler, a welcoming cup for my cousin!” Korin cried. Lynx brought Tobin a golden mazer and Garol, none too sober himself, slopped wine into it.

Korin leaned forward, peering into Tobin’s face. “You seem no worse for your illness. Thought you had plague, did you?”

Korin was drunker than he’d thought, and reeked of wine. All the same, the welcome was genuine, if a little slurred, and Tobin was glad of it.

“I didn’t want the deathbirds nailing up the palace,” he explained.

“Speaking of birds, your hawk’s been pining for you,” Arengil called down the table, his Aurënfaie accent giving the words a graceful lilt. “I’ve kept her in trim, but she misses her master.”

Tobin raised his cup to his friend.

Korin swayed to his feet and banged a spoon against a platter of goose bones. The minstrels ceased and the tumblers scurried away. When he had everyone’s attention, Korin raised his cup to Tobin. “Let us pour libations for my cousin, for his name day’s sake.” With an unsteady hand, he tipped half the contents onto the stained tablecloth, then downed the rest as the others sprinkled the required drops. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Korin proclaimed grandly, “Twelve years old, my cousin is, and twelve kisses he’ll get from every girl at the table to speed him on to manhood. And one extra, too, for the month that’s passed since. Aliya, you first.”

There was no point in arguing, for Korin would have his way. Tobin tried not to flinch as Aliya draped herself around him and delivered the required dozen all over his face. Korin was welcome to his opinion of her, but Tobin had always found her sharp-tongued and mean. For the last kiss, she pressed her mouth hard to his, then flounced away laughing. Half a dozen more girls crowded forward, probably more anxious for Korin’s approval than Tobin’s. When Una’s turn came, she shyly brushed his cheek, eyes squeezed shut. Over her shoulder, Tobin could see black-haired Alben laughing with Zusthra and Quirion, clearly relishing his embarrassment.

When the ordeal was over, Ki set a parsley bread trencher and a finger bowl down before him. Tobin saw that he was tight-lipped with anger.

“It’s just in fun,” Tobin whispered, but it wasn’t the kissing that had upset his friend.

Still glowering, Ki took the platter away. A moment later Tobin heard the clatter of dishes and Ki’s muffled curse. Turning, he saw Mago and Arius laughing as Ki scooped greasy scraps back onto the platter he’d dropped. From the look Ki shot them, Tobin guessed those two had lost no time resuming their old tricks.

Tobin hadn’t forgiven Mago for goading Ki into a fight that had gotten him a beating on the temple steps. He was halfway out of his chair when Korin’s squire, Tanil, stepped in beside him to place several cuts of roast lamb in his trencher.

“I’ll deal with them,” he murmured.

Tobin grudgingly settled back in his chair. As usual, Korin took no notice. “What will you have for a present, coz?” he demanded. “Name anything you like. A gold-chased corselet, perhaps, to replace that battered old turtle shell of yours? A peregrine or a fine new Aurënfaie horse? I know—a sword! There’s a new smith in Hammer Street, you’ve never seen the like—”

Tobin chewed slowly, considering the offer. He had no desire to replace his horse or his sword—both gifts from his father—and his old armor suited him just fine, though perhaps it was getting a little small. The fact was, he’d been given so many gifts since he’d come to court that he couldn’t think of a thing to ask for, except one. And he didn’t dare bring up Ki’s possible banishment here. He wasn’t even certain if it was in his cousin’s power to decide the matter and wouldn’t risk embarrassing Ki in front of the others.

“I can’t think of anything,” he admitted at last.

This was greeted with good-natured hoots and catcalls, but he overheard Urmanis’ sister Lilyan whispering meanly to Aliya, “Always has to play the simple rustic lord, doesn’t he?”

“Perhaps the prince would rather have a different sort of gift,” Tharin suggested. “A journey, perhaps?”

Korin grinned. “A journey? Now there’s a gift we could all share in. Where would you like to go, Tobin? Afra, perhaps, or down to Erind. You won’t get better fried eels anywhere and the whores there are said to be the finest in Skala.”

Caliel threw an arm around his friend’s neck, trying to stem the drunken ramble. “He’s a little young for that, don’t you think?”

He gave Tobin a sympathetic wink over Korin’s shoulder. Caliel and Tanil were the only ones who could steer Korin when he was this deep in his cups.

Still at a loss, Tobin looked back at Tharin. The man smiled and raised a hand to his breast, almost as if he were pointing at something.

Tobin understood at once. Touching the lump his father’s seal ring made under his tunic, he said, “I’d like to see my estate at Atyion.”

“Only that far?” Korin regarded him with bleary disappointment.

“I’ve never seen it,” Tobin reminded him.

“Well then, to Atyion it is! I could use a new horse and the herds there are the best this side of the Osiat.”

Everyone cheered again. Warmed by his little triumph, Tobin allowed himself a deep swallow of wine. Lord Orun had always found some excuse for Tobin not to go. In this, at least, Korin had the final say.

“Well, well. Look who’s back,” Mago sneered as Ki helped collect the scraps for Ruan’s alms basket.

“Yes, look who’s here,” Arius, Mago’s shadow and echo, chimed in, jostling Ki’s arm. “Our grass knight has come home. I hear Lord Orun’s been fuming mad at you, letting the prince run off like that.”

“Master Porion isn’t too happy with you, either,” Mago gloated. “How do you fancy kneeling on the temple steps again? How many lashes do you suppose he’ll have your prince give you this time?”

For an answer, Ki stuck his foot out and sent Mago sprawling with the platter of roast lamb he’d been carrying.

“Tripping over your own feet again, Mago?” Tanil chuckled as he passed. “You’d better get that cleaned up before Chylnir catches you.”

Mago scrambled to his feet, his fine tunic covered in grease. “Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” he spat at Ki. Then, to Tanil, “If I’m so clumsy, maybe Sir Kirothius here should finish the job by himself.” He stalked off toward the kitchen with the empty platter. Alius shot Ki a dangerous look as he trotted off after Mago.

“No need to get yourself in trouble over me,” Ki mumbled as he gathered the scraps. It embarrassed him that Tanil had heard the other boys’ taunts.

But the head squire’s eyes were bright with suppressed laughter. “Not your fault that he can’t keep his feet, now, is it? That was a nice little move. Will you teach me?”

It was after midnight when Tharin and Caliel accompanied the princes to their bedchambers. Korin was blind drunk, and after several attempts to fall on his nose, Tharin picked the prince up and carried him to his door.

“Good night, sweet coz. Sweet, sweet coz,” Korin warbled, as Tanil and Caliel took charge of him. “Sweet dreams to you and welcome home! Caliel, I think I’m going to puke.”

His friends hurried him inside, but from the sounds that followed, they weren’t quick enough getting him to a basin.

Tharin shook his head in disgust.

“He’s not always like that,” Tobin told him, always quick to defend his cousin.

“Too often for my taste, or his father’s, I’d say,” Tharin growled.

“Mine, too,” muttered Ki, lifting the latch at their door.

The door fetched against something as he tried to open it. There was a grunt of surprise from the other side, then their page, Baldus, swung it wide, grinning at Tobin with sleepy delight. “Welcome home, my prince! And Lord Tharin, it’s good to see you again.”

Tapers had been left burning and the room was sweet with the welcoming scents of beeswax and the pines outside the balcony.

Baldus hurried to pull back the heavy black-and-gold bed hangings and turn down the covers for them. “I’ll fetch a warming pan, my prince. Molay and I were so glad to hear you were coming back at last! Sir Ki, the baggage is in the dressing room. I’ve left it for you to unpack, like always.” He stifled a huge yawn. “Oh, and there’s a letter from your guardian, Prince Tobin. Molay left it there on the writing table, I think.”

So Old Slack Guts wasted no time, after all, thought Tobin, picking up the folded parchment. Judging by the way that Baldus was looking anywhere but at Ki, his squire’s precarious situation was no secret.

“Go sleep in the kitchen where it’s warmer,” Tobin told the boy, not wanting an audience. “And tell Molay I don’t require him tonight. I just want to go to sleep.”

Baldus bowed and dragged his pallet out with him.

Bracing himself, Tobin broke the seal and read the few brief lines.

“What does it say?” Ki demanded softly.

“Just that he’ll summon me tomorrow and I’m to come alone.”

Tharin read it for himself, scowling. “Alone, eh? Sounds like the Lord Chancellor needs reminding who he’s dealing with. I’ll have an honor guard waiting. Send word when you need us.” He clapped them both on the shoulder. “No long faces, boys. Worrying yourselves sick tonight won’t help. Get some sleep and whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll deal with it then.”

Tobin wanted to take Tharin’s advice, but neither he nor Ki could find much to say as they got ready for bed. They lay in silence for a long time, listening to the embers tinkling on the hearth as they cooled.

Finally, Ki nudged Tobin’s foot with his own and gave voice to both their fears. “This could be my last night here.”

“Hope not,” Tobin croaked, his throat tight.

It seemed like a long time before Ki fell asleep. Tobin lay still until he was certain, then slid out of bed and carried a candle into the dressing room.

Their traveling bundles were piled on the floor. Opening his he reached down to the bottom and pulled out the doll. He knew he didn’t need to touch it to cast the summons, but he distrusted Brother more than ever now and wasn’t taking any chances here.

Alone in the dark, he realized he was again afraid of the ghost, more than he had been since Lhel gave him the doll. But even that didn’t stop him from whispering the words; Brother sometimes knew the future, and Tobin couldn’t sleep until he’d at least asked.

When Brother appeared, bright as a flame in the dim little chamber, he still had that too-real look.

“Will Orun send Ki away tomorrow?” asked Tobin.

Brother just looked at him, still and silent as a painting.

“Tell me! You’ve told me other things.” Mean, hurtful things, and lies. “Tell me!”

“I can only tell what I can see,” Brother whispered at last. “I don’t see him.”

“See who? Orun or Ki?”

“They’re nothing to me.”

“Then you’re no good me!” Tobin shot back bitterly. “Go away.”

Brother obeyed and Tobin hurled the doll back into its old hiding place atop the dusty cupboard.

Returning to the bed, he climbed in and snuggled close to Ki. Rain was pattering on the roof and he listened to it, waiting in vain for sleep to take him.

6

It was raining even harder the next morning. All around the Companions’ wing servants were setting out pails and basins to catch the water leaking through the ancient ceiling.

The weather had never made any difference to Master Porion. Tobin woke Ki as soon as he heard servants moving past in the corridor, and they made certain they were the first ones waiting for the swordmaster at the palace doors. Despite what Mago had said, the stocky old warrior seemed genuinely glad to have them back.

“All well, are you?” he asked, looking them over. “You don’t look much the worse for wear.”

“We’re fine, Master Porion,” Tobin assured him. “And we practiced while we were gone, too.”

That earned them a skeptical look. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

They had both mended. Even Ki, who’d been the sickest, kept up with the others as they set off on their morning run. Splashing though puddles and squelching through mud with their short cloaks flapping wetly against their thighs, the Companions ran the long circuit around the park, past the tomb and the drysian grove, around the reflecting pool and past the New Palace, and ending as they always did at the Temple of the Four at the center of the park.

The boys’ morning offerings were usually cursory affairs, but today Tobin spent several minutes at Sakor’s altar, whispering fervently over the little wax horse before casting it into the flames. Then, when he thought no one was looking, he sidled over to the white marble altar of Illior and cast one of Iya’s owl feathers onto the incense-laden coals.

Lord Orun’s summons came just as they were finishing their bread and milk in the messroom. Tharin must have been keeping watch, because he came in with the messenger. Dressed in a fine blue tunic, with every buckle and brooch polished, he cut an impressive figure. Korin gave Tobin an encouraging wink as he and Ki went out.

When they were out of earshot, Tharin dismissed the messenger and turned to Ki. “Wait for us at Tobin’s house, why don’t you? We’ll meet you there on our way back.”

Tobin and Ki exchanged grim, knowing looks; if the worst did come to pass, they wouldn’t risk shaming themselves in front of the other Companions.

Ki punched Tobin on the shoulder. “Stand your ground with him, Tob. Good luck.” With that he strode away.

“You’d better change out of those wet things,” said Tharin.

“I don’t give a damn what Orun thinks!” Tobin snapped. “I just want this over with.”

Tharin folded his arms and gave Tobin a stern look. “So you’re going to go before him dressed like a common soldier, muddy to the knees? Remember whose son you are.”

Those words again, and this time they stung. Tobin hurried back to his chamber, where Molay had a steaming basin and his best suit of clothes ready for him. Washed and changed, Tobin stood in front of the polished mirror and let the valet comb his black hair smooth. A grim, plain boy in velvet and linen scowled back at him, ready for battle. Tobin looked into his own reflected eyes, feeling for a moment as if he were sharing a secret with the stranger hidden behind his face.

Orun’s grand house stood in the maze of walled villas clustered on the New Palace grounds. Bisir met them at the door and ushered them into the reception hall.

“Good morning!” Tobin greeted him, glad to find one friendly face here. But Bisir hardly spoke and wouldn’t meet his eye. It was as if a single night back in his master’s house had undone all the good his time at the keep had accomplished. He looked as pale as ever, and Tobin saw new bruises on his wrists and neck.

Tharin had seen, too, and an angry flush came over his face. “He has no right—”

Bisir shook his head quickly, stealing a quick glance toward the stairs. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord,” he whispered, then, aloud, “My master is in his chamber. You may wait in the reception chamber, Sir Tharin. The Chancellor will speak with the prince alone.” He paused, clasping his hands nervously, and added, “Upstairs.”

For a moment Tobin thought Tharin was going to storm up with them. The man’s dislike of Orun was no secret, but Tobin had never seen him so angry.

Bisir stepped nearer to Tharin, and Tobin heard him whisper, “I’ll be close by.”

“See that you are,” Tharin muttered. “Don’t worry, Tobin. I’ll be right here.”

Tobin nodded, trying to feel brave; but as he followed Bisir upstairs, he drew out the ring and seal and kissed them for luck.

He’d never been upstairs before. As they continued down a long corridor toward the back of the house, Tobin was amazed at the opulence of the house. The carvings and tapestries were of the best quality and the furnishings rivaled anything in the New Palace. Young servant boys scattered out of their way as they passed. Bisir ignored them as if they didn’t exist.

He stopped at the last door and let Tobin into the enormous chamber beyond. “Remember, I’ll be right out here,” he whispered.

Trapped, Tobin looked around in surprise. He’d expected a private sitting room or salon, but this was a bedchamber. An enormous carved bedstead dominated the center of the room. Its hangings—thick yellow velvet edged with tiny golden bells—were still closed. So were the draperies at the windows. The paneled walls were hung with tapestries of green woodland scenes, but the room was as hot as a smithy and heavy with the aroma of cedar logs blazing and snapping on the enormous stone hearth.

Even Prince Korin’s room was not so lavish, Tobin thought, then started as bells on the bed hangings tinkled softly. A plump white hand emerged and drew back one of the heavy curtains.

“Ah, here is our little wanderer, returned at last,” Orun purred, waving Tobin closer. “Come, my dear, and let me see how you weathered your illness.”

Propped up against a mass of pillows, Lord Orun was wrapped in a yellow silk dressing gown; a large velvet bed cap of the same color covered his bald head. A crystal lamp hung from a chain, casting shadows that made his face seem more sallow than ever, his heavy flesh slacker on his bones. The counterpane was strewn with documents and the remains of a large breakfast lay on a tray beside him.

“Come closer,” Orun urged.

The edge of the mattress was nearly level with Tobin’s chest. Forced to look up at the man, Tobin could see the grey hairs in his guardian’s large nose.

“Do have a seat, my prince. There’s a stool just behind you.”

Tobin ignored it, letting his scorn show as he set his feet and clasped his hands behind his back so this man wouldn’t see them trembling. “You sent for me, Lord Orun, and I am here. What do you want?”

Orun favored him with an unpleasant smile. “I see your time away hasn’t improved your manners. You know why you’re here, Tobin. You’ve been a naughty boy and your uncle has heard all about your little escapade. I wrote him a long letter as soon as we discovered where you’d gone. Of course, I did my best to shield you from his displeasure. I put the blame where it belonged, on that ignorant peasant squire you’re lumbered with. Though perhaps we shouldn’t blame poor Kirothius too much. I daresay he suits you well enough out there in the wilds, but how could he be expected to keep proper watch over a princess’ son at court?”

“He serves me well here! Even Korin says so.”

“Oh, you’re all very fond of the boy, I know. And I’m sure we can find some suitable situation for him. In fact, in my letter I even offered to take him into my household. I can assure you, he’ll be properly educated here.”

Tobin clenched his fists, recalling the bruises on Bisir’s wrists.

“As to why you’re here, well, surely you wish to pay your respects to me after such long absence?” Orun paused. “No? Well, no matter. I’m expecting the king’s reply with this morning’s dispatches and thought it would be pleasant to read the good news together.”

This was far worse than anything Tobin had imagined. Orun was much too pleased with himself. He probably had spies among the king’s entourage and already knew the answer. Tobin’s heart sank even lower; Ki wouldn’t last two days in this household without getting into serious trouble.

Clucking his tongue in feigned concern, Orun lifted a delicate painted plate from the tray and held it out to him. “You’re looking very pale, dear boy. Have a bit of cake.”

Tobin fixed his gaze on the counterpane’s embroidered edge, resisting the urge to knock the plate across the room. Bed ropes creaked as Orun settled back, and Tobin heard his guardian’s satisfied chuckle. He wished now he’d accepted the stool but was too proud to move. How long until the dispatches arrived? Orun hadn’t said, and the heat was making Tobin dizzy. Sweat prickled across his upper lip and ran down between his shoulder blades. He could hear cold rain spattering against the shutters and wished he were outside again, running with his friends.

Orun said nothing, but Tobin knew he was being closely watched. “I won’t put Ki aside!” he gritted out, looking up defiantly.

Orun’s eyes had gone like black flints, though he was still smiling. “I sent the king a list of prospective replacements, young men of suitable background and breeding. But perhaps you’ve someone to add? I don’t wish to be unreasonable.”

No doubt Orun’s list had been a very short one, made up of favorites who would carry tales. Tobin knew who was at the head of it, judging by the Toad’s smug demeanor last night.

“Very well, then,” he said at last, glaring up at Orun. “I’ll have Lady Una.”

Orun laughed and clapped his soft hands, as if Tobin had made a particularly brilliant joke. “Most amusing, my prince! I must remember to tell your uncle that one. But seriously, young Moriel is more than willing, and the king did already approve him once—”

“Not him.”

“As your guardian—”

“No!” Tobin nearly stamped his foot. “Moriel will never serve me. Not if I have to go naked and alone into battle!”

Orun settled back against his cushions again and picked up a cup from the tray. “We’ll see about that.”

Despair crept over Tobin. For all his brave words to Ki and Tharin, he knew he was no match for the man.

Orun sipped softly at his tea for a moment. “I understand you wish to visit Atyion.”

So Moriel was already at work. Or perhaps it had been Alben. He’d heard Orun favored the dark, arrogant boy. “The estate is mine now. Why shouldn’t I go? Korin said I might.”

Orun smirked. “Assuming our dear prince recalls anything he said last night. But you’re not planning to go today, surely? Just listen to that rain. It’s certain to last for days this time of the year. I wouldn’t be surprised if it begins to freeze soon.”

“It’s only a day’s ride—”

“So soon after your illness, my dear?” Orun shook his head. “Most unwise. Besides, I should think you’ve had enough adventures for a while. When you’re stronger, perhaps. It’s a lovely place in the spring, Atyion.”

“The spring? It’s my father’s house. My house! I have a right to go there.”

Orun’s smile broadened. “Ah, but you see, dear boy, you have no rights at all just yet. You’re only a child, and in my charge. You must trust me to decide what is best for you. As your esteemed uncle would be sure to tell you, I have only your best interests at heart. You are the second heir, after all.” He returned to his breakfast. “For now.”

Tobin felt a chill in spite of the heat. Behind that smiling mask, Orun was still furious with him. This was the beginning of his punishment.

Too frightened and angry to speak, Tobin strode to the door, intending to leave no matter what Orun said. Just as he reached it, however, it swung open and he collided headlong with Bisir.

“Forgive me, my prince!” Tobin saw pity in the man’s eyes and steeled himself. The king’s messenger must have arrived.

Instead, it was Niryn who swept in.

Caught off guard, Tobin blinked up at the tall wizard, then quickly filled his mind with his anger at Orun, imagining it swirling through his head like smoke in a closed room.

Raindrops glistened in the wizard’s forked red beard as he bowed to Tobin. “Good morning, my prince! I’d hoped to find you here. How nice that you’ve returned in time for the Festival of Sakor. And I understand you’ve brought a wizard back with you, too?”

His words gave Tobin a nasty turn. Had Niryn looked into his head after all, or did he have spies of his own? “Mistress Iya was a friend of my father’s,” he replied.

“Yes, I remember,” Niryn murmured as if it didn’t interest him much. Arching an eyebrow, he turned to Orun. “Still abed at this hour, my lord? Are you ill?”

Heaving himself out of bed, Orun pulled his gown around him with imperious dignity. “I was not expecting official visitors, Lord Niryn. The prince has come to visit me after his absence.”

“Ah, yes, the mysterious illness. I trust you’re quite recovered, Your Highness?”

Tobin could have sworn the man winked at him. “I’m very well, thank you.” Tobin expected any moment to feel the wizard’s creeping touch in his mind but Niryn seemed far more interested in baiting Orun.

Eyeing his unexpected visitor suspiciously, Orun waved him and Tobin to seats by the fire. Both men waited until Tobin was seated before taking their own chairs.

The old hypocrite, Tobin thought. So long as there was anyone else around to see, Orun treated him with the proper courtesy.

“The prince and I are expecting a messenger from the king,” said Orun.

“And as it happens, it is in that capacity that I come to you today.” Niryn took a rolled parchment from one deep sleeve and smoothed it over his knee. The heavy royal seals dangled from silk ribbons at the bottom of it. “I received this early this morning. His Majesty asked that I deliver it to you personally.” Niryn glanced down at the document, but Tobin could tell he already knew the contents. “His Majesty begins by thanking you for your care of his royal nephew.” He looked up at Orun and smiled. “And he hereby relieves you of all further responsibility in that regard.”

“What?” Orun’s velvet cap slid askew as he lurched forward in his chair. “What—what does this mean? What are you saying?”

“It’s perfectly clear, Orun. You’re no longer Prince Tobin’s guardian.”

Orun gaped at him, then held out a shaking hand for the letter. Niryn relinquished it and watched with obvious satisfaction as the other man read it. By the time Orun had finished, the wax seals were clattering together on their ribbons. “He says nothing of why! Have I not discharged my duties faithfully?”

“I’m certain there’s no need for concern. He thanks you most graciously for your service.” Niryn leaned forward and pointed out a section. “Just there, you see?”

Niryn made no effort to hide how pleased he was with Orun’s reaction. “The duke’s death was so unexpected, and you were right there, offering your aid,” he went on smoothly. “But King Erius wishes to impose on you no longer, for fear you’ll be too distracted from your duties at the Treasury. He will appoint a new guardian when he returns.”

“But—but my understanding was that the position was permanent!”

Niryn rose and gave him a pitying look. “Surely you, of all people, are no stranger to the king’s whims.”

Tobin had sat transfixed through all this, but found his voice at last. “My—the king, he’s coming home?”

Niryn paused in the doorway. “Yes, my prince.”

“When?”

“I cannot say, my prince. Depending on the current negotiations with Plenimar, perhaps sometimes in the spring.”

“What does this mean?” Orun mumbled, still clutching the letter. “Niryn, you must know the king’s mind in this?”

“It is dangerous for anyone to presume to know King Erius’ mind these days. But if I may, my old friend, I would suggest that your reach has finally exceeded your grasp. I believe you know what I speak of. The blessings of the Four be with you both. Good day to you, my prince.”

He swept out and, for a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the incessant patter of the rain. Orun’s lips moved silently as he stared into the flames.

The air felt charged, the way it did just before a storm. Tobin looked longingly at the closed door, anxious to get away. When Orun didn’t move, he rose slowly. “May—may I go?”

Orun looked up slowly and Tobin’s knees nearly gave way. Naked hatred twisted the man’s features. Lurching to his feet, he loomed over Tobin. “May you go? This is your doing, you ungrateful brat!”

Tobin took a step back but Orun followed. “With your smirking and your insults. Old Slack Guts, isn’t that what you and that country bastard call me behind my back? Laughing! At me, who has served two rulers? Oh, you think there’s anything that goes unheard, do you?” he snarled, though Tobin had said nothing. Grabbing him by the arm, Orun shook the king’s letter in his face. “This is your doing!”

“No, I swear!”

Orun tossed the letter aside and jerked Tobin closer. Spittle flew from the man’s lips as he snarled, “Writing to the king behind my back!”

“No!” Tobin was truly frightened now. Orun’s fingers dug into his arms like claws. “I wrote nothing, I swear—”

“Lies. Writing lies!” Orun clutched the neck of Tobin’s tunic and shook him. His fingers tangled in the chain and it dug painfully into Tobin’s neck.

“Turning him against me, his most faithful servant!” Orun’s eyes narrowed in their folds of fat. “Or was it that lackey of yours downstairs? Good Sir Tharin!” Sarcasm curdled the words. “So humble. So faithful. Always fawning on your father like some pathetic stray dog. And always turning up where he’s not wanted—” Tobin saw something new and dangerous come into Orun’s face. “What did he tell the king? What did he say?” he hissed, shaking Tobin so hard he had to grasp at Orun’s arms to stay on his feet.

Orun’s grip tightened, making it harder to breathe. “Nothing!” Tobin wheezed.

Orun was still ranting at him, still squeezing, but Tobin could hardly make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. Black spots swam before his eyes and Orun’s face looked as big as the moon. The room was spinning, going dim. His legs wouldn’t hold him.

“What did you say?” Orun screamed. “Tell me!”

Then Tobin was falling and something deathly cold passed over him. As his vision cleared he saw Orun backing away from him, hands thrown up in terror. But it wasn’t him Orun was looking at, Tobin realized, but a writhing mass of darkness taking shape between them.

Still sprawled where he’d fallen, Tobin watched numbly as the shape coalesced into a familiar, menacing form. He couldn’t see Brother’s face, but Orun’s expression was mirror enough.

“What sorcery is this?” the man whispered in horror. He looked uncomprehendingly from Tobin to the ghost as Brother glided closer. Orun tried to back away but fetched up against the wine table. It toppled over, blocking his escape.

Too dizzy to stand, Tobin watched in confusion as Brother raised one spectral hand. The ghost usually descended like a whirlwind, flinging furniture and striking out wildly. This slow, deliberate advance was worse. Tobin felt the rage and menace emanating from his twin; it sapped what little strength he had left. He tried to cry out, but his tongue wouldn’t work.

“No,” Orun whimpered. “How—how can this be?”

And still Brother did not attack. Instead, he simply reached out and touched the terrified man’s chest. Orun let out an agonized shriek and toppled backward over the fallen table as if he’d been thrown. Sparks flew up when one outstretched hand landed in the fire.

The last things Tobin remembered were Orun’s slippered feet twitching in the firelight and the smell of scorched flesh.

7

Word had traveled quickly through the Old Palace. Mago and his cronies made faces at Ki during the morning run. At the temple Alben bumped into him, and whispered, “Farewell, grass knight!” too softly for anyone but Ki to hear.

As soon as Tobin and Tharin left, he’d taken Tharin’s advice. Slipping out through a servant’s passage, he hurried away to Tobin’s house. The steward answered his knock, looking as if he’d been expecting him. He took Ki’s wet cloak and set a chair for him by the hearth.

“The men are at practice in the back court and Mistress Iya is in the guest chamber. Should I inform them of your arrival, sir?”

“No, I’ll just sit here.” The steward bowed and left him.

Despite the fire on the hearth, the hall was cold and shadowy. Soft grey mist pressed at the windows and rain drummed on the roof above. Too miserable to sit still, Ki paced the room and fretted. How long would Tobin be? What if Orun found some reason to keep him there? Would Tharin come back to give him the news, or would he be stuck here forever with his belly in knots?

Looking up, he found himself at the bottom of the carved staircase. He’d only gone up there once, and that had been enough. Tobin’s father had abandoned that part of the house years ago; the rooms had been stripped of their furnishings and left to the mice. Ki was sure he’d felt ghosts there, leering at him from dark corners.

The duke had used the ground floor when he was in the city. Since his death, Tharin and the guard had been the only regular occupants. Tharin had a room just down the passage, and the men were quartered at the back of the house, but they kept the hall in use. It always had a homelike smell of house altar incense and embers on the hearth.

Leaving the hall, Ki wandered down the main passage. Iya’s door lay on the right, and it was closed. The duke’s old bedchamber, now Tobin’s and therefore Ki’s by default, lay to the left. He paused at the door, then went instead to the one beside it.

Tharin’s chamber was as spare and orderly as the man who lived there. His room at the keep barracks was just the same. Ki felt more at home here than anywhere else in Ero. He kindled a fire and sat down to await his fate.

But even here he couldn’t sit still, and soon he was pacing a furrow in Tharin’s carpet. The rain drummed against the windows and his thoughts raced: What will I do when Orun sends me away? Go back to Oakmount and herd pigs?

The idea of returning to his father in disgrace was unthinkable. No, he’d join Ahra’s regiment and patrol the coast, or go to the battlefields in Mycena and offer his sword as a common soldier.

Such thoughts gave no comfort. The only place he wanted to be was where he was, with Tobin.

He buried his face in his hands. This is my fault. I should never have left Tobin alone that day, knowing he was sick. A few weeks at court and I forgot everything Tharin taught me!

On the heels of that came the question he’d been trying not to ask himself ever since the night he’d followed Brother back to Alestun. What had made Tobin run all the way back there in the first place? It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Tobin’s explanation … He sighed. Well, he wanted to believe it, but something just didn’t ring true. And whatever had ailed Tobin that night, something was different between them now.

Or maybe, he thought guiltily, he felt something different from me.

The filthy accusations Mago and Arius had thrown at Ki that day in the stable, implying that he and Tobin did more than just sleep together, had cut deep. After that Ki had caught himself pulling away from Tobin sometimes. The hurt look on his friend’s face when he’d kept to his side of the bed at night came back to haunt him. Was that why Tobin had left him behind the day he ran off? I was a fool, listening to anything those lackwits had to say. In truth, with all the uproar of the past month, he’d all but forgotten it all until now. But had Tobin?

Guilt and uncertainty made his belly churn. “Well, whatever it is, he’ll tell me when he’s ready,” he muttered.

The air went cold behind him, and mean, whispery laugh raised gooseflesh on his arms. Ki spun around, reaching instinctively for the horse charm around his neck. Brother stood beside Tharin’s bed, watching him with hate-filled black eyes.

Ki’s heart knocked painfully against his ribs; the ghost looked more solid than he remembered, a starved, hollow-eyed parody of his friend. Ki thought he’d gotten used to Brother that night they’d traveled together, but all his fears came rushing back.

“Ask Arkoniel,” whispered Brother.

“Ask him what?”

Brother disappeared but his hissing laugh seemed to hang in the air where he’d been. Shaken, Ki pulled a chair closer to the fire and huddled there, feeling lonelier than ever.

Lost in his unhappy reverie, he was nearly dozing when the sound of shouting roused him. Flinging open the door, he nearly collided with Iya. They dashed to the hall and found Tharin there, holding Tobin’s limp body in his arms.

“What happened?” Iya demanded.

“His chamber, Ki,” Tharin ordered, ignoring her. “Open the door.”

“I have a fire lit in yours.” Ki ran ahead and turned down Tharin’s bed. Tharin laid Tobin down gently and began chafing his wrists. Tobin was breathing, but his face was drawn and beaded with sweat.

“What did Orun do to him?” Ki growled. “I’ll kill him. I don’t care if they burn me alive for it!”

“Mind your tongue, Ki.” Tharin turned to the servants and soldiers crowding in the doorway. “Koni, ride to the grove for a drysian. Don’t stand there staring, man, go! Laris, you set a guard on all doors. No one enters except members of the royal household. And fetch Bisir. I want him here now!”

The old sergeant saluted, fist to chest. “Right away, Captain.”

“Ulies, fetch a basin of water,” Iya said calmly. “The rest of you make yourselves useful or get out of the way.”

The others scattered and Tharin sank into a chair by the bed, cradling his head in his hands.

“Close the door, Ki.” Iya bent over Tharin and gripped his shoulder. “Tell us what happened.”

Tharin shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Bisir took him upstairs, to Orun’s chamber. A while later Lord Niryn arrived with a message from the king. He soon came down again and I thought Tobin would follow. But he didn’t. Then I heard Bisir cry out. When I got upstairs, Orun was dead and Tobin was lying senseless on the floor. I couldn’t wake him, so I carried him back here.”

Iya undid the lacings of Tobin’s tunic and her face darkened ominously. “Look. These marks are fresh.”

She opened the linen shirt beneath, showing Tharin and Ki long red marks already darkening to bruises on Tobin’s throat. A thin abrasion on the left side of his neck was beaded with droplets of drying blood. “Did you notice any marks on Orun?”

“I didn’t stop to look.”

“We’ll find who did this,” Ki growled. “We’ll find him and we’ll kill him.”

Tharin gave him an unreadable look and Ki shut his mouth. If it hadn’t been for his foolishness, Tobin wouldn’t have been with Orun today at all.

Ulies returned with the basin, and Tharin took it from him. “Send someone for Chancellor Hylus and Lord Niryn.”

“No need for that.” The wizard stepped in and approached the bed with every appearance of concern. “A servant came after me with the news. How is the prince? He was perfectly well when I left them. They both were.”

Without thinking, Ki blocked his way before he could reach Tobin. Niryn’s eyes locked with his. Ki felt a nasty chill but he stood his ground.

“If you please, my lord, I’d rather we waited for the drysians before we disturb him,” Iya said, standing by Ki. She spoke respectfully, but Ki sensed it was not a request.

“Of course. Most wise.” Niryn took the chair by the hearth. Ki stationed himself at the foot of the bed, keeping a surreptitious eye on the wizard. Tobin had always been scared of Niryn, which was reason enough for Ki to distrust him. And now he was, by his own admission, the last person to see Orun and Tobin before they were struck down. Or so he claimed.

Niryn caught him looking and smiled. Another nasty, slithery feeling went through Ki and he hastily averted his eyes.

A moment later Tobin lurched up with a gasp. Ki clambered awkwardly onto the bed and grasped his hand. “Tob, you’re safe. I’m here, and Tharin and Iya.”

Tobin gripped his hand so hard it hurt. “How—how did I get here?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I brought you.” Tharin sat down on the edge of the bed and put an arm around him. “Seems I’m always carrying you somewhere these days. It’s all right now. Can you tell us who hurt you?”

Tobin’s hand flew to his throat. “Orun. He was so angry—He grabbed me and—” He caught sight of Niryn and froze. “It was Orun.”

The wizard rose and came closer. “He offered you violence?”

Tobin nodded. “The king’s message,” he whispered. “He grabbed me and—I must have fainted.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Iya. “It appears he tried to throttle you.”

Tobin nodded.

A brown-robed drysian arrived and ordered everyone but Iya and Niryn out of the room. Ki hovered in the doorway, watching anxiously as the woman examined Tobin. He crept back to the foot of the bed as she mixed a poultice for the bruises and she let him stay.

When she’d finished, she went out and spoke with Iya and Tharin for what seemed like a long time. Tharin came back in looking more concerned than ever.

“Lord Niryn, they’ve got Bisir in the hall and Chancellor Hylus just arrived.”

Tobin struggled up again. “Bisir didn’t do anything!”

“We just want to talk to him,” Tharin assured him. “You rest. Ki will keep you company.”

“Lord Niryn?” croaked Tobin.

The wizard paused in the doorway. “Yes, my prince?”

“That message you had from the king—I didn’t read it. Is Ki still my squire?”

“The king made no mention of the matter. For the time being, it seems your squire’s position is secure. See that you remain worthy of it, Sir Kirothius.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ki waited until the wizards and Tharin were gone, then shut the door and made a luck sign. “He looks like a snake when he smiles. But at least he brought some good news.” He sat down on the bed and tried to look into Tobin’s eyes, but his friend kept turning away. “How are you? Really?”

“I’m fine.” Tobin rubbed at the wet bandage around his neck. “This is helping.”

He was still hoarse, but Ki could hear the fear that Tobin was struggling to hide.

“So Orun finally laid hands on you?” Ki shook his head in wonder.

Tobin let out a shuddering sigh and his chin began to tremble.

Ki leaned closer and took his hand again. “There’s more to it than you let on, isn’t there?”

Tobin cast a frightened look at the door, then brought his lips to Ki’s ear. “It was Brother.”

Ki’s eyes widened. “But he was here. He came to me while you were gone.”

Tobin let out a startled gasp. “What did he do?”

“Nothing! I was in here waiting for you, and suddenly there he was.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Just that I should ask Arkoniel about—” Ki broke off.

“About what?”

Ki hesitated; he’d felt disloyal before, doubting Tobin, and it was worse now. “He wouldn’t say. Is he like that with you, too?”

“Sometimes.”

“But you say he came to Orun’s? Did you call him?”

Tobin shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I swear it by the Four, I didn’t!”

Alarmed, Ki searched his friend’s face. “I believe you, Tob. What’s the matter?”

Tobin gulped hard, then leaned in again. “Brother killed Orun.”

“But—how?”

“I don’t know. Orun was shaking me. Maybe he was going to kill me. I don’t know. Brother got between us and just—just touched him and Orun fell—” Tobin was shaking. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I didn’t stop him, Ki! What if—What if somehow I did make him do it?”

Ki hugged him close. “You’d never do that. I know you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t remember doing it.” Tobin sobbed. “But I was so scared, and I hated Orun and he said bad things about you and—”

“Did you call for Brother?”

“Nuh—no!”

“Did you tell him to kill Orun?”

“No!”

“Of course you didn’t. So it’s not your fault. Brother was just protecting you.”

Tobin raised his tear-stained face and stared at him. “Do you think so?”

“Yes. He’s spiteful and all, but he is your brother and Orun was hurting you.” He paused, touching a thin, faded scar on his neck. “Remember when the catamount came after you that day? You said Brother got between you and it before I showed up, like he was going to protect you.”

“But it was Lhel who killed it.”

“Yes, but he came. And he came when Orun was hurting you. No one’s ever done that to you before, have they?”

Tobin wiped his face on his sleeve. “No one, except—”

“Who?” Ki demanded, wondering which of the Companions he’d have to deal with.

“My mother,” Tobin whispered. “She tried to kill me. Brother was there, then, too.”

Ki’s outrage drained away, leaving him speechless.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Tobin said, wiping his nose. “About Orun, I mean. No one can know about Brother.”

“Niryn himself couldn’t get it out of me. You know that.”

Tobin let out another shuddering sigh and rested his head on Ki’s shoulder. “If that letter said you had to go, I’d run away again.”

“Leaving me to catch up with you like last time?” Ki tried to make light of it, but his throat was suddenly tight. “Don’t even try it. I’m putting you on a tether rein.”

“I told you I won’t. We’d run away together.”

“That’s all right, then. You should rest now.”

Instead, Tobin threw off the blankets and wiggled past him off the bed. “I want to see Bisir. He didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Tobin was almost to the hall when a new thought momentarily blotted out all other concerns. What had Bisir seen? He cursed his own weakness, fainting like some lady in a ballad. Had Brother stayed with him after he killed Orun? If Orun could see the ghost, then surely anyone else could have. Steeling himself, he strode into the hall.

Bisir stood wringing his hands by the hearth, surrounded by Tharin and the others. Chancellor Hylus was the only person seated and he must have come straight from court, for he still wore his robe of state and the flat black velvet hat signifying his office.

“Here is the prince, and looking rather better than I expected, thank the Four!” he exclaimed. “Come sit by me, dear boy. This young man was just telling us of the abominable treatment you’ve suffered.”

“Go on, Bisir. Tell Prince Tobin what you told us,” said Iya.

Bisir gave Tobin an imploring look. “As I was saying to them, my prince, I saw nothing except the two of you lying on the floor when I came in.”

“But you were eavesdropping,” Niryn said sternly.

“No, my lord! That is, there is a chair for me by the door. I always stay there, in case Lord Orun calls for me.”

Hylus raised a frail, age-mottled hand. “Calm yourself, young man. You are not accused of any crime.” He motioned to Ulies to bring the frightened valet a mazer of wine.

“Thank you, my lord.” Bisir took a sip and some color returned to his thin cheeks.

“Surely you must have heard something?” the old man prompted.

“Yes, Lord Chancellor. I heard my master speaking angrily to the prince. It was wrong of him, speaking to Prince Tobin like that.” He paused and gulped nervously. “Forgive me, my lords. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of my master, but—”

“It’s of no consequence,” Iya said impatiently. “So you heard Orun shouting. Then what?”

“Then came that terrible cry! I ran in at once and found them senseless on the carpet. At least I thought—When I saw my master’s face—” His gaze flickered to Tobin again, and this time there was no mistaking the fact that Bisir was scared. “Lord Orun’s eyes were open, but—By the Four, I’ll never forget the way he looked, with his eyes bulging and his face gone all black—”

“It’s as he says,” Tharin concurred. “I hardly recognized him. It looked like an apoplexy to me.”

“Then Sir Tharin burst in and carried the prince away before I could tell if he—I feared he was dead, too!” He gave Tobin a bobbing bow. “Thank the Four you are well.”

“If I may, my lord?” said Niryn.

Hylus nodded and the wizard approached the quaking man. “Give me your hand, Bisir.”

Niryn seemed to grow larger and the air darkened around him. It made every hair on the back of Tobin’s neck stand up. Ki stepped closer and his hand brushed Tobin’s.

Bisir let out a hiss of pain and sank to his knees, his hand locked in Niryn’s. When Niryn released him at last, Bisir cowered where he was, cradling his hand against his chest as if it had been burned.

Niryn shrugged and sat down on the hearth bench. “He speaks the truth as he knows it. It would seem the only person who knows what really happened in that room is Prince Tobin.”

For one awful moment, Tobin thought the wizard meant to put him to the same test, but Niryn simply stared at him with hard red-brown eyes. Tobin felt no strange sensations this time, but summoned the mind trick Arkoniel had taught him just in case.

“He grabbed me roughly, accused me of trying to turn the king against him—”

“And did you?” Niryn asked.

“What? No! I never wrote anything to my uncle.”

Niryn gave him a sly smile. “Never tried to exercise any influence with him at all? It was no secret that you despised Orun. Not that I blame you in that, of course.”

“I—I don’t have any influence with the king,” Tobin whispered. Was Niryn growing larger again? Was the air growing dark and thick around him?

“It would never have occurred to the prince,” Tharin interjected, and Tobin saw that once again he was holding his anger in check. “He’s only a child. He knows nothing of court ways.”

“Forgive me, I was only thinking how far a noble heart will go for love for a worthy friend.” Niryn glanced at Ki as he bowed to Tobin. “Please accept my most humble apology, my prince, if I in any way gave offense.” His hard gaze slewed back to Tharin. “Perhaps others took it upon themselves to plead the prince’s case?”

Tharin shrugged. “For what reason? Rhius chose Ki as his son’s squire. The king understands that bond.”

Niryn turned to Ki again. “And what about you, Squire Kirothius? Where were you while Prince Tobin was with his guardian?”

“Here, my lord. The steward can vouch for me.”

“No need for that. I was only curious. Well, it seems there’s nothing more to be learned here.”

Lord Hylus nodded gravely. “No doubt your guess is right, Tharin. Strong emotion is a dangerous thing in an old man. I believe it is safe to assume that Lord Orun was the author of his own destruction and brought on a fit of apoplexy.”

“Unless it was some dark magic.”

Everyone stared at Niryn.

“There are spells that could bring on such a death. The man certainly had enemies and there are wizards who can be bought. Don’t you agree, Mistress Iya?”

Iya held out her hand. “If you are accusing me, my lord, by all means put me to the test. I have nothing to fear from you.”

“I assure you, Mistress, if it had been you, I would already know it.”

Tharin cleared his throat. “With all respect, my lords, Prince Tobin has had a difficult day. If there is no more to be learned, perhaps we should give him some peace?”

Hylus rose and patted Tobin on the back. “You are a brave boy, my dear prince; but I think your friend is right. Rest now, and put this unpleasantness behind you. I shall act as your guardian until your uncle declares another, if you have no objection.”

“I’d like that very much!”

“What’s to become of Lord Orun’s household, Lord Hylus?” Bisir asked softly, still crouched on the rushes.

“On your feet, lad. Go home and tell the steward that the house and staff are to be maintained until the estate is settled. Hurry along now, before everyone bolts with the silver!”

“Come along, Prince Tobin. Let’s get you settled,” Iya said, just as if she were Nari.

“Couldn’t Bisir come live here?” he whispered, letting her and Ki lead him away to his own room.

But Iya shook her head. “Forget him. Light a fire, Ki.”

Tobin bridled. “How can you say that? You saw how he was at the keep all those weeks. And he did try to help me today. Ask Tharin—”

“I know. But appearances are very important here and it wouldn’t do.” When Tobin stood his ground she relented a little. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you, then.”

Tobin gave a grudging nod, his old distrust for her resurfacing. He wouldn’t have had to argue with Arkoniel this way.

8

Returning to the Companions the following morning, Tobin and Ki found themselves the center of much unwanted attention. Korin and the others would have had the tale told three times over during the morning run if Master Porion hadn’t finally threatened to make them muck out the stables if they didn’t leave Tobin alone.

As the day went on, however, even his threats weren’t enough to stop the whispers and wide-eyed questions. As they stood blowing on their fingers in the archery lists, everyone wanted to know what Orun looked like when he died. What sort of sounds did he make? Was there any blood? Tobin told them what he could and was glad when Ki finally threatened to knock down the next person who pestered him.

Word traveled quickly around the Palatine. For the next few days courtiers and servants alike stared at Tobin, whispering to each other behind raised hands as he passed. He and Ki kept to their rooms as much as possible or retreated to Tobin’s house.

As with most gossip, however, the story was soon sucked dry and within the week the curious had moved on to other scandals. When Caliel challenged him to a game of bakshi at dinner one night, Tobin left Ki to his duties with the other ushers and went to fetch the gaming stones from his room.

He was almost to his door when Lady Una stepped out from the shadows of an empty room across the corridor. Surprise gave way to outright shock when the normally shy girl took him by the hand and pulled him into his chamber. Molay and Baldus were off having their dinner in the kitchen. Tobin was alone with her.

Pushing the door closed, she gazed at him for a moment in silence, brown eyes shining.

“What is it?” he asked, utterly perplexed.

“Is it true?” she demanded.

“Is—is what true?”

“There’s a rumor going around that before he died, Lord Orun tried to make you choose another squire, and that—well—” She blushed furiously, but looked him squarely in the eye. “People are saying that you named me!”

Tobin blinked. He’d only said it to anger Orun, then forgotten all about it. Bisir must have overheard and carried the tale.

He wanted to sink through the floor as she clasped his hand again, pressing his knuckles to her bodice. “Is it true, Prince Tobin? Did you put me forward for the Companions?”

When he managed a nod she clutched his hand even tighter, looking hard into his face. “Did you mean it?”

“Well …” Tobin hesitated, not liking to lie to her. “I think you’d make a fine squire,” he managed, settling for a half-truth. He wished she’d let go of his hand. “If girls could be squires, you’d be a good one.”

“It’s so unfair!” she cried, eyes flashing with a passion he’d never seen before. “Women have always been warriors in Skala! Ki told me all about his sister. Ahra really is a proper warrior like he says, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes!” Tobin had only met Ahra once, but she’d shown him a thing or two about grappling in a fight. He’d back her against most men in a duel.

“It’s just so unfair!” Releasing his hand, she folded her arms and frowned. “If I wasn’t a noble, I could join the ranks like she did. My grandmother was a general, you know. She died gallantly in battle, defending the queen. And I’ll tell you a secret,” she confided, leaning alarmingly close again. “She comes to me in my dreams sometimes, on a great white charger. I have her sword, too. Mother gave it to me. Father won’t let me train with a proper arms master, though. Not even at light fencing. But one day, if only I could learn …” She broke off, giving him an embarrassed little smile. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“No! I’ve seen you shooting in the lists. You’re as good as any of us with the bow. And you ride like a soldier. Even Master Porion said so.”

“He did?” Una positively glowed. “But it’s no good unless you can use a sword. I have to make do with treatises and what I can pick up watching you boys train. I get so jealous sometimes. I should have been born a boy instead!”

The words struck Tobin in a way he didn’t fully understand, and without thinking he blurted out, “I could teach you.”

“Really? You’re not just being charming, or teasing me like the other boys do?”

Tobin wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them, but he couldn’t, not with her looking at him like that. “No, I’ll teach you. Ki, too. Just so long as no one finds out.”

Without warning Una leaned forward and kissed him square on the mouth. It was an awkward kiss, bruising Tobin’s lip against his teeth. She fled before he could recover, leaving him agape and blushing beside the open door.

“Bilairy’s balls!” Tobin muttered, tasting blood on his lip. “What did I do that for?”

As bad luck would have it, Alben and Quirion happened to be passing just then. That figures, thought Tobin; Quirion stuck to the older boy like dog shit on a shoe.

“What’s the matter? Did she bite you?” Alben drawled.

Tobin shouldered angrily past them, bakshi stones forgotten.

“What’s the matter?” Quirion called after him. “Don’t you like being kissed by girls?”

Whirling to make some retort, Tobin tripped over his own feet and fell against one of the ancient tapestries that lined the corridor. The hanging pole snapped and the whole dusty mess came down on him like a collapsed tent. The other boys howled with laughter.

“Blood, my blood. Flesh, my—” Tobin whispered, then clamped a hand over his mouth. Their laughter faded away down the corridor, but Tobin stayed where he was, horrified at what he’d almost done. Hugging himself in the musty darkness, he searched his memory again, wondering if he’d somehow summoned Brother against Orun, after all.

Be confided the encounter with Una to Ki and Tharin the next day as they sat by the fire in Tharin’s room, but leaving out the unpleasant aftermath with Alben. He was none too pleased when his friends burst into laughter.

“Tob, you bump brain!” Ki exclaimed. “Una’s had her cap set for you since we got to Ero.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You mean to say you haven’t noticed how she’s always watching you?”

“I’ve thought so, myself,” Tharin said, still chuckling. “But she’s a—just a girl!”

“Well, you do fancy girls, don’t you?” Ki laughed, unwittingly echoing Quirion’s taunt.

Tobin scowled down at his boots. “I don’t fancy anyone.”

“Let him be, Ki,” said Tharin. “Tobin’s young yet, and not used to court. I was the same myself, at his age. As for this sword-training business, though.” His expression turned serious. “She said it herself; her father doesn’t hold to the old ways, and Duke Sarvoi’s not a man to cross. She’ll do better to stick with her shooting and riding.”

Tobin nodded, though a disapproving father scared him a great deal less than the girl’s regard. His lip still hurt where she’d kissed him.

“All the same, you may feel differently in a year or two,” said Tharin. “She’s a fine girl from a powerful family. A pretty little thing, too.”

“I’ll say!” Ki put in warmly. “If I thought she’d look twice at a lowly squire, I’d be happy to stand in your shoes.”

The sudden warmth in Ki’s voice and his wistful smile made Tobin’s belly tighten, as if he’d eaten something bitter.

Why should I care if Ki fancies her? But he did. “Well, I only told her that to be kind, anyway,” he grumbled. “She’s probably forgotten all about it.”

“Not that one,” said Ki. “I’ve seen the way she watches us.”

Tharin nodded. “What she told you about her grandmother is true. General Elthia was the equal of any man in the field, and a cagey strategist, too. Your father thought very highly of her. Yes, I can see a bit of the old warrior in young Una. That’s the trouble with these new ways. There are too many girls with the blood of heroes in their veins and the stories still green in their hearts, kept in skirts by the fire.”

“No wonder she’s jealous of a common soldier like Ahra,” said Ki.

“I don’t imagine Erius will let that go on much longer, either. And then where will they all go?”

“You mean there are lots of them? Women warriors?” asked Tobin.

“Yes. Just think of old Cook—or Sergeant Catilan, as she was known before—working away in your father’s kitchen all these years. Erius forced out a lot of the older ones. She was too loyal to argue, but it hurts her pride still. There are hundreds more like her, scattered about the land. Maybe more.”

Tobin stared into the fire, imagining a whole army of dispossessed women warriors, riding like ghosts into an unknown distance. The thought sent a shiver up his spine.

9

Arkoniel stretched the stiffness from his shoulders and went to the workroom window. Unfolding the letters Koni had brought that morning, he slowly reread them.

Outside, the afternoon was quickly waning. The tower shadow stretched like a crooked finger across the new snow blanketing the meadow. Except for the churned-up trail left by Koni’s horse, it was smooth and white as a new bed sheet: no snow forts beyond the barracks house, no foot trails snaking away to the river or woods.

And no echoing laughter outside his door, Arkoniel thought glumly. He’d never been lonelier. Only Nari and Cook remained now; the three of them rattled about the place like dice in a cup.

He sighed and turned back to the letters. His presence here remained a secret, so they were ostensibly addressed to Nari. Arkoniel smoothed the first parchment against the windowsill, rubbing his thumb idly over the broken seal. Both boys had written to him of Orun’s death. Iya had sent word earlier, but he was most interested in their versions.

Tobin’s was brief: Orun had had some sort of fit, brought on by bad news. Ki’s was the more useful, though he’d not been with Tobin when it happened. Arkoniel smiled as he unfolded the double sheet. Despite Ki’s initial resistance to writing, and a less-than-beautiful hand, words seemed to flow as easily from the boy’s pen as they did from his lips. His letters were always the more detailed. He told of the bruises on Tobin’s neck and the fact that he’d been carried home unconscious. Strangest of all, he’d closed with the line: Tobin still feels awful bad about it. Iya had made no mention of any regrets in her letter, but Arkoniel guessed that this was no idle platitude. Ki knew Tobin better than anyone, and had shared his friend’s loathing for their guardian. Why would Tobin feel badly about the man’s passing?

Arkoniel folded Tobin’s letter into his sleeve to return to Nari, but added Ki’s to the neat stack on his writing table.

I nearly killed him, but I did not, he reminded himself, as he did each time he placed a new letter on that pile. He wasn’t sure why he kept them, perhaps as proof against the nightmares that still haunted him, dreams in which he did not hesitate and Ki did not wake up ever again.

Arkoniel pushed the memory away and glanced at the window to check the sun’s progress. Yesterday he’d stayed too late.

When he’d first come here, the keep had been a tomb haunted by both the living and the dead. He and Iya had cajoled the duke into restoring it to a proper home for his child, and for a time it had been. It had become Arkoniel’s home, too, the first he’d known since leaving his father’s house.

The place was falling back to rot and ruin now. The new tapestries and painted plaster already looked faded. The plate in the hall was tarnished with disuse, and spiders had reclaimed their kingdom in the rafters of the great hall. Without regular fires in most of the rooms, the whole place was once more damp and cold and dim. It was as if the boys had taken the very life from the place with them.

He turned back to the desk with a sigh to complete the day’s notes. When the journal was safely locked away, he cleared up the wreckage of his latest failed efforts.

He was nearly finished when something brushed softly past the door, no louder than a mouse’s whisker. Arkoniel caught his breath. The glass rod he’d been cleaning slipped from his fingers and shattered at his feet.

Just a rat. It’s too early. Golden light still lingered in the eastern sky. She never comes down this early.

Gooseflesh prickled his arms as he lit a candle and walked slowly to the door. His hand trembled and a rivulet of hot wax ran down over his fingers.

Nothing there. Nothing there, he repeated, like a child in the dark.

As long as Tobin and the others had been downstairs, he’d managed to hold his fear at bay, even when Bisir’s unexpected stay had trapped him up here for days on end. With others in the house, he didn’t mind so much the half-heard whispers in the corridor.

Now that the second floor lay empty, however, his rooms were suddenly much too far from Cook’s warm kitchen and much too close to the tower door. That door had been locked since Ariani’s death, but that didn’t stop her restless spirit from wandering out.

Arkoniel had climbed the tower stairs only twice since his first encounter with her angry ghost. Driven by curiosity and guilt, he’d gone up the day after Tobin left for Ero that first time, but felt nothing. Relieved but unsatisfied, he’d worked up the courage to return at midnight—the same hour Tobin had taken him there—and this time he’d heard Ariani weeping as clearly as if she were just behind him. Torn between fear and anguish, he fled and slept in the kitchen with the tower key clutched in his hand like a talisman. The next morning he threw it in the river and moved his bedchamber to the toy room downstairs. He would have shifted his workroom, too, but the furnishings were too heavy and it would have taken him the rest of the winter to carry down all the books and instruments he’d amassed. Instead, he resigned himself to keeping daylight hours.

But today he’d lingered in the workroom too long. Taking a deep breath, Arkoniel gripped the latch and opened the door.

Ariani stood at the end of the corridor, tears streaming down her bloody face, her lips moving. Frozen in the doorway, Arkoniel strained to hear, but she made no sound. She’d attacked him the first time they met after her death, but still he waited, wanting desperately to hear her words, to give some answer. But then she took a step toward him, face shifting to an angry mask, and his courage failed.

The candle cast antic shadows around him as he bolted, then it went out. Squinting in the sudden darkness, he went down the stairs two at a time and missed his footing before his eyes could adjust. He trod air for an instant, then fell heavily, tumbling down the last few steps into the welcome lamplight of the second floor corridor. Resisting the impulse to look back, he limped quickly toward the stairs to the hall.

One of these days he was going to make a ghost of himself.

10

Lord Orun had left no heir. That being the case, his property went to the Crown, absorbed into the very Treasury he’d so ably administered. It had been, in Niryn’s estimation, the only good work the man had ever done. Orun’s exacting honesty when it came to his official duties had always amazed the wizard.

The house and its furnishings were soon disposed of, and the new Treasury Chancellor installed. That left only Orun’s household servants to be dealt with, and few on the Palatine would have taken the gift of them.

The more notorious spies were quietly put out of the way by those they’d helped compromise. Orun had had a passion for blackmail. Not for money—he had wealth enough of that sort—but for the sadistic love of control over others. Given that, together with his other unpleasant pastimes, none but a select few mourned his passing.

And so his spies were poisoned or garroted in alleys, the prettier catamites whisked quietly away into certain other households, and the rest sent from the city with good references and gold enough to keep them away.

Niryn followed these proceedings closely and had made a point of attending Orun’s burning. It was there that a young man standing among the few mourners caught his eye.

His face was familiar and after a moment Niryn recognized him as a minor noble named Moriel, whom Orun had tried to force on the prince as a squire. Orun had left the fellow a small bequest in his will, no doubt for services rendered. He looked to be fourteen or fifteen, with a pale, bitter face and sharp, intelligent eyes. Curious, Niryn brushed the boy’s mind as they stood by the pyre and was pleasantly unsurprised at what he found there.

The following day he sent the promising young fellow an invitation to dine with him, if his grief allowed. The messenger soon returned with the expected reply, written in the same purple ink his late protector had favored: Young Moriel would be delighted to dine with the king’s wizard.

11

Iya was not sorry to see Orun out of the way, and had shared Tobin’s obvious relief when Chancellor Hylus appointed himself temporary guardian. She hoped Erius would leave the good old fellow in charge. Hylus was a decent man, a relic of the old times before Erius and his mad mother had tarnished the crown. As long as Erius still valued his counsel, perhaps Niryn’s sort would not triumph.

She clung to that hope as she fastened the hated Harrier brooch to her cloak each day in Ero.

She had to pass the Harriers’ headquarters when she left the Palatine. White-robed wizards and their grey-uniformed guard were always about in the yards around the old stone inn. It reminded her of a hornet’s nest and she treated it as such, passing on the far side of the street. She’d been inside only once, when they numbered her in their black ledger. She’d seen enough during that visit to know that a second visit would probably prove fatal.

So she kept her distance and was circumspect in seeking out others like herself, ordinary wizards forced to wear the shameful numbered badge. There were far fewer in Ero these days and most of them were too frightened or suspicious to speak to her. Of all the taverns once patronized by their kind, only the Golden Chain was still open and it was full of Harriers. Wizards she’d known for a lifetime greeted her with suspicion and few offered her hospitality. It was a frightening change in the city that had once most honored the free wizards.

She was wandering disconsolately through the half-deserted market in Dolphin Court one evening when she was suddenly engulfed by a searing blast of pain. Struck blind, she couldn’t hear or cry out.

They have me! she thought in mute agony. What will become of Tobin?

Then, as in a vision, she saw a face framed in white fire, but it wasn’t Tobin’s. Stretched with agony surpassing her own, the man seemed to stare straight into her eyes as the flesh shrank and sizzled on his skull. She knew that face. It was a wizard from the south named Skorus. She’d given him one of her tokens years ago and not thought of him since.

The tortured face disappeared and she found herself sprawled facedown on the dirty cobbles, gasping for air.

He must have had the talisman with him when they burned him, she thought, too overcome to move. But what did this mean? The little pebbles were minor charms, containing the tiniest spark of magic to find and draw the loyal ones when the time came. She’d never imagined they could also act as a conduit back to her. But this one had, and through it she’d experienced a fraction of the agony he’d felt as he died. Dozens of wizards had been burned, perhaps scores, but he must be the first of her chosen to be caught. She was amazed at how quickly the pain passed. She’d expected to find her own skin blistered, but fortunately the charm had channeled only the dying wizard’s last feelings, not the magic that killed him.

“Old mother, are you ill?” someone asked.

“Drunk, more like it,” another passerby laughed. “Get up, you old hag!”

Gentle hands helped her to her knees. “Kiriar!” she gasped, recognizing the young man. “Are you still with Dylias?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He’d been an apprentice the last time they’d met. He had a proper beard now and a few lines on his face, but his clothes were as ragged as a beggar’s. Only the Harrier badge at his throat marked him for what he was. His number was ninety-three.

He was looking at hers, as well. “Two hundred and twenty-two? It took them longer to find you, I see.” He gave her a rueful look. “It’s something we notice nowadays, sad to say. Are you feeling better? What happened?”

Iya shook her head as he helped her to her feet. Kiriar and his master Dylias had always struck her as good sorts, but she was still too badly shaken to judge or trust. “It’s a hard business, getting old,” she said, making light of it. “I could do with a drink, and a bite to eat.”

“I know a good house, Mistress. Let me stand you a hot dinner for old times’ sake. It’s not far and the company’s good.”

Still wary, but intrigued, Iya leaned on his arm and let him lead her out of Dolphin Court.

She felt a moment’s alarm when Kiriar turned his steps back toward the Palatine. Was he a clever betrayer after all, luring her to the Harrier stronghold?

A few streets later, however, he turned aside into one of the goldsmith’s markets. Hard times had struck here as well, she noted; many of the shops were deserted. She’d passed half a dozen before it struck her that most of them had belonged to Aurënfaie artisans.

“Gone home, a lot of them,” Kiriar explained. “The ’faie don’t hold with the new ways, as you can well imagine, and it’s growing clear that the Harriers don’t trust them. Now, if you’ll just stop a moment.”

He disappeared into a darkened stable. A moment later he returned and led her through a lane behind it. This in turn led to a narrow alley, overhung by sagging balconies and the strange, spicy aromas of ’faie cookery.

Narrow side ways branched off among the buildings here and there. Reaching one such juncture, her guide stopped again. “Before we go any farther, Mistress, I must ask you this. What do you swear by?”

“By my hands and heart and eyes,” she answered, catching sight of a crescent moon scrawled on the wall just above his shoulder. The telltale shimmer of a blast aura flickered around it as she spoke. “And by the Lightbearer’s true name,” she added for good measure.

“She may pass,” someone whispered from the shadows to their right, as if that wasn’t already evidenced by the fact that the blast aura had not struck her down. Iya looked at her ragged companion with new interest. He hadn’t left that powerful spell there, or his master; she could count on one hand the wizards she knew who could have.

Kiriar gave her an apologetic shrug. “We have to ask. Come, it’s just down here.”

He led her into the dirtiest side street she’d yet seen. The smell of piss and decay was strong. Skinny, notch-eared cats slunk past in shadows, or hunched watching for rats in the garbage piled along the wall. The buildings on either side nearly touched overhead, shutting out the waning winter light.

Three cloaked figures emerged from the murk just ahead. Another appeared from a doorway behind them as they passed. They looked like footpads, but all four bowed to her, touching their hearts and brows.

“This way.” Kiriar pointed her down a set of steep, crumbling cellar stairs. The door at the bottom looked ordinary enough, but magic of some sort tingled pleasantly through her fingertips as she lifted the rusty latch.

To an ordinary person, the blackness beyond would have been impenetrable, but Iya easily made out the long blades protruding from the walls at various heights along the subterranean passage. Anyone blundering blindly here would soon come to harm.

At the far end she opened another magically warded door and found herself blinking in the cheerful firelight of a tavern. A dozen or so wizards turned to see the newcomer and she was delighted to find familiar faces among them. Here was Kiriar’s master, stooped old Dylias, and beside him a pretty sorceress from Almak named Elisera, who’d turned Arkoniel’s head one summer. She didn’t know the others, but one of them was Aurënfaie, and wore the red-and-black sen’gai and facial tattoos of the Khatme clan. The blast aura was probably her work, thought Iya.

“Welcome to the Wormhole, my friend!” Dylias cried, coming to greet her. “Not the most elegant establishment in Ero, but surely the safest. I hope Kiriar and his friends didn’t give you too much of a turn.”

“Not at all!” Iya looked around in delight. The paneled oak walls gave back a cozy golden glow from the brazier flickering at the center of the room. She recognized bits and pieces from many of their old haunts—statues, hangings, even the golden brandywine distillers and water pipes that had been the pride of the now deserted Mermaid Inn. There was no menu board, but she smelled meat roasting. Someone put a silver mazer of excellent wine in her hand.

She sipped it gratefully, then raised an eyebrow at her guide. “I’m beginning to suspect you didn’t just happen upon me today.”

“No, we’ve watched you since—” Kiriar began.

Dylias silenced him with a sharp look under his beetling white brows, then turned to Iya and laid a finger to the side of his nose. “Less known, the better kept, eh? Suffice it to say the Harriers aren’t the only ones who keep an eye out for wizards in Ero. It’s been years! How are you, my dear?”

“Not well when I found her,” Kiriar told him. “What happened, Iya? I thought your heart had failed.”

“A momentary weakness,” Iya replied, not yet daring to say more. “I’m fine now, and better for being here with all of you! Still, isn’t it risky, gathering like this?”

“Those are ’faie-built houses over our heads,” the Aurënfaie woman told Iya. “It would take an army of those paltry Harriers to even find all the magics here, and another army to break through them.”

“Bravely stated, Saruel, and we all pray your trust is well-founded,” said Dylias. “All the same, we are cautious. We have a number of guests who depend upon it. Come, Iya. We’ll show you.”

Dylias and Saruel led Iya through a series of cramped cellar rooms beyond the tavern where more wizards were living.

“For some of us, this stronghold is a prison, as well,” Dylias said sadly, pointing out a hollow-eyed old man asleep on a pallet. “It would be worth Master Lyman’s life to show his face in the city. Once you’re on the Harriers’ hunting roster, there’s little chance of escape.”

“Twenty-eight have been burned on Traitor’s Hill since the madness started,” Saruel said bitterly. “And that’s not counting the priests murdered with them. It’s hideous, how they kill the Lightbearer’s servants.”

“Yes, I have seen it.” Iya now knew better than most what a death that was.

“But is it any worse than being buried alive here?” Dylias murmured, closing the sleeping man’s door.

Returning to the tavern, Iya sat with the others and listened to their stories. Most were still at large in the city, carefully pretending loyalty and earning their living in the small ways the king’s ordinances still allowed. They could make useful items and cast helpful household spells for pay. The greater magics were reserved for the Harriers. The mere charming of a horse was a capital offense now.

“They’ve made tinkers of us!” an elderly wizard named Orgeus sputtered.

“Has anyone tried to resist?” Iya asked.

“You haven’t heard about the Maker’s Day riots?” a man named Zagur asked. “Nine young hotheads barricaded themselves in the temple on Flatfish Street, trying to protect two others who were marked for execution. Have you been by the place?”

“No.”

“Well, it isn’t there anymore. Thirty Harriers appeared out of nowhere, and two hundred grey-backs with them. They didn’t last an hour.”

“Did they use any magic against the Harriers?”

“A few tried, but they were mostly charm makers and weather tellers,” Dylias replied. “What chance did they have against those monsters? How many in this room could strike back? That’s not what the Orëska teaches.”

“Perhaps not your half-blooded Second Orëska,” Saruel said disdainfully. “In Aurënen there are wizards who can level a house if they choose, or summon a hurricane down on their enemies.”

“No wizard has that kind of power!” a Skalan woman scoffed.

“Do you think the Harriers would let one of us live if they thought so?” someone else said.

The Aurënfaie retorted angrily in her own language and more joined in.

Dismayed, Iya thought again of Skorus, dying alone in agony.

It is time, she thought. She held up a hand for silence.

“There are Skalans who know such magics,” Iya said. “And it can be taught to others who have the talent for it.” Rising, she downed the last of her wine and placed the silver cup on the stone floor. She could feel the others watching her as she spread her hands above it. Chanting softly, she drew the power down and focused it on the cup.

The rush came more quickly than it normally did. It was always so in company, though it took no power away from the others.

The air around the cup shimmered for a moment, then the rim began to melt, slumping in on itself like a waxwork on a hot summer’s day. She broke the spell before the cup collapsed completely and cooled it with a breath. Prying it loose from the flagstones, she handed it to Dylias.

“It can be taught,” she said again, watching the faces of the others as they passed it from hand to hand.

Before she left the Wormhole that night, every wizard in the room—even proud Saruel—had accepted one of her little stones.

12

Tobin had only just gotten used to having Iya at the house when she announced that she was leaving. He and Ki watched glumly as she packed her few belongings.

“But the Festival of Sakor is only a few days away!” exclaimed Ki. “You want to stay for that, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” Iya muttered, stuffing a shawl into her bag.

Tobin knew something was troubling her. She’d spent a great deal of time down in the city and didn’t appear to approve of what she found there. Tobin knew it had something to do with the Harriers, but she wouldn’t even let him speak the word aloud anymore.

“Stay away from them,” she warned, reading his thoughts or his face. “Don’t think of them. Don’t speak of them. That goes for you, too, Kirothius. Even the magpie chatter of little boys doesn’t go unnoticed these days.”

“Little boys?” Ki sputtered.

Iya paused in her packing and gave him a fond look. “Perhaps you have grown just a bit since I found you. All the same, the pair of you added together are nothing but a blink of a wizard’s eye.”

“Are you going back to the keep?” asked Tobin.

“No.”

“Where, then?”

Her faded lips quirked into a strange little smile as she laid a finger to the side of her nose. “Less known, the better kept.”

She wouldn’t say more than that. They rode with her to the south gate and the last they saw of her was that thin braid bouncing against her back as she cantered into the crowd on Beggar’s Bridge.

The Festival of Sakor was celebrated with great fanfare, though everyone said that the king’s absence and the rumors of ill luck brought back by returning veterans put a damper on the usual glory of the three-day celebration. But to Tobin, who knew only the rude country observances in Alestun, it was impossibly grand and magical.

On Mourning Night the Companions and principal nobles of Ero stood with Korin in the city’s largest Sakor Temple, just down the hill from the Palatine gate. The square outside was jammed with people. Everyone cheered as Korin, standing in his father’s place, killed the Sakor bull with a single stroke. The priests frowned over the entrails and said little, but the people cheered again when the young prince raised his sword and pledged his family to the defense of Skala. The priests presented him with the sacred firepot, the temple horns sounded, and the city began to go dark, as if by magic. Beyond the walls, in the harbor and distant steadings, it was the same. On this longest night of the year, every flame in Skala was extinguished to symbolize the yearly death of Old Sakor.

The Companions stood the vigil with Korin all through that long, cold night and at dawn they helped carry the year’s new fire back to the city.

The next two days were a blur of balls and rides and midnight parties. Korin was the most sought-after guest in the city; Chancellor Hylus and his scribes had prepared a list of homes, temples, and guildhouses he and the Companions must appear at, many only long enough to pour the new year’s libation.

True winter soon set in after that. Rain turned to sleet, and the sleet to wet, heavy snow. Clouds sealed the sky from the sea to the mountains and soon Tobin felt like he’d never see the sun again.

Master Porion kept up with their mounted battle practice and the morning temple run, regardless of the weather, but sword fighting and archery were moved indoors. Their feasting hall was cleared and the bare floor chalked with archery lists and fighting circles. The clash of steel was deafening at times, and everyone had to be careful not to walk between archers and their targets, but otherwise it was not unpleasant. The other young bloods and girls of the court hung about as always, watching the Companions and sparring among themselves.

Una was there most days and Tobin noted with a guilty pang how she followed him with her eyes. His duties had kept him too busy to make good on his promise, or so he told himself. Every time he looked at her, he seemed to feel her lips on his again.

Ki twitted him about it and asked more than once if he was going to keep his word.

“I will,” Tobin always retorted. “I just haven’t found the time yet.”

Winter brought other changes in their daily routine. During the cold months all the noble boys had lessons with General Marnaryl, an elderly warrior who’d served King Erius and the two queens before him. His hoarse, croaking voice—the result of a blow to the throat in battle—had earned him the nickname “the Raven,” but it was said with great respect.

He taught by recounting famous battles, many of which he’d fought in himself. Despite his age, the Raven was a lively teacher and salted his stories with amusing asides about the habits and peculiarities of the people he’d fought with and against.

He also illustrated his lectures in a manner Tobin admired. When describing a battle, he would get down on the floor and sketch out the battleground with chalk, then use painted pebbles and bits of wood to represent the different forces, pushing them about with the ivory tip of his walking stick.

Some of the boys squirmed and yawned through these lessons, but Tobin enjoyed them. They reminded him of the hours he and his father had spent with the model of Ero. He also took secret delight whenever Raven talked of famous women generals and warriors. The old man made no distinction and had only cutting looks for those who snickered.

Tobin’s friend Arengil was among the noble youths who joined the Companions for lessons and his friendship with Tobin and Ki soon deepened. Quick-witted and humorous, the Aurënfaie had a great talent for acting and could mimic anyone at court. Gathered with the younger Companions in Tobin’s room at night, he’d reduce them all to helpless laughter with his haughty, mincing impression of Alben, then seem to transform into another body as he became hulking, sullen Zusthra or stooped old Raven.

Korin and Caliel sometimes joined them, but more often now the older boys slipped out on their own to the lower city. The morning after such excursions they’d turn up for the temple run with bloodshot eyes and superior smirks, and regaled the younger boys with their exploits when they thought Porion wasn’t listening.

The others listened with a mix of admiration and envy, but Ki soon grew concerned for Lynx. Everyone knew he was hopelessly smitten with Orneus, but his lord now thought of nothing but keeping up with the prince in drinking and carousing, something Orneus was remarkably ill suited for.

“I don’t know what poor Lynx sees in that wastrel anyway,” Ki would grumble, watching the sad-eyed squire clean up his friend’s sour vomit, or carrying Orneus back to their room when he was too drunk to walk.

“He wasn’t like that when they first came here,” Ruan confided as they sat toasting lumps of hard cheese over the hearth at Tobin’s house one night. Snow was falling and everyone was feeling cozy and grown-up without the older boys around.

“You’re right about that,” Lutha agreed around a mouthful of cheese. “My father’s estate is near his and we saw each other often at festivals and parties before we came to the Companions. He and Lynx were like brothers, but then—” He shrugged, blushing. “Well, you know how it goes with some. Anyway, Orneus is a good enough fellow, but I think the only reason he got chosen as a Companion was on account of his father’s influence at court. Duke Orneus the Elder has a holding almost as big as yours at Atyion.”

“If I’m ever allowed to go there, I’ll see what you mean,” Tobin grumbled. Even with Orun out of the way, bad weather had put an end to their travel plans for now and Korin seemed to have forgotten his promise.

“That’s how it goes,” Nikides said. “It’s not like I’d be sitting here if I wasn’t the Lord Chancellor’s only grandson.”

“But what you lack in fight, you make up for in brains,” Lutha replied, always quick to bolster his friend. “When the rest of us are getting bravely hacked to pieces on some battlefield, you’ll be here with your grandfather’s velvet ashcake on your head, running the country for Korin.”

“And poor Lynx will probably still be tying Orneus into the stirrups because he’s too drunk to ride,” Ki added with a laugh.

“It’s Lynx who should be the lord,” Barieus piped up hotly. “Orneus isn’t worthy to do up his boots.” When everyone turned to stare at him, he hastily busied himself with a toasting fork. The swarthy little squire usually said very little about anyone, and never against a Companion.

Ki shook his head. “For hell’s sake, doesn’t anyone like girls but me?”

Tobin kept quiet during Raven’s lessons for some weeks. He didn’t always understand what the old man was talking about, but listened intently and questioned the other boys afterward. He always made certain to ask Korin, but quickly discovered that Caliel and Nikides were more knowledgeable. Caliel, the son of a general, had a good mind for strategy. Nikides had the best head for history and had read more books than the rest of them put together. When Tobin and Ki both showed a genuine interest in the old stories, it was Nikides who introduced them to the royal library, located in the same wing as the abandoned throne room.

In fact, it took up nearly that entire wing, room upon room overlooking the eastern gardens. At first Tobin and Ki felt lost among the endless towering racks of scrolls and tomes, but Nik and the black-robed librarians showed them how to read the faded labels on each rack, and soon they were delving into treatises on arms and battle, as well as colorful books of poetry and stories.

Tobin soon learned his way around and discovered a whole room devoted to the history of his family. He asked the librarian about Queen Tamír, but there were only a few dusty scrolls, dry records of the few laws and taxes she’d passed. There was no history of her brief life or reign and the librarian knew of no other sources.

Tobin recalled Niryn’s strange reaction, that day at the Royal Tomb, when Tobin had mentioned what he’d been taught of her murder. The wizard had vehemently denied it, though both his father and Arkoniel had told him the same story. Her brother had killed her, and ruled briefly in her place before coming to a bad end himself.

Disappointed, Tobin slipped away from his friends and walked down to the sealed doors of the old throne room. Pressing his palms to the carved panels, he waited, hoping to feel the murdered queen’s spirit through the wood the way he’d sometimes felt his mother’s ghost at the tower door. The Old Palace was supposed to be haunted by all sorts of spirits. Everyone said so. According to Korin, their own grandmother’s bloody specter still wandered these halls on a regular basis; that was why his father had built the New Palace.

It seemed every chambermaid and door warder had some ghost story to tell, yet except for one glimpse of Tamír inside the throne room, Tobin had never seen anything. He supposed he shouldn’t complain—he’d had enough of ghosts already—but sometimes he wished Tamír would come back and make herself clearer. Given what he now knew about himself, he was certain she’d been trying to tell him something important when she’d offered him her sword. But Korin and the others had distracted him, and before he could speak to her, she’d vanished.

Was she trapped inside, unable to come out? he wondered.

Returning to the library, he found an unoccupied chamber not far from the throne room. Unlatching one of the windows, he pushed it open and climbed out onto the wide stone ledge that ran along the walls just below. Snow filled his shoes as he inched along to the broken window they’d entered by the night Korin and the others had played at being ghosts.

It had been too dark to see much then. Tobin squeezed through and found himself standing at one side of a huge, shadowy hall. Pale winter light filtered dimly through cracks in the tall, shuttered windows.

The worn marble floor still showed the marks where benches and fountains had been. Tobin got his bearings and hurried toward the center of the room, where the massive marble throne still stood on its raised dais.

He’d been too scared to examine it closely last time, but saw now that it was beautiful. The arms were carved like cresting waves, and symbols of the Four were inlaid in bands of red, black, and gold across the high back. There must have been cushions, but they were gone and mice had built a nest in one corner of the broad seat.

The chamber had a sad, neglected air about it. Sitting down on the throne, Tobin rested his hands on the carved armrests and looked around, imagining his ancestors hearing petitions and greeting dignitaries from far-off lands. He could feel the weight of years. The edges of the dais steps were worn smooth in places, where hundreds of people had knelt before the queens.

Just then he heard a sigh, so close to his ear it made him jump up and look around.

“Hello?” He should have been afraid, but he wasn’t. “Queen Tamír?”

He thought he felt the cool brush of fingertips against his cheek, though it could have been nothing more than an errant stir of breeze through one of the broken windows. He heard another sigh, clearer this time, and just off to his right.

Following the sound with his eyes, he noticed a long, rectangular stain on the floor beside the dais. It was about three feet long, and no wider than his palm. The rusted stumps of iron bolts and a few bits of broken stonework still marked where something had stood.

Something. Tobin’s heart leaped.

Restore …

The voice was faint but he could feel her now.

Feel them, he amended, for other voices joined in. Women’s voices. “Restore … Restore …” Sad and faint as the rustle of wind through distant leaves.

Even now Tobin wasn’t frightened. This felt nothing like Brother or his mother. He felt welcome here.

Kneeling, he touched the place where the golden tablet of the Oracle had stood.

So long as a daughter of Thelátimos—

From Ghërilain’s time, through all those years and queens, the tablet’s carved words had proclaimed to all who approached this throne that the woman who sat upon it did so by Illior’s will.

Restore.

“I don’t know how,” he whispered. “I know I’m supposed to, but I don’t know what to do. Help me!”

The ghostly hand caressed his cheek again, tender and unmistakable. “I’ll try, I promise. Somehow. I swear it by the Sword.”

Tobin said nothing of the experience to anyone, but spent more time that winter reading in the library. The history Arkoniel and his father had labored to teach him came to life as he read firsthand accounts of events written by the queens and warriors who’d lived them. Ki caught his enthusiasm and they sat up late into the night, taking turns reading aloud by candlelight.

Raven’s chalk drawing battlefields took on new meaning as well. Watching the old general push his pebble cavalry and wood chip archers about, Tobin began to see the logic of the formations. At times he could imagine the scenes as clearly as if he were reading Queen Ghërilain’s account, or the histories of General Mylia.

“Come on now, someone must have an opinion!” the old man snapped one day, tapping his stick impatiently on the diagram in question. It showed a large open field flanked on either side by curving belts of trees.

Without thinking, Tobin stood up to answer. Before he could change his mind everyone was looking at him.

“You have a strategy, Your Highness?” Raven asked, raising a bushy eyebrow doubtfully.

“I—I think I’d hide my horsemen in the grove of trees on the east flank under cover of night—”

“Yes? What else?” His wrinkled face gave nothing away.

Tobin pressed on. “And half or more of my archers over here in woods on the other side.” He paused, thinking of a battle he’d read about a few days earlier. “I’d have the rest set stakes here, with the men-at-arms in ranks behind them.” Warming to his subject, he squatted and pointed to the narrow strip of open ground between the copses, at the Skalan-held end of the field. “It would look like a thin front from the enemy’s side. I’d have my horsemen keep their mounts quiet, so the enemy would think it was only foot soldiers they were facing. They’d probably make the first charge at dawn. As soon as their horsemen were committed, I’d send mine out to cut them off and have the hidden archers shoot at the enemy’s foot soldiers to panic them.”

The general tugged thoughtfully at his beard, then rasped, “Divide their forces, eh? That’s your plan?”

Someone snickered, but Tobin nodded. “Yes, General Marnaryl, that’s what I’d do.”

“Well, as it happens, that’s very much like what your great-grandmother did at the Second Battle of Isil and it worked rather well.”

“Well done, Tobin!” Caliel cried.

“He’s my blood, isn’t he?” said Korin proudly. “I’ll be glad to have him as my general when I’m king, I can tell you.”

Tobin’s pleasure dissolved to panic at the words and he took his seat quickly, hardly able to breathe. For the rest of the day, his cousin’s praise haunted him.

When I’m king.

Skala could have only one ruler, and even Tobin couldn’t imagine his cousin simply stepping aside. When Ki was asleep that night, he rose and burned an owl feather in the night lamp flame, but he didn’t know what prayer to send with it. As he struggled for some words to say, all he could think of was his cousin’s smiling face.

13

A cold draft across his bare shoulders woke Arkoniel. Shivering, he fumbled in the darkness and pulled Lhel’s bearskin robe up to his chin. She’d let him spend the night with her more often since midwinter and he was grateful, both for the companionship and the chance to escape the haunted corridors of the keep.

The bracken-stuffed pallet crackled as he burrowed deeper under the covers. The bed smelled good: sex and balsam and smoky hides. But he was still cold. He groped for Lhel, but found only a patch of fading warmth where she’d been.

“Armra dukath?” he called softly. He was learning her language quickly and always spoke it here though she teased him, claiming his accent was thicker than cold mutton stew. He’d learned the true name of her people, as well. They called themselves the Retha’noi, “people of wisdom.”

There was no answer, only the clacking of the bare oak branches overhead. Assuming she’d gone out to relieve herself, he settled back, longing for her naked heat against his back. But he couldn’t get back to sleep, and Lhel didn’t return.

More curious than worried, he wrapped himself in the fur robe and felt his way to the small, leather-curtained doorway. Pushing it aside, he looked out. In the two weeks since Sakor-tide it had snowed less than it usually did here; the drifts surrounding the oak were only shin deep in most places.

The sky was clear, though. The full moon hung like a new coin against the stars, so bright on the sparkling snow that he could make out the fine whorls on his fingertips by its light. Lhel said a full moon stole the heat of the day to be so bright, and Arkoniel could well believe it. Each breath showed silver white for an instant, then fell away in tiny crystals.

Small footprints led in the direction of the spring. Shivering, Arkoniel found his boots and followed.

Lhel was squatting at the water’s edge, staring intently at the little circle of roiling open water at its center. Wrapped to the chin in the new cloak Arkoniel had given her, she held her left hand over the water. Her fingers were crooked to summon the scrying spell and Arkoniel stopped a few yards away, not wanting to disturb her. The spell could take some time, depending on how far she was trying to see. He saw only undulating silver ripples across the spring’s black surface, but Lhel’s eyes glinted like a cat’s as she watched whatever it was that she’d summoned. Shadow filled the lines around her eyes and mouth, showing her years in a way the sun never did. Lhel claimed not to know her age. She said her people reckoned a woman’s age not by years, but by the seasons of her womb: child, child bearer, elder. She still bled with the waning moon, but she was not young.

Presently she lifted her head and glanced at him with no apparent surprise,

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I had a dream,” she replied, kneading the stiffness from her back as she stretched. “Someone is coming, but I couldn’t see who, so I came out here.”

“Did you see in water?”

She nodded and took his hand, leading him back to the tree. “Wizards.”

“Harriers?”

“No, Iya and another I couldn’t see. There’s a cloud around that one. But they’re coming to see you.”

“Should I go back to the keep?”

Smiling, she stroked his cheek. “No, there’s time, and I’m too cold to sleep alone.” The years fled her face again as she reached under his robe and stroked a chilly hand down his belly. “You stay and warm me.”

Arkoniel returned to the keep the next morning, expecting to find lathered horses in the courtyard. But Iya did not come that day, or the next. Puzzled, he rode up the mountain track in search of Lhel, but the witch did not show herself.

Most of a week passed before her vision proved true. He was at work on a transmutation spell when he heard the sound of sleigh bells on the river road. Recognizing the high-pitched tinkling, he went on with his work. It was only the miller’s girl, making the monthly delivery to the kitchen.

He was still engrossed in the complexities of transforming a chestnut into a letter knife when the rattle of the door latch startled him. No one disturbed him here this time of the day.

“You’d better come down, Arkoniel,” said Nari. Her normally placid face was troubled and her hands were balled in her apron. “Mistress Iya is here.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hurrying to follow her downstairs. “Is she hurt?”

“Oh, no, she’s well enough. I’m not so sure about the woman she brought with her, though.”

Iya was sitting on the hearth bench in the hall, supporting a hunched, bundled figure. The stranger was closely wrapped but he could see the edge of a dark veil visible just below the deep hood.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“I think you remember our guest,” Iya said quietly.

The other woman lifted her veil with a gloved hand and Nari let out a faint gasp.

“Mistress Ranai?” It was an effort not to recoil. “You’re—you’re a long way from home.”

He’d met the elderly wizard only once before, but hers was a face not easily forgotten. The ruined half was turned toward him, the scarred flesh standing out in waxy ridges. She shifted to see him with her remaining eye and smiled. The undamaged side of her face was soft and kind as a grandmother’s.

“I am glad to meet you again, though I regret the circumstance that brings me to you,” she replied in a hoarse, whispery voice. Her gnarled hands trembled as she laid her veil aside.

Centuries ago, during the Great War, this woman had fought beside Iya’s master, Agazhar. A necromancer’s demon had raked her face into this lopsided mask and crippled her left leg. She was much frailer than he recalled, and he could see the reddened weal of a recent burn on her right cheek.

The first time they’d met, he’d felt her power like a cloud of lightning so strong it raised the hair on the back of his arms. Now he could scarcely feel it.

“What’s happened to you, Mistress?” Remembering his manners he took her hand and silently offered her his own strength. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach as she accepted the gift.

“They burned me out,” she wheezed. “My own neighbors!”

“They got wind of a Harrier patrol on the way to Ylani and went mad,” Iya explained. “Word’s been put round that any town that shelters a dissenting wizard will be put to the torch.”

“Two centuries I lived among them!” Ranai gripped Arkoniel’s hand harder. “I healed their children, sweetened their wells, brought them rain. If Iya hadn’t been with me that night—” A coughing fit choked off her words.

Iya gently patted her back. “I’d just reached Ylani and saw the Harrier banner in the harbor. I guessed what that meant in time, but even so, I was nearly too late. The cottage was burning down around her and she was caught under a beam.”

“Harrier wizards stood outside and held the doors shut!” Ranai croaked. “I must be old indeed if a pack of young scoundrels like that can best me! But oh, how their spells hurt. It felt like they were driving spikes into my eyes. I was blind—” She trailed off querulously and seemed to shrink even smaller as Arkoniel watched.

“Thank the Light she was strong enough to hold off the worst of the flames, but as you can see, the ordeal took its toll. We’ve been nearly two weeks getting here. We rode the last bit in a miller’s sledge.”

He brushed at a streak of flour on Iya’s skirt. “So I see.”

Nari had disappeared at some point, but she and Cook returned with hot tea and food for the travelers.

Ranai accepted a mug with a murmur of thanks, but was too weak to lift it. Iya helped the old woman raise it to her lips. Ranai. managed a slurping sip before another rattling cough took her. Iya held her as the spasm shook her wizened frame.

“Fetch a firepot,” Nari said to Cook. “I’ll make up the duke’s room for her.”

Iya helped the old woman take another sip. “She’s not the only one driven out. You remember Virishan?”

“That hedge wizard who takes in wizard-born orphans?”

“Yes. Do you recall the young mind clouder she had with her?”

“Eyoli?”

“Yes. I met him on the road a few months back and he told me she and her brood had fled into the mountains north of Hear.”

“It’s that monster’s doing,” Ranai whispered vehemently. “That viper in white!”

“Lord Niryn.”

“Lord?” The old woman mustered the strength to spit into the fire. The flames flared a livid blue. “The son of a tanner, he was, and a middling mage at best, last I knew. But the whelp knows how to drip poison in the royal ear. He’s turned the whole country on us, his own kind!”

“Is it so bad already?” asked Arkoniel.

“It’s still just in pockets in the outlying towns, but the madness is spreading,” said Iya.

“The visions—” Ranai began.

“Not here,” Iya whispered. “Arkoniel, help Nari get her to bed.”

Ranai was too weak to climb the stairs, so Arkoniel carried her. She was as light and brittle in his arms as a bundle of dry sticks. Nari and Cook had made the musty, long-empty room as comfortable as they could. Two fire-pots stood beside the bed and someone had laid life’s breath leaves on the coals to ease Ranai’s cough. The pungent smell filled the room.

As the women undressed Ranai to her ragged shift and tucked her into bed, Arkoniel caught a glimpse of the old scars and new burns that covered her withered arms and shoulders. Bad as they were, he found them less worrisome than the strange ebb in her power.

When Ranai was settled, Iya sent the others out and pulled a chair close to the bed. “Are you comfortable now?” Ranai whispered something Arkoniel could not catch. Iya frowned, then nodded. “Very well. Arkoniel, fetch the bag, please.”

“It’s there beside you.” Iya’s traveling pack lay in plain sight by his mistress’s chair.

“No, the bag I left with you.”

Arkoniel blinked, realizing which one she meant.

“Fetch it, Arkoniel. Ranai told me something quite surprising the other day.” She looked down at the dozing wizard, then snapped, “Quickly now!” as if he were still a clumsy young apprentice.

Arkoniel took the stairs two at a time and pulled the dusty bag from under the workroom table. Inside, shrouded in spells and mystery lay the clay bowl she had charged him never to show to anyone except his own successor. It had been Iya’s burden for as long as he’d known her, a trust passed with the darkest oaths from wizard to wizard since the days of the Great War.

The war! he thought, seeing the first inkling of a connection.

Iya saw Ranai’s eyes widen when Arkoniel returned with the battered old leather bag.

“Shroud the room, Iya,” she murmured.

Iya cast a spell, sealing the room from prying eyes and ears, then took the bag from Arkoniel. Undoing the knotted thongs, she eased out the mass of silk wrappings and slowly undid them. Wards and incantations winked and crackled in the lamplight.

As the last of the silk fell away Iya caught her breath. No matter how often she held this plain, crude thing, the malevolent emanations always rocked her. To one not wizard-born, this was nothing but a crude beggar’s bowl, unglazed and poorly fired. But her master Agazhar had felt nausea when he touched it. Arkoniel suffered a searing headache and feverish pain through his body in its presence. Iya experienced it as a miasma like fumes from a rotting, ruptured corpse.

She glanced at Ranai with concern, fearing the effect it would have on her in her weakened state.

But instead the old woman seemed to find new strength. Lifting her hand, she sketched a spell of protection on the air, then reached out hesitantly, as if to take the bowl.

“Yes, there’s no mistaking it,” she rasped, withdrawing her hand.

“How do you know of it?” Arkoniel asked.

“I was a Guardian myself, one of the original six … I’ve seen enough, Iya. Put it away.” She lay back and sighed deeply, not speaking until the cursed thing was safely wrapped again.

“You understood the Oracle’s meaning all too well, even without the knowledge lost when your master died,” she told Iya.

“I don’t understand,” said Arkoniel. “I never heard of other Guardians. Who are the six?”

Ranai closed her eyes. “They’re all dead, except for me. I’d never have revealed myself to your mistress, but when I saw that she no longer had the bag with her, I feared the worst. You must forgive an old woman’s weakness. Perhaps if I’d spoken when you came to Ylani a few years back—”

Iya took the clawed left hand in hers. “Never mind that. I know the oaths you swore. But we’re here now and you’ve seen it. What is it you have to tell us?”

Ranai looked up then. “There can be only one Guardian for each secret, Iya. You’ve passed the burden to this boy. What I have to say, only he can hear.”

“No, she only left it with me for safekeeping. Iya’s the true Guardian,” Arkoniel told her.

“No. She passed it down.”

“Then I give it back!”

“You can’t. The Lightbearer guided her hand, whether she knew it or not. You are Guardian now, Arkoniel, and what I have to say can only be said to you.”

Iya recalled the Afran Oracle’s cryptic words: This is a seed that must be watered with blood. But you see too far. And she thought of the vision she’d had that day, of a grand white palace filled with wizards, but seen from a distance, with Arkoniel looking out at her from a tower window.

“She’s right, Arkoniel. You stay.” Unable to look at either of them, she hurried out.

Sealed out by her own magic, she sagged against the wall and covered her face, letting the bitter tears come.

Only then did the demon child’s cryptic words come back to haunt her.

You shall not enter.

Arkoniel stared after Iya in disbelief, then turned back to the ruined creature in the bed. The revulsion he’d felt the first time he’d seen her rushed back now.

“Sit, please,” Ranai whispered. “What I tell you now is what was lost with Agazhar’s death. Iya has acted in ignorance. No fault of hers, but it must be made right. Swear to me, Arkoniel, as all Guardians before you have sworn, by hands, heart, and eyes, by the Light of Illior, and by the blood of Aura that runs in your veins, that you will take on the full mantle of guardianship, and that as Guardian, you will lock all I tell you away in your heart until you pass the burden to your successor. Protect these secrets with your life and allow no one who discovers them to live. No one, you understand me? Not friend or foe, wizard or plain-born, man, woman, or child. Give me your hands and swear. I’ll know if you lie.”

“Secrecy and death. Is that all the Lightbearer will ever ask of me?”

“Many things will be asked of you, Arkoniel, but none more sacred than this. Iya will understand your silence.”

He’d seen the grief in Iya’s face and knew Ranai spoke the truth. “Very well.” He grasped Ranai’s hands and bowed his head. “I do swear, by hands, heart, and eyes, by the Light of Illior and by the blood of Aura in my veins, to carry out whatever duty is required of me as Guardian, and to reveal the secrets you give me to no one but my successor.”

A blast of raw energy shot through him from their clasped hands, engulfing him. It was like being struck by lightning. It seemed impossible that Ranai’s wasted body could still contain such power, but when it passed, it left them both gasping.

Ranai regarded him solemnly. “You are truly the Guardian now, more so than your mistress was, or even her master. You are the last of the six to carry that which must be hidden. All the rest have failed or laid their burden down.”

“And you?”

She raised a hand to her scarred cheek and grimaced. “This was the price I paid for my failure. But let me speak, for my strength is going.

“The greatest wizard of the Second Orëska was Master Reynes of Wyvernus. It was he who rallied the wizards of Skala to fight under Queen Ghërilain’s banner, and he who led those who finally defeated the Vatharna. You understand the word?”

Arkoniel nodded. “It’s Plenimaran for ‘the chosen one.’ ”

“The chosen one.” The old woman’s eyes were closed now, and Arkoniel had to lean closer to hear her. “The Vatharna was a great general, chosen by the necromancers to take on the form of Seriamaius.”

She still held his right hand, but he made a warding sign with his left. Even priests hesitated to speak the name of the necromancer’s god aloud. “How could such a thing be done?”

“They forged a helm and the one who wore it, the Vatharna, became an earthly vessel for the god. It did not happen at once, thank the Four, but gradually, though even the initial guise was terrible enough.

“The helm was completed and their general put it on. Reynes found him only just in time. Hundreds of wizards and warriors were killed in that battle, but the helm was captured. Reynes and the most powerful wizards still alive dismantled it somehow. But before they could do more, the Plenimarans attacked again. Only Reynes escaped, and with only six of the pieces. He never revealed how many there were in all. He put a glamour on those he had, wrapped them as yours is wrapped, and placed them in a darkened tent. Then he chose six of us—wizards who’d taken no part in the other ceremonies—and sent us in one at a time. We were to take the first bundle our hand found in the darkness, then depart alone, unseen. No matter what the cost, the pieces were to be scattered and hidden. Not even Reynes would know where they were.”

She coughed weakly and Arkoniel held a cup of water to her lips. “So they couldn’t put it back together?”

“Yes. Reynes was very careful, not trusting even himself to know the full truth. None of us had witnessed the ritual of dissolution, or the true form of what we carried. None of us knew what the others had, or where they went.”

“So Agazhar was one of the original Guardians?”

“No. He wasn’t powerful enough to be considered. Hyradin was the first of your line. He and Agazhar came to be friends later on, but Agazhar knew nothing of the burden he carried. It was only by chance that he was with Hyradin when the Plenimarans found him. Mortally wounded, Hyradin gave Agazhar the bundle and held off the enemy long enough for him to escape. Years later when he and I met again, I saw what he carried and knew Hyradin must be dead.”

“And all the other pieces were lost?”

“Mine was, and two others that I know of. Hyradin’s you carry. But one of us returned, saying she’d accomplished her purpose. The sixth was never heard of again. As far as I know, I’m the only one who failed and lived. It was years before I healed, and longer before I learned of Hyradin’s fate. By rights Agazhar should have killed me and I told him so, but he wouldn’t, saying I was a Guardian still. As far as I know, yours is the only fragment yet in Skala. I told Agazhar it should be hidden somewhere secure, but he thought he could better protect it by keeping it with him.” She fixed Arkoniel with her good eye. “He was wrong. It must be hidden somewhere it cannot be lost or stolen. Tell Iya that much, at least. I’ve had visions of fire and death since we last met, and of the girl who is hidden.”

She smiled, seeing his startled look. “I don’t know who she is, or where, only that she has been born. And I’m not the only one, as Iya knows. The Harriers who came for me had heard of her from others. If you know, and they ever capture you, kill yourself before they can wring it from you.”

“But what does this thing have to do with her?” Arkoniel asked, perplexed.

“I don’t know. I don’t think Iya knows, but it is what the Airan Oracle showed her. This evil you carry is bound up with the fate of the future queen. You must not fail.”

Ranai accepted another sip of water. Her voice was fading and there was no color left in her face. “There’s something else, something only I know. Hyradin had a dream while he was Guardian, a vision that came to him again and again. He told it to Agazhar before he died and, not knowing what it meant, Agazhar told me before I knew enough to stop him. Perhaps that was Illior’s will, for it would have been lost otherwise. Take my hand again. The words I speak to you will never leave your memory. They must be passed on through all your successors, for yours is the last line. I pass them to you now as Agazhar should have, and a gift of my own with them.”

She clutched his hand and the room went black around Arkoniel. Her voice came to him out of the darkness, strong and clear as a young woman’s. “Hear the Dream of Hyradin. ‘And so came the Beautiful One, the Eater of Death, to strip the bones of the world. First clothed in Man’s flesh it came, crowned with a dread helm of darkness and none could stand against this One but Four.’ ”

Her voice changed, deepening to a man’s. The darkness parted and Arkoniel found himself in a forest clearing, facing a fair-haired man in ragged clothes. The stranger held the cursed bowl in his hands, offering it to him. “First shall be the Guardian, a vessel of light in the darkness,” he said to Arkoniel. “Then the Shaft and the Vanguard, who shall fail and yet not fail if the Guide, the Unseen One, goes forth. And at the last shall again be the Guardian, whose portion is bitter, bitter as gall when they meet under the Pillar of the Sky.”

The voice and vision faded away and Arkoniel blinked around at the familiar chamber. The words were etched in his mind, as Ranai had promised. He had only to think of them and the wizard’s voice seemed to speak in his ear. But what did they mean?

Ranai’s eye was closed, her face peaceful. It was a moment before he realized that she was dead. If she knew the meaning of the dream, she’d taken that knowledge with her to Bilairy’s gate.

He whispered the prayer of passing for her, then rose to find Iya. As he stood up his clothing fell away in ashes. Even his shoes had been reduced to cinders by the rush of the old woman’s power, yet his body was unmarked.

Wrapping himself in a blanket, he went to the door and let Iya in. She took the situation in at a glance. Cupping Arkoniel’s face between her hands, she gazed into his eyes, then nodded. “She passed her life force to you.”

“She made herself die?”

“Yes. She had no successor. By channeling her soul through yours as she died, she was trying to impart some of her power to you.”

“A gift,” Arkoniel murmured, sitting down by her. “I thought she meant the—” He caught himself. He’d spoken freely to Iya all his life; he felt like a traitor now, keeping secrets.

She sat on the end of the bed and gazed sadly at the dead woman. “It’s all right. No one understands better than I how things stand. Do what you must.”

“I won’t kill you, if that’s what you mean!”

Iya chuckled. “No, the Lightbearer has work for me yet. This is the proof of it. There are others, many others, who’ve had a glimpse of what Tobin will become. Illior is choosing those who will help her. For so long I thought I was the only one, but it seems I’m only the messenger. Others must be gathered and protected before the Harriers take them all.”

“But how?”

Iya reached into a pouch at her belt and tossed Arkoniel a small pebble; he’d lost track of how many of these little tokens she’d left with other wizards. “You’ve been safe enough here, all these years. I’ll send the others here for now. How do you feel?”

“No different.” Arkoniel rolled the pebble between his fingers. “Well, maybe a bit more scared.”

Iya rose and hugged him. “So am I.”

14

Tobin returned to the throne room several times, but had no more ghostly visitations. He was still a child, and in the way of children, it was easy to put his fears aside once the moment passed. The ghosts or gods or Iya would tell him when it was time to step forward. For now, he was simply Tobin, beloved cousin of a young prince, nephew of a king he’d never met. The Companions were cheered wherever they went, and Korin was everyone’s darling.

Bard as Porion and Raven worked the boys, winter was a time of special pleasures. The theaters of Ero staged their most lavish productions in the dark months; true marvels featuring live animals, mechanical devices, and fireworks. The Golden Tree surpassed all the other houses with a lengthy play cast entirely with real centaurs from the Ashek Mountains, the first of their kind Tobin and Ki had seen.

The markets were fragrant with the scent of roasting chestnuts and mulled cider, and bright with fine woolen goods from the northlands beyond Mycena. Street vendors sold sweets made of honey and fresh snow that glistened like amber in the sunlight.

Chancellor Hylus was a kindly guardian and saw to it that Tobin had ample pocket money, far more than Orun had seen fit to give him. Still unused to having gold or anywhere to spend it, Tobin would have let the coins gather dust in his room if Korin hadn’t insisted on visits to his favorite tailors, swordsmiths, and other merchants. Encouraged, Tobin got rid of the faded black velvet hangings in his bedchamber, replacing them with his own, blue and white and silver.

He also visited the artisans in Goldsmith Street and began making sculptures and bits of jewelry again. One day he shyly took a brooch he was rather proud of to show to an Aurënfaie jeweler whose work he especially admired. It was a filigree piece cast in bronze and fashioned to look like bare, intertwined branches. He had even included a few tiny leaves and set it with a scattering of tiny white crystals. He’d been thinking of the night sky over Lhel’s clearing and the way the stars winked through the oak branches on winter nights.

Master Tyral was a thin, silver-haired man with pale grey eyes and a bright blue sen’gai. Tobin was fascinated by these exotic folk and could already recognize half a dozen different clans by their distinctive headcloths and manner in which they wrapped the long strips of wool or silk around their heads. Tyral and his workmen all wore theirs in a sort of squat turban wrapped low on their heads, the long ends hanging over their left shoulders.

Tyral greeted him warmly as always, and invited Tobin to lay out his work on a square of black velvet. Tobin unwrapped the bronze brooch and put it down.

“You made this?” Tyral murmured in his soft, lilting accent. “And this, as well, yes?” he asked, pointing to the gold horse charm Tobin wore around his neck. “May I see it?”

Tobin handed it to him, then fidgeted nervously as the man examined both pieces closely. Looking around at the beautiful necklaces and rings on display around the fine shop, he began to regret his audacity. He’d come to enjoy the praise of his friends for his work, but they weren’t artists. What would this master craftsman care for his clumsy attempts?

“Tell me about this brooch. How did you achieve such fine lines?” Tyral asked, looking up with an expression Tobin couldn’t immediately interpret.

Tobin haltingly explained how he’d sculpted each tiny branch in wax, then woven the warmed filaments together and packed them in wet sand to receive the molten metal. Before he’d finished, the ’faie chuckled and held up a hand.

“Indeed, you are the artist. Forgive my doubt, but I seldom see such skill in a Tírfaie of your age.”

“You think they’re good?”

The ’faie picked up the horse charm. “This is very nice. You wisely kept the lines simple, suggesting detail rather than cluttering the little body up with it. One can feel the beast’s vitality in the stretch of the neck and the way you’ve positioned the legs, as if it is running. Lesser artisans would leave the legs straight, like a cow’s. Yes, it is a fine little piece. But this one!” He picked up the brooch and cradled it in the hollow of his palm. “This shows more than skill. You were sad when you made this. Homesick, perhaps?”

Tobin nodded, speechless.

Tyral took Tobin’s right hand and examined the fingers and palm the same way he’d looked at the brooch. “You train to be a warrior, but you were born to be an artist, a maker of things. Do they train you for that as well, up there on the hill?”

“No, it’s just something I do. My mother made things, too.”

“She gave you a great gift, then, Prince Tobin. One perhaps you have not been taught to value as you should. The Lightbearer has put skill in these rough young hands of yours.” He sat back and sighed. “Your family is renowned for their prowess in battle, but I will tell you a true thing. With such hands as these, you will always be happier creating than you ever will be destroying. I am not flattering you or currying favor when I say that if you were a common boy rather than a prince, I would invite you to work here with me. I’ve never said that to any Tírfaie, either.”

Tobin looked around at the workbenches, with their rouge stones, crucibles, and racks of scarred mallets, tiny hammers, dies, and files.

Tyral smiled sadly, reading the longing in his eyes. “We do not choose our births, do we? It would not be seemly for a prince of Skala to become a common craftsman. But you will find ways, I think. Come see me whenever you like and I will give you what help I can.”

The jeweler’s words stayed with Tobin for a long time afterward. It was true that he couldn’t sell his work like a common craftsman, but he could keep on as he had, making gifts. He made charms and cloak pins decorated with animal heads and gems for his friends. Nikides commissioned an emerald ring for his grandfather’s birthday and Hylus was so pleased with it he was never seen without it again. Word spread and soon commissions were coming in from other nobles, who brought him gold and gems to work with. Apparently, as Ki observed, Tobin could work for his own kind.

When Porion allowed them the occasional day off, Korin took the younger boys around to his new favorite haunts: taverns where pretty girls in low-cut bodices were quick to sit on the older boys’ laps and to pet and coo over the younger ones. Actress and actors welcomed them backstage at the finest theaters, and merchants in the richer districts always seemed to have some special items held back just for them.

Now and then—usually when Korin had been drinking, as Ki was quick to note—he even brought the younger ones along on his nocturnal rambles. This required giving Master Porion the slip, but that was part of the fun. On frosty moonlit nights they played catch-me through the crooked streets, then headed down to some of the meanest waterfront neighborhoods. Even in the dead of winter these streets stank of shit and dead dogs, and the wine in the filthy taverns was vile. Yet Korin seemed happier here than anywhere else, bawling drunkenly along with raw-throated minstrels or elbowing in beside sailors, dock-hands, and less savory fellows to watch a street fight or a bear baiting.

The older boys were already well-known in such places, and Korin was greeted as “young Lord No-Name” with knowing winks and nods. More than once the older boys left the others waiting on some cold unlit street corner while they had their whores against alley walls. Of all the older boys, only Lynx refused to join in these unsavory revels. Waiting in the cold with Tobin and the others, listening to the yelps and grunts that echoed out, he often looked downright ill. Barieus hovered near him, anxious to offer comfort, but Lynx took no notice.

“I don’t understand it!” Ki exclaimed in disgust as they rode home on their own one night. “Those lowborn sailors and whores would knife their own mothers for one night in a decent house, but these spoiled young blades roll downhill like horse turds into places even my brothers wouldn’t even set a toe in. They wallow in it like pigs and Korin is the worst of ’em. I’m sorry, Tobin, but it’s true and you know it. He’s our leader and he sets the tone. I wish Caliel would talk sense into him.” They both knew that wasn’t likely to happen.

It wasn’t all gutter crawling, though. Invitations arrived daily to parties, bonfires, and hunts. Creamy scrolls written in colored inks piled up like fallen leaves in the Companions’ mess. The Companions had always been much sought-after guests in the king’s absence, and were all the more so now that Korin was nearing marriageable age.

The prince was not one to turn down invitations. Fifteen, and already man-grown with a fine new beard on his chin, Korin drew admiring stares wherever he went. His hair hung in a mane of black ringlets around his shoulders, framing a square, handsome face and flashing dark eyes. He knew how to make women of any age melt with a smile or a kiss on the hand; girls gathered around him like cats to cream while their mothers hovered anxiously, hoping for some sign of favor.

Those with younger daughters began to cast their eyes in Tobin’s direction, as well, much to his friends’ envious amusement and Tobin’s secret dismay. He was rich, after all, and of the best family in Skala. Twelve was not too young to consider a contracted union. The shy glances of the girls and their mothers’ naked appraisal made Tobin cringe. Even if he had been who they imagined him to be, he doubted he’d have welcomed such predatory looks. After the obligatory greetings with their hosts of the evening, he quickly sought out a corner in which to hide.

Ki, on the other hand, took to the life like a duck to water. His good looks and easy, laughing manner attracted attentions he was more than happy to return. He even took to dancing.

The other Companions teased Tobin about his shyness, but it was Arengil who at last found a way to put him more at ease.

In mid-Dostin Caliel’s mother, the Duchess Althia, hosted a ball in honor of her son’s sixteenth birthday at her villa near the Old Palace. It was a grand affair. The hall was lit with hundreds of wax tapers, tables groaned with food of the best sort, and two bands of minstrels played by turns for the bejeweled gathering.

Caliel’s younger sister Mina cajoled Tobin into a dance, and he embarrassed himself as usual, tripping over his feet and hers. As soon as the song ended he excused himself and took cover in a corner. Ki came over to keep him company, but Tobin could tell from the way he followed the dancers with his eyes, tapping his feet and drumming his hands on his knees in time to the music that he’d rather be out dancing.

“Go on, I don’t mind,” Tobin grumbled, as several pretty girls wandered past, making eyes at them.

Ki gave him a guilty grin. “No, that’s all right.”

Chancellor Hylus was speaking with Nikides nearby. Spying Tobin there, they came over.

“I’ve just been having the most interesting conversation with my grandson,” Hylus told Tobin. “It seems you’ve been badly overlooked.”

Tobin looked up in surprise. Hylus was smiling and Nikides looked very pleased with himself. “How do you mean, my lord?”

“Nothing’s been done about your heraldry, my prince! I should have noticed myself, but it was Nikides.” He pointed to the main entrance of the hall, where the banners of all the noble guests were displayed. Korin’s red occupied the highest pole, with Tobin’s blue just below it.

“You’ve every right to display your father’s banner, of course,” Nikides told him, as if Tobin would know what he was talking about. “But as a prince of the blood, you should incorporate your mother’s, as well. In a case such as yours, they could be combined.”

“With your permission, my prince, I will send word to the college of heralds to begin on your new arms at once,” the old man offered.

Tobin shrugged. “Very well.”

Clearly delighted, the pair moved on, already discussing escutcheons and bars.

Ki shook his head. “Nik could do with a bit more dancing himself.”

The song ended and Arengil emerged from the press, looking very handsome and exotic. In addition to his green-and-yellow sen’gai, he wore a long white tunic of Aurënen make, and a thick golden torque and bracelets set with smooth round sapphires and crystals. Tobin had seen similar work in the shops of the Aurënfaie jewelers, but nothing so fine as these pieces.

“You’ve retreated earlier than usual,” Arengil noted, smiling as Tobin took his wrist to examine a bracelet more closely.

“This is beautiful!” Tobin exclaimed, wishing he had something to sketch out the intricate raised pattern work. “It’s old, isn’t it?”

“Never mind that now!” Arengil laughed, pulling his hand free. “Come on. Every girl in the room is waiting for you to ask her for a dance!”

Tobin folded his arms. “No they’re not. I’m like the bull with three legs. Did you see Quirion laughing at me? Bilairy’s balls, I wish Korin would just let me stay home!”

Una glided over, looking very pretty in blue satin with strands of pearls and lapis braided into her dark hair. She never flirted the way other girls did, but Tobin could tell she was enjoying the looks she drew tonight. Fluttering a jeweled fan under her chin in a very grown-up way, she bowed low to Tobin. “Hiding again, my prince?”

“I was just telling him that it’s his duty to ornament these gatherings,” Arengil remarked.

“An ornament. That’s just what I feel like,” Tobin muttered. “It’s so boring, all this talking and standing around!”

“You seemed to enjoy conversing with that elderly duke earlier,” Una observed.

Tobin shrugged. “He’s an artist. He admired a pendant I made for his granddaughter and invited me to see his work.”

“Watch that one,” Arengil warned, lowering his voice. “He invited someone we both know to see his ‘work,’ then tried to kiss him in the carriage.”

Una made a face. “But he’s old!”

Arengil snorted and tossed the long, fringed ends of his sen’gai back over his shoulder. “The old ones are the worst.” He looked around quickly, then confided, “I’ve heard a thing or two about Lord Orun. You must have been glad to be rid of him.”

Ki screwed his face up in disgust. “Old Slack Guts? I’d have put a knife in him! By the Four, Tobin, tell me he never—”

“No!” Tobin replied, shuddering at the thought. “He was bad enough without that.”

“And he’s gone, so forget him. Come on, Prince Tobin. Dance with me!” Una urged gaily, holding out a hand to him. “I don’t care if you step on my toes.”

Tobin shrank back. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough of being laughed at for tonight.” He hadn’t meant it to come out so gruffly, and he felt bad, seeing the laughter die in her eyes.

“It’s true,” said Ki, not noticing. “He’s like an ox on ice.”

“Really?” Arengil made a show of looking Tobin over. “You should be a natural, the way you fight and sit a horse.” Tobin shook his head but the older boy wouldn’t be put off. “You’ve got the balance and rhythm and that’s all you really need to dance. Come on, I want to try something.”

Ignoring Tobin’s protests, he led them to an unoccupied chamber down the corridor. The walls were decorated with battle trophies. Arengil took down two swords and tossed one to Tobin.

“Come on, my prince, partner me.” Arengil struck a defensive stance, as if they were going to practice.

“Here? There’s too much furniture in the way.”

The ’faie raised a challenging eyebrow. “Frightened, are we?”

Scowling, Tobin took his place facing him. “Are you saying I should attack my dancing partner with a sword? Because I might be able to manage that.”

“No, but it is similar. If I do this—” Arengil took a quick step forward, and Tobin fell back, braced to parry. “Right, you do that. And if you want to make me retreat?”

Tobin pushed the Aurënfaie’s blade with his own and made a quick feint. Arengil fell back a step. “Keep pressing. What next?”

Tobin made a quick succession of mock attacks, driving Arengil back across the room.

“Now let me drive you.” Slowly and deliberately, Arengil moved him backward. Reaching the place where they’d started, he lowered his weapon and bowed. “Thank you for the dance, my prince.”

Tobin rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s brilliant!” Una exclaimed. “That’s all dancing is, Tobin. The lady responds to the step her partner takes. It’s just like sword fighting.”

Arengil tossed the sword to Ki and struck a dancing pose. Right hand raised, left at the small of his back, he shot Tobin another challenging look.

Feeling very silly, Tobin hesitantly took his place facing in the opposite direction and placed his right palm against Arengil’s.

“Good. Now, if I do this—” Arengil took a small step forward and pressed his hand against Tobin’s. “What must you do?”

Tobin took a step forward, then another and they circled one another. Arengil turned sharply on his heel and changed hands. Tobin followed awkwardly.

“You, too!” Una took Ki’s hand. A far more willing pupil, he wrapped an arm around her waist and spun her around, laughing.

Distracted, Tobin tripped over Arengil’s foot. The older boy caught him around the waist to steady him, and whispered, “Don’t worry. She won’t let Ki steal her away.” Giving Tobin a wink, he propelled him backward for a few steps. “I’m on the offensive now, pushing you. Unless you mean to fight me or fall over, you must allow yourself to be driven. Now let’s try this.”

He faced Tobin and raised both hands. Reluctantly, he did the same and stepped back on his left foot as Arengil stepped forward on his right.

And on it went, as they transformed one dance step after another into a battle drill. It was grim work, but Tobin did begin to see the patterns.

Ki and Una were making better progress. He whirled her around the room, whistling a country jig.

“But this isn’t really dancing. It’s too simple,” Tobin complained. He jerked a thumb at the others spinning past. “You have to add in all those jumps and twists and things.”

“Those are just the flourishes,” Arengil assured him. “As long as you remember the order of the steps and keep to the beat, it’s all just fancy advance and retreat.”

“That reminds me,” Una called, escaping Ki’s embrace to fan herself. “Can you teach me to fight by pretending we’re dancing?” She paused, and Tobin saw her smile falter again. “You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?”

Glad of any excuse to escape the dancing lesson, Tobin grabbed up the discarded swords and handed one to her. Una’s skirts swirled around her as she took her stance and saluted him. When Tobin answered, she turned slightly and fell into a reasonably good defensive stance.

Arengil raised an eyebrow. “You want to learn swordplay?”

“I’ve warrior blood in my veins, the same as you!” she retorted.

Several revelers passed the doorway just then. “What’s this, a duel?” a man asked, grinning at the sight of Una with a sword.

“Just playing, Lord Evin,” she said, waving the blade clumsily about.

“Mind you don’t hurt her, boys,” the man warned, and disappeared after his companions. Una raised the blade again, steady this time.

“Do you think this is wise?” Arengil whispered. “It’s bad enough if word gets back to your father that you were alone in here with three boys. If he thought—”

“Evin won’t say anything.”

“But someone else might. It’s hard to keep a secret anywhere on the Palatine. The servants carry on like a flock of crows.”

“Then we’ll have to go somewhere they won’t see,” she said. “Meet me on Tobin’s balcony tomorrow afternoon after your lessons.”

“The balcony?” Ki scoffed. “There’s only about a thousand windows facing over it around the gardens.”

“You’ll see,” Una teased, and was gone with a last challenging look over her shoulder.

“Girls with swords?” Arengil shook his head. “She’s going to get us all in trouble. In Aurënen, women keep to womanly things.”

“In Skala warfare is a womanly thing,” Tobin shot back, then hastily amended, “Or it used to be.”

All the same, he found this new boldness in Una rather disconcerting.

The following day Tobin and the others were on the balcony outside his room at the appointed hour, but there was no sign of her.

“Maybe she isn’t so bold in daylight,” Arengil said, shading his eyes to scan the snowy gardens.

“Here!” a voice called from overhead.

Una stood grinning down at them from the eaves above the balcony. She was dressed in a plain tunic and leggings and her dark hair was bound in a tight braid. The cold winter air had put roses in her cheeks, as Nari used to say, and her dark eyes were bright with a mischief Tobin had never seen before.

“How’d you get up there?” Ki demanded.

“Climbed, of course. I think you can use that old trellis over there.” She pointed to a shadowy recess several feet from the left-hand railing.

“That was you, wasn’t it, that first morning after we came to Ero?” Tobin exclaimed, remembering the mysterious figure who’d taunted them and disappeared.

Una shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not the only one who comes up here. Come on, unless you’re too scared to try it?”

“Not likely!” Ki shot back.

Going to the railing, they found a rickety wooden framework festooned with prickly brown rose canes.

“We’ll have to jump,” said Tobin, gauging the distance.

“And hope the damn thing holds.” Ki looked down, frowning. The ground fell away sharply below the balcony. Missing the trellis meant a fall of twenty feet or more.

Una rested her chin in one gloved hand. “Should I go look for a ladder?”

This was a side of Una Tobin had never seen. She was clearly enjoying herself, taunting them from her high perch. Pulling on his gloves, Tobin climbed onto the railing and jumped. The trellis creacked and groaned and the rose thorns pierced his gloves, but the framework held. Swearing under his breath, he clambered up to join her.

Una caught his wrist as he reached the eaves and helped him up. Ki and Arengil scrambled up beside them and looked around in surprise.

The palace was a huge, rambling structure and the snow-covered roofs stretched out before them like a gently rolling countryside: acres of sloping slates and low gables. Chimney pots jutted up like blasted trees, bleeding soot around their bases. Dragon statues, many with broken wings or missing heads, dotted ridgelines and cornices, their peeling gilt faded to cheap brass in the afternoon light. Behind Una, a line of footprints made a dotted path.

“I saw this once, but from higher,” said Tobin. When the others looked at him strangely, he explained, “A wizard showed me the city in a vision once. We flew over it, like eagles.”

“Oh, I love magic!” cried Una.

“Now what?” Ki demanded, impatient to get started.

“Follow me, and walk where I do. There are lots of rotten spots.”

Picking her way among the peaks and chimneys, she led them to a broad, level stretch sheltered between two high ridgelines. It was about fifty feet square and guarded by three undamaged roof dragons. They were far from the edge, and well away from prying eyes.

Several wooden crates stood under a slight overhang to their right. Una opened one and took out four wooden swords. “Welcome to my practice ground, my lords.” Grinning, she made them a deep bow. “Will this do?”

“You say you’re not the only one who comes up here?” Tobin asked.

“No, but most people only come up at night in the summer, to—you know.”

Ki nudged him with his elbow. “We’ll have to remember that!”

Una blushed, but pretended not to hear. “If you go over that way, you can see the practice grounds,” she said, pointing west through a valley of roof pitches. “And if you go that way, to the north, you’ll eventually come to my family’s villa at the far end of the palace—if you don’t get lost or fall through someone’s ceiling.”

Arengil picked up one of the wooden blades and made a few practice feints. “I still don’t know what you want with sword lessons. Even if you do learn, the king will never let you fight.”

“Maybe it won’t always be this way,” Una shot back. “Maybe the old ways will come back.”

“She can learn if she wants to,” Tobin said, liking her more than he ever had before. He paused, then added wryly, “Maybe we could continue with my dancing lessons here, too.”

That winter was not a mild one, even by coastal reckoning, but there was more rain than snow. For Tobin and the others, this meant frequent chances of clear footing for their stolen rooftop lessons, though they were often soaked. They met on the roof whenever the weather and their other lessons allowed, and though Una had sworn them all to secrecy, she was the first to break it.

One sunny afternoon Tobin and Ki arrived to find another dark-haired girl waiting for them with Una and Arengil. She looked familiar.

“You remember my friend Kalis?” Una asked, shooting a mischievous look in Ki’s direction. “She wants to learn, too.”

Ki colored a bit as he bowed and Tobin recognized her as one of the girls Ki had danced with at Caliel’s birthday ball.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Una asked.

Tobin shrugged and turned away, the lie burning in his cheeks.

Two more girls joined them after that, and Tobin brought in Nikides, who needed more practice than any of them. Of course, Lutha couldn’t be left out for long, or their squires. Ki dubbed the group “Prince Tobin’s Sword Fighting Academy.”

Tobin rather enjoyed having his own secret cabal, and was grateful to Una for another reason, as well. The roof was a safe place to call Brother. He stole up alone at least once a week and spoke the words.

He did it unwillingly at first. The scar on Ki’s forehead served as a reminder of one transgression, and Orun’s death still haunted Tobin’s dreams. The first few times he called Brother here he brought the doll and wouldn’t let Ki come with him, not yet trusting the ghost to behave.

But Brother was very quiet these days, and showed no interest in Tobin or their surroundings. Tobin wondered if he’d fade again, the way he had before their father’s death. But as the weeks passed Brother retained his strangely solid appearance. Was it the new binding, Tobin wondered, that had given him the strength to kill?

When he brought Ki up at last, they discovered that he couldn’t see Brother unless Tobin told Brother to show himself.

“Just as well. I don’t much want to see him,” said Ki.

Tobin didn’t, either. Ki’s scar might be fading, but not the memory of how it got there.

As the winter went on it became clear to Tobin that some of the girls in his “Academy” were more interested in meeting with boys than in the lessons, and that the boys had no objection to this situation. Kalis and Ki occasionally wandered off among the chimney pots, and returned sharing secret smiles. Barieus stopped pining for the unattainable Lynx; he lost his heart to red-haired Lady Mora after she broke his finger during a bout and was much more cheerful after that.

Una didn’t try to kiss Tobin again, but he sometimes sensed she wanted to. Grappling during practice fights, he couldn’t help noticing the emerging. curves of her body. Girls ripened sooner, Ki said, and got ideas sooner, too. That was all well and good for him, Tobin thought miserably.

Even if he’d wanted girls to like him, he couldn’t imagine what Una saw in him. Sparring on the roof, or dancing at a ball, he could feel her waiting for some sign that her feelings were returned. It made him feel guilty, though he was certain he’d done nothing to mislead her. It was all very confusing, and he only made things worse when he made her a gold pendant in the shape of a sword. Mistaking the gesture, she wore it openly like a love token.

During lessons, at least, he could offer her something honest. They were well matched in size and often paired off against each other. She learned quickly, surprising them all with her progress.

Tobin found a more formidable opponent in Arengil. Though the ’faie appeared no older than Urmanis, he had years more training than any of them. He didn’t lord it over anyone, though, but taught them the Aurënfaie style of dueling, which relied more on skillful dodging than grappling. Before long Tobin and the other boys were putting Arengil’s techniques to good use during practices with the other Companions. The others began to remark on it, especially after Ki managed to split Mago’s lip with his elbow. Ki grinned about that for two days and gifted Arengil his best dagger the next time they met.

15

As the last storms of Klesin blew themselves out across the sea, the Companions waited anxiously for news of renewed fighting; surely the king couldn’t keep Korin hidden away like a daughter, now that he was grown? Reports came of a few skirmishes along the frontier, but neither King Erius nor the Plenimaran Overlord seemed in any hurry to rejoin the battle.

As always, Nikides was the first to hear news. “Grandfather says there’s talk of a truce,” he informed the others glumly over breakfast one morning.

Everyone groaned. Peace meant no chance to prove themselves in battle. Korin said nothing, but Tobin knew his cousin suffered more than the rest of them, knowing that he was the reason they’d all been held back for so long.

Wine flowed ever more freely in the mess after that, and the boys grumbled and snapped at each other at practice.

No more news came, but within the week Tobin had a nightmare he hadn’t had in months.

In it, he huddled in a corner, watching his mother pace the tiny room at the top of the watchtower. Ariani rushed from window to window, clutching the rag doll to her breast like an infant. Brother crouched in the shadows, staring at Tobin with knowing black eyes.

“He’s found us again!” Ariani cried, then she was grasping Tobin by the arm, pulling him across the room, toward the west window, the one that overlooked the river.

“He’s coming,” Brother agreed from his corner.

Tobin woke to find Brother watching him from the foot of the curtained bed.

He’s coming. The ghost’s thin lips did not move as he echoed his dream self.

Ki stirred beside him, mumbling blearily into the pillow.

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” His head throbbed from all the wine he’d drunk at mess that night, but it wasn’t that making his stomach so queasy.

“The king is really coming back?” he whispered to Brother.

The ghost nodded and faded away.

Too upset to sleep, Tobin slipped out of bed and wrapped himself in the woolen robe Molay always left ready for him on a nearby chair. The draperies were still pulled across the balcony windows, but early light was creeping in around the edges, Outside, crows were arguing somewhere in the garden.

“Do you need me, my prince?” Baldus called sleepily from his pallet.

“No, go back to sleep.”

Tobin went out onto the balcony. Three crows sat in a budding oak just below the rail, fluffing their breasts against the cold. All over the city, smoke from breakfast hearths rose straight up in the still air, threads of blue against the pink-and-gold sky. Beyond the harbor mouth the sea sparkled with whitecaps. Tobin gazed out at the horizon, imagining the king out there somewhere, maybe even now sailing for home.

But we’d have heard! The king wouldn’t just sneak into Ero like some raider in the night. He’d been gone for years; there would be fanfare and festivals.

Tobin sat down on the stone balustrade, waiting for the oppressive feel of the dream to pass. Instead, it grew stronger, making his heart beat so fast that dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

He tried Arkoniel’s mind-clearing trick, concentrating on the crows’ shining feathers. Gradually the panic receded, leaving him with the more immediate problem of Brother’s warning.

Chilled through, he went inside and curled up in an armchair by the banked hearth. Someone walked quickly past his room, but otherwise the Companions’ wing was still quiet. The daily bustle of palace life hadn’t yet begun.

What if he comes today? Tobin wondered, hugging his knees. Then a happy inspiration came to him. Tharin knew the king! He’d know what to do.

“What could he do?” Brother hissed at him from the shadows behind his chair.

Before Tobin could think of an answer a loud slam and a string of laughing curses came from the direction of the dressing room. Someone had come through the secret passage that connected Tobin’s room to Korin’s. He ordered Brother away just as Korin and Tanil burst in, still dressed in their nightshirts. Baldus leaped up with a startled squeak and Ki let out a muffled complaint from the bed.

“Father’s coming home!” Korin shouted, pulling Tobin from his chair and dancing him around the room. “A messenger just arrived. His ship put in at Cirna three days ago.”

He’s found us again!

“The king? Today?” Ki stuck his head out through the bed curtains, shaking tangled brown hair out of his eyes.

“Not today.” Releasing Tobin, Korin flung back the bed curtains and vaulted in beside Ki. “The seas are still rough, so he’s coming the rest of the way overland. We’re to meet him in Atyion, Tob. Looks like you’re going to get your birthday wish at last!”

“Atyion?” The good news barely registered.

Tanil flopped down on Ki’s other side and used him for an armrest. “Finally, a reason to get out of the city! And we all get to be part of the king’s procession back to the city!” Tanil looked as pleased as Korin.

“Why Atyion?” Tobin asked.

“To honor you, I imagine,” Korin replied. “After all, Father hasn’t seen you since you were born.”

No, but I’ve seen him, thought Tobin, remembering the glint of sunlight on a golden helm.

Korin jumped up and began pacing like a general planning a campaign. “The messenger came to me first, but it won’t be long before everyone knows. The whole city will be in an uproar within the hour, and half the damn court will want to come with us.” He tousled Ki’s hair and yanked the coverlet off him. “Up now, squire, and to your duty. You and Tobin help wake the others. Tell everyone light packs only; no servants or baggage. We can be gone before anyone’s the wiser.”

“Now? Right now?” Tobin stammered, wondering if he’d have time to speak with Tharin before they left.

“Why not? Let’s see. My guard and yours should satisfy Lord Hylus—” Korin headed back toward the dressing room. “With an early start, we can be there by supper tomorrow.” He paused, beaming at Tobin. “I can’t wait for him to meet you!”

The expected uproar was already beginning as Tobin and Ki went to wake the others. Lutha and Nikides were up, but it took some pounding to rouse Orneus.

Ki grinned at the string of muffled curses that greeted them from inside. A moment later the door inched open and Lynx peered out at them. Even wine sick, he was his usual agreeable self. “What’s going on?” he asked, yawning. “Orneus is still, uh—asleep.”

“Asleep?” Ki wrinkled his nose as a whiff of sour vomit floated into the corridor.

Lynx gave a rueful shrug, but brightened when he heard their news. “Don’t worry, I’ll have him ready!”

Master Porion praised Korin’s plan. “Meet the king like warriors, boys, not a pack of soft courtiers!” he said, slapping the prince on the back.

Molay and Ki insisted on overseeing everything. Baldus was dispatched to Tharin with orders to ready the men and horses. While everyone else was busy, Tobin slipped into the dressing room.

If leaving the doll behind meant being free of Brother for a few days, it would have been an easy choice, but the ghost’s new habit of showing up where and when he pleased was getting out of hand. Tobin took the doll down from its hiding place and shoved it to the bottom of his pack. As he yanked the straps tight, it occurred to him that Atyion should have been Brother’s home, too.

Despite their haste, it was almost noon before Korin had his column properly formed up in the front courtyard. The Companions wore the colors and arms of their own houses, as was the custom when riding out from the city, and lord and squire alike wore the scarlet baldric bearing the Prince Royal’s white dragon crest. Their helms and shields shone bravely in the midday light.

Korin’s guard was resplendent in scarlet and white, and Tobin’s wore blue. Tharin, as always on such occasions, wore noble dress and a baldric of Tobin’s colors.

A crowd of courtiers had gathered to see them off, cheering and waving scarves and hats.

“Look Tobin, there’s your lady,” Korin called. Una stood with Arengil and several girls from the secret sword school. The other Companions heard and laughed. Blushing, Tobin followed Ki over to say good-bye.

Arengil made them an exaggerated bow. “Behold the glorious warriors of Skala!” He stroked Gosi’s nose, admiring the golden rosettes that adorned the gelding’s new harness. “So much for the peasant prince, eh? You look like you just stepped out of a tapestry.”

“Yes,” said Una. “I suppose we’ll have to let our dancing lessons go for now. How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” Tobin told her.

“Come on!” Korin shouted, wheeling his horse about and brandishing his sword. “Let’s not keep my father waiting. To Atyion!”

“To Atyion!” the others cried, leaping into the saddle.

As Tobin turned to go, Una kissed him on the cheek, then disappeared into the crowd.

Swept up in the excitement of the preparations, Tobin had been able to forget his fears for a little while, but the inevitable boredom of a long ride gave them space to creep in again.

He was going to meet the king. Because of this man, his mother had never been queen. Perhaps if she’d worn the crown, she wouldn’t have gone mad. And perhaps Brother wouldn’t have died and they could have grown up together at court, or in Atyion, instead of hidden away in the mountains.

If not for him, Tobin thought with startling bitterness, I’d have grown up knowing my true face.

16

Word of the king’s return had reached Niryn by secret messenger a week earlier. It seemed his business in Ilear would have to wait; the king’s brief letter ordered the wizard to meet him quietly at Cirna.

Nothing could have suited Niryn better. Under cover of darkness, he left the city with a small contingent of Harrier Guard, riding north.

Situated at the narrowest point of the isthmus, the fortress at Cirna belonged to Prince Tobin, at least in name. After Orun’s timely death, the king had seen fit in his wisdom (and with some subtle manipulation) to make Niryn Lord Protector here. Built on a rocky, windswept scrap of ground inhabited by a few goatherds and fishermen, bounded on either side by precipitous cliffs, the Cirna fortress was, in its own way, as important as Atyion. Its power lay not in resources, but in location. The master of Cirna guarded the only land route into Skala.

The massive walled fortress stood at the center of the isthmus, straddling the only road. On either side stone walls twice the height of a man and thick as a house ran from its outer walls to the cliffs on either side, and had withstood the attacks of Plenimaran armies, Zengati raiders, even the witches of the hill folk. The tolls collected at its gates were not inconsiderable, and Niryn’s share had already enlarged his own coffers.

But gold was not what made his heart swell as the grim fortress loomed out of the salt-laden mist ahead of him. Cirna represented the consolidation of his power over the king.

It had not been easy to turn the king against Rhius. But turning him against the odious Orun had been another matter entirely. In the latter case, there had been more than enough evidence against the man’s character. But Duke Rhius’s life had been above reproach, and the bonds forged between the men as Companions seemed to hold for life. Perhaps Erius had pressed Rhius to marry his only sister, thus safely binding the powerful holdings at Cirna and Atyion to the throne, but his affection for the man had been genuine. That had presented a significant obstacle in the early days of Niryn’s rising influence. But at last Rhius had been so unwise as to speak openly against the killing of female Kin, and the king’s patience had worn thin. When Rhius was finally killed in battle, only Niryn guessed at the relief behind the king’s extravagant show of grief.

That had removed one obstacle from Niryn’s path. Today he would deal with an even greater threat.

The isthmus road took Niryn and his riders along the top of the eastern cliffs and from here, through a lowering curtain of drizzle, he saw the royal flagship and her escorts riding at anchor in the little harbor below.

Crossing the Inner Sea so early in the spring was a risky undertaking and the vessels all showed signs of damage. Aboard the king’s ship sailors were swarming busily at their repairs in the sheets.

Riding down the muddy switchback road to the village, Niryn found several men of the King’s Guard waiting for him on the shingle. They rowed him out in a longboat and Lord General Rheynaris was there to greet him as he hoisted himself over the ship’s rail.

“Welcome aboard, Lord Niryn. The king’s waiting for you below.”

Niryn glanced around as he followed Rheynaris. Across the deck a cluster of younger nobles was watching him with apparent curiosity. One of them made a warding sign when he thought Niryn wasn’t looking.

“Tell me, Rheynaris, who is that young fellow there?”

“With the yellow hair? That’s Solari’s oldest son, Nevus. He’s one of the king’s new equerries.”

Niryn frowned; he’d heard nothing of this. Lord Solari had been one of Rhius’ liegemen.

“How is the king?” Niryn inquired when they were out of earshot of the others.

“Glad to be home, I’d say.” Rheynaris paused as they neared the cabin. “He has been more—changeable since we left Mycena. It’s always worse when he’s away from battle.”

Niryn nodded his thanks for the warning and the general tapped lightly at the door.

“Enter!” a gruff voice called.

Erius reclined on the cabin’s narrow bunk, writing on a lap desk propped across his knees. The wizard waited at respectful attention, listening to the busy scratch of the goose quill. The cabin was unheated; Niryn could see his breath, but Erius had his tunic unbuttoned like a common soldier. His hair and beard were greyer, the wizard noted, and framed a face more careworn.

Finishing with a flourish of the quill, Erius set the desk aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. “Hello, Niryn. You’ve wasted no time. I didn’t expect to see you before tomorrow.”

The wizard bowed. “Welcome home, Majesty.”

Erius pushed a stool his way with one foot. “Sit, and give me news from home.”

Niryn quickly touched on general news, downplaying a recent wave of plague that had decimated several northern towns. “The high priest of the Achis temple is being held for treason,” he went on, moving on to more important business. “He was heard on at least three occasions speaking of that mythical queen they keep seeing in their fever dreams.”

Erius frowned. “You told me that was all done with.”

“They’re only dreams, my king, born of fear and wishful thinking. But, as you know all too well, my liege, a dream can be dangerous if allowed to take root in ignorant minds.”

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” Erius lifted a sheaf of parchments from the desk. “Chancellor Hylus reports more dead of plague, and winter crops failing as far inland as Elio and Gormad. No wonder the people think themselves cursed and dream of queens. I’m beginning to wonder how much of a kingdom I’ll have left to pass on.” The corner of his left eye twitched. “I destroyed the tablet, pulled down the steles, but the words of the Oracle have not faded.”

Niryn’s fingers hardly moved as he cast a soothing spell. “Everyone is speculating on whether the truce will hold. What do you think, Majesty?”

Erius sighed and rubbed a hand over his beard. “It’s a farmers’ truce, at best. As soon as the Plenimarans get a harvest in and replenish their granaries, I expect we’ll find ourselves marching back across Mycena. In the meantime, we’d better do the same. These damn droughts are as much our enemy as the Overlord’s armies. All the same, I’m not sorry for a bit of a rest. I’ll be glad of music and decent food again, and sleeping without an ear cocked for alarms.” He gave the wizard a rueful smile. “I never thought I’d grow weary of war, my friend, but truth is I’m glad for this truce. I don’t suppose my son will be, though. How is Korin?”

“Well, Majesty, very well. But restless, as you say.”

Erius chuckled darkly. “Restless, eh? That’s a nice way of putting it, much nicer than the reports I get from Porion—drinking, whoring, carrying on. Not that I was any better at his age, of course, but I was blooded by then. Who can blame him for itching to fight? You should read the letters he sends me, begging to join me in Mycena. By the Flame, he doesn’t know how it’s galled me keeping him wrapped in silk for so long.”

“And yet what choice did you have, Majesty, with no other heir but a sickly nephew?” This was an old dance between them.

“Ah, yes, Tobin. But not so sickly, after all, it seems. Orun’s reams of complaints aside, Korin and Porion both give him nothing but praise. What do you make of the boy, now that you’ve seen him for yourself?”

“He’s an odd little fellow, in most respects. Rather sullen from what I’ve seen, but something of an artist. In fact he’s already made a name for himself at court with bits of jewelry and carvings.”

Erius nodded fondly. “He gets that from his mother. But there’s more to him than that, I hear. Korin claims the boy is almost as good with a sword as he is.”

“He does seem skilled, as is that peasant squire of his.”

The instant the words left his lips Niryn knew he’d taken a misstep; the sudden wild glare was in the king’s eyes, presaging a fit.

“Peasant?”

Niryn skittered back off his stool as Erius lurched up, knocking the lap desk to the floor. The lid flew open, scattering wax, parchments, and writing implements in all directions. The sand shaker and a pot of ink burst, spreading a gritty black puddle across the worn boards. “Is that how you refer to a Companion of the royal house?” he roared.

“Forgive me, Majesty!” These passions came on so suddenly, so unpredictably, that even Niryn could not forestall them. As far as he knew, Erius cared nothing for the boy.

“Answer my question, damn you!” Erius shouted as the rage built in him. “Is that how you speak of a Companion, you scullion’s spunk? You limp pizzle of—”

Spittle flew from his lips. Niryn fell to his knees, fighting the urge to wipe his face. “No, Majesty.”

Erius stood over him, still screaming abuse. It began with insults, but soon devolved to incoherent raving, then to a choked, wheezing snarl. Niryn kept his gaze downcast as one did when faced with a vicious dog, but he watched from the corner of his eye in case the king reached for a weapon. It had happened before.

The outburst ceased abruptly, as they always did, and Niryn slowly raised his head. The king swayed slightly, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. His eyes were as blank as a doll’s.

Rheynaris looked in at the door.

“It’s over,” Niryn whispered, waving him off. Rising, he took the king gently by the arm. “Please, Your Majesty, sit down. You’re weary.”

Docile as an exhausted child, Erius let himself be guided back into the bunk. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes. Niryn quickly gathered up the desk and its scattered contents, then dragged a small rug over the spilled ink.

By the time he’d finished the king’s eyes were open again, but he was still lost in that strange fog that always followed these fits. Niryn sat down again.

“What—what was I saying?” the king croaked.

“Your nephew’s squire, my king. We were speaking of how some at court have been unkind about the boy’s upbringing. They call him a ‘grass knight,’ I believe. Prince Korin has always been very passionate in his defense.”

“What? Passionate, you say?” The king blinked at him, struggling to regain his composure. Poor man, he still believed that the fits were momentary, that no one noticed. “Yes, passionate, like his dear mother. Poor Ariani, they tell me she’s killed herself …”

No wonder General Rheynaris had sounded so relieved when he’d reported the king’s departure from the field. Over the past year his secret missives had been full of these episodes. The report of Orun’s death had sent the king into a rage so fierce it had required a drysian’s draught to calm him. Strange, since his regard for the man had cooled markedly over the past few years. Niryn had worked carefully at that, finally convincing Erius to relieve him of his guardianship. Orun’s influence over the boy had been easily construed as treason. Why would the man’s death upset him?

Erius rubbed at his eyes. When he looked up, they were clear and shrewd again. “I’ve sent word to the boys to meet us at Atyion.” He chuckled. “My son wrote me quite a letter a while back, chastising me for not letting his cousin see his estates.”

“That was Orun’s doing, of course,” Niryn told him. “He replaced the steward with his own man and had already begun to line his pockets.”

“The greedy fool saved me the trouble of executing him.” He sat up and clapped Niryn on the shoulder. “Seems you were right about him. He finally overreached. I should have listened to you sooner, I know, but he was a good friend during my mother’s dark times.”

“Your loyalty is legend, Majesty. His death has left certain complications, however. Atyion cannot be left without a Protector.”

“Of course not. I’ve given the post to Solari.”

“Lord Solari, my king?” Niryn’s heart sank as he recalled the young man he’d seen on deck.

“Duke Solari, now. I’ve made him Protector of Atyion.”

Niryn clenched his fists in the folds of his robe, struggling to hide his disappointment. He’d expected Erius to consult him on the decision of a successor. Now the greatest plum in the kingdom had fallen beyond his reach.

“Yes, he’s a much better choice than Orun. He was one of Rhius’ generals, you know; loyal enough, but ambitious, too.” Erius’ mouth tightened into a humorless smile. “The garrison at Atyion trusts him. So does Tobin. I’ve sent Solari ahead to settle in.”

“I see the wisdom in your choice, but I wonder what Tharin will have to say? Perhaps he had hopes in that direction, as well.”

Erius shook his head. “Tharin’s a good man, but he never did have any ambition. If it weren’t for Rhius, he’d still be a landless third son, breeding horses at Atyion. I don’t think we need concern ourselves with what he thinks.”

“He is very protective of the prince, however. He won’t be parted from him.”

“Poor fellow. All he ever cared for was Rhius. I suppose he’ll end his days hovering around the boy, nursing old memories.”

“And is Solari as loyal to the prince?”

The hard smile returned. “He’s loyal to me. He’ll protect the prince as long as it preserves my favor. Should that favor change for some reason, I daresay we’ll find him a man ready to serve his king. Now, what’s all this about Korin knocking up some chambermaid? Do you know anything of it?”

“Why—yes, Majesty, it’s true, but I hadn’t thought to trouble you with it until you returned.” For once, Niryn was caught completely off guard. He’d only learned of it a few weeks before, thanks to one of his more observant spies among the Old Palace servants. Korin didn’t know; the girl had been too wise to brag of the child’s paternity. “She’s of low birth, as you say. Kalar, I think the name is.”

Erius was still watching him closely, no doubt wondering why his chief wizard had sent no word.

“May I speak candidly, Majesty?” Niryn’s mind raced, already turning the situation to his advantage.

“You know I depend on your counsel.”

“I’m neither a father nor a warrior, so forgive me if I misspeak out of ignorance, but I’m increasingly concerned for Prince Korin. You’ve been gone for so long, you hardly know the young man he’s become. These girls he beds, and the drinking—”

He paused, watching for warning signs, but Erius merely nodded for him to continue.

“For he is a man now, strong and well trained. I’ve heard Master Porion say more than once that young warriors are like fine coursing hounds; if you keep them from the field, they either grow fat and lose their spirit, or turn vicious. Let him be the warrior you’ve made him to be, and all the rest will fall by the wayside. He lives to please you.

“But more than that, my king, the people must see him as a worthy successor. His excesses are already common gossip around the city and without the strength of deeds to balance them?” He paused meaningfully. “And now he’s throwing bastards. Surely you see where this could lead? With no legitimate heir, even a by-blow might gather supporters. Especially if the child should be a girl.”

Erius’ knuckles went white, but Niryn knew how to play this tune. “The thought of your ancient line tainted with such common blood—”

“You’re quite right, of course. Kill the bitch before she whelps.”

“I will see to it personally.” He would have in any event; his Nalia needed no competitors, even a servant’s brat with royal blood in her veins.

“Ah, Korin, Korin, what am I to do with you?” Erius shook his head. “He’s all I have, Niryn. I’ve lived in fear of losing him since his poor mother and the other children died. I haven’t been able to get another child on any woman since. Every one has been stillborn, or a monstrous thing that couldn’t live. This bastard, now—”

Niryn did not have to touch the king’s mind to know his heart, and the words he could not bring himself to say. What if my son’s children are monsters, too? That would be the final proof of Illior’s curse on his line.

“He’ll soon be old enough to marry, Majesty. Pair him with a healthy wife of good family and he’ll give you fine, strong grandchildren.”

“You’re right, as always.” The king let out a long sigh. “What would I do without you, eh? I thank the Four that wizards live so long. You’re a young man now, Niryn. The knowledge that you’ll still be standing by the throne of Skala generations from now is a great comfort to me.”

Niryn bowed deeply. “I live for nothing else, Majesty.”

17

The country north of Ero was a rolling mix of forest and open farmland that stretched from the sea’s edge to the mountains just visible in the west. The trees were just beginning to bud, Ki noted, but crocus and blue cockscomb brightened the muddy fields and ditches. In the villages they passed, the temples and roadside shrines were decorated with garlands of them for the Dalna feasts.

The ride to Atyion was a long one and the Companions and their guard entertained each other with songs and stories to pass the time. It was all new country to Tobin, but Ki had traveled this road with his father and later with Iya when she brought him south to the keep.

Early on the second day a great island chain came into view ahead of them, rising like huge breaching whales to the horizon. When they slowed to rest the horses, Porion, Tharin, and Korin’s captain, a dark, weathered lord named Melnoth, helped pass the time trading stories of fighting pirates and Plenimarans in those waters, and of the sacred island of Kouros where the first hierophant and his people had made landfall and established their court.

“You can feel the magic in the very stones, there, boys,” Porion told them. “And it’s no magic known to the Four.”

“That’s because the Old Ones scratched their spells all over the rocks and painted them in the caves above the surf,” said Melnoth. “The hierophant brought the worship of the Four across the water with him, but couldn’t displace the old powers that still lurk there. They say that’s why his son moved the court to Benshâl.”

“I always had strange dreams there,” Tharin mused.

“But aren’t there the same sort of marks on the rocks all along the coast?” asked Korin. “The Old Ones lived all around the Inner Sea.”

“Old Ones?” asked Tobin.

“The hill tribes they’re called now,” Porion explained. “Little dark folk who practice the old ways of necromancy.”

“They’re great thieves, as well,” one of Korin’s guardsmen added. “Proper folk used to hunt them like vermin.”

“Yes we did,” old Laris muttered, but he looked sad as he said it.

“So long as what’s left of them keep to the mountains, they’re safe enough,” Korin said, cocksure as if he’d driven them there himself.

Others added tales of their own. The hill folk sacrificed young men and children to their evil goddess. They rutted like animals in the fields under certain moons and always ate their meat raw. Their witches could change into beasts and demons at will, kill by blowing through a hollow branch, and summon the dead.

Tobin knew that these were Lhel’s people they spoke of. He had to press his lips together to keep from arguing when some of the older soldiers spoke of bewitchments and withering curses, and could tell that Ki was no happier hearing such stories. He loved the witch who’d twice saved his life. Lhel was just a healer, an herb witch, and she’d been a wise friend to them both.

All the same, Tobin couldn’t deny that she’d used blood and bits of Brother’s bones in her magic. That did seem like necromancy, now that he thought of it. A fleeting image flashed to mind: a needle flashing in firelight, and Brother’s bloody tears falling through the air. The binding scar began to itch and Tobin had to rub at it to make it stop.

“There are plenty of good Skalan families who’d find a bit of that blood in their own veins, if they thought to ask their grandmothers,” Tharin was saying. “As for their magic, I guess I’d have used whatever I had at hand, too, if a pack of strangers decided to take my lands from me. And so would the rest of you.”

This got only a few grudging nods, but Tobin was grateful. Lhel always spoke well of Tharin. Tobin wondered what he’d make of her.

The road gradually turned inland, taking them through dense woodland far from the sound of the sea. At midafternoon Tharin called a halt and pointed to a pair of granite pillars flanking the road. They were weathered and mossy, but Tobin could still make out the faint outline of a spreading oak carved on them.

“Do you know what those are?” Tharin asked.

Tobin pulled out his father’s oak tree signet; the design was the same. “This is the boundary, isn’t it?”

“Ride forward and enter your lands, coz,” said Korin, grinning at him. “All hail Tobin, son of Rhius, Prince of Ero, and rightful scion of Atyion!”

The rest of the company cheered and beat their shields as Tobin nudged Gosi forward. He felt silly with all the fuss; it was the same thick forest on both sides of the markers.

A few miles farther on, however, the woods ended and the road wound on through an open plain toward the distant sea. Topping a crest in the road, Korin reined in and pointed. “There it is, the finest holding outside Ero.”

Tobin gaped. “That’s all—mine?”

“It is! Or will be, anyway, when you come of age.”

In the distance, a large town lay in the bend of a meandering river that snaked its way to the sea. The farmlands were dotted with tidy steadings and laced with low stone walls. Sheep and large herds of horses grazed in some, while others enclosed fields and budding vineyards.

But Tobin had eyes only for the town and massive castle that dominated the plain by the river. High stone curtain walls studded with round bastions and corbels and overhung by extensive hoardings of stone and wood enclosed the landward sides of both. The castle itself was square, and dominated by two large towers of reddish brown stone. Almost as large as the New Palace and more heavily fortified, it dwarfed the town below.

“That’s Atyion?” Tobin whispered in disbelief. He’d heard of its great wealth and grandeur, but with nothing to compare it to, he’d imagined it simply a larger sort of keep.

“I told you it was big,” said Ki.

Tharin shaded his eyes and squinted at the long banners flying from the towers and the peaked roofs of the corbels. “Those aren’t your colors.”

“I don’t see Father’s, either,” said Korin. “Looks like we’re in time to give him welcome, after all. Tobin, you take the lead and let the lazy fools know you’re coming!”

The standard-bearers galloped ahead down the muddy, rutted road to announce them. The Companions followed at a fast trot. The farmers and drovers they met cheered their approach. By the time they reached the gates a crowd had gathered to greet them. Tobin’s standard was mounted on the tall pole over the gate, but just below it hung another, one he and Tharin recognized—Solari’s golden sun on a green field. It wasn’t quite the same, though. The device at the top of the standard pole was not the bronze ring of a lord, but the silver crescent of a duke.

“Looks like Father has chosen Atyion’s new Lord Protector already,” said Korin.

“And promoted him, too,” Tharin noted.

“He was your father’s liegeman, wasn’t he?” asked Korin.

Tobin nodded.

“Well, that’s an improvement over the last choice!” Tharin said. “Your father would be pleased.”

Tobin wasn’t so certain. He’d last seen Solari when he came with the others to bring home his father’s ashes. Solari and Lord Nyanis had been his father’s most trusted liegemen. The day Solari had come to take leave of Tobin, however, Brother had appeared, whispering of treachery.

He told his captain he would be lord of Atyion himself in a year—

“He’s lord of Atyion now?” he asked.

“No, that passed to you by right,” Tharin assured him. “But Atyion must have a Protector until you come of age.”

Alerted by the standard-bearer’s arrival, a larger crowd had gathered in the market square beyond the gate. Hundreds of people pressed forward to catch a glimpse of him, laughing and waving kerchiefs and scraps of blue cloth in the air. Korin and the others fell back, letting Tobin take the lead. The roar took on a rhythm; the crowd was chanting his name.

“To-bin! To-bin! To-bin!”

He gazed around in wonder, then raised his hand in a tentative wave. The cheering doubled. These people had never laid eyes on him before, yet they seemed to know him on sight, and to love him.

His heart swelled with a pride he’d never felt before. Drawing his sword, he saluted the crowd. They parted before him as Tharin led the way down a winding, cobbled street to the castle.

Children and dogs ran excitedly beside their horses and women leaned out of windows, waving scarves at the men below. Looking back over his shoulder, Tobin saw that Ki looked as happy as if he owned the place himself.

Catching Tobin’s eye, he hollered, “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Home at last!” Tharin cried, overhearing.

Tobin had always thought of the keep as home, but Tharin had been born here, and his own father, too. They’d ridden these streets together, played along the walls and riverbank, and in the castle looming ahead.

Tobin pulled out the signet and ring and clasped them, imagining his father bringing his bride here to the same sort of welcome. But his new sense of homecoming was already mingled with something darker; this should have been his home, too.

The town was clean and prosperous. The market squares they passed were lined with shops and stalls, and the stone-and-timber buildings well built and in good repair. Corrals filled with fine horses seemed to be everywhere, too.

They were nearly to the castle walls before it occurred to Tobin that he’d seen no beggars in the streets and no signs of plague.

A wide moat separated the town from the castle walls. The drawbridge was down and they crossed it and galloped through the gate into an enormous bailey.

Inside the safety of the curtain wall stood a small village of barracks and stables, cottages, and rows of workmen’s stalls and forges.

“By the Light,” Lutha exclaimed. “You could fit most of the Palatine in here!”

There were more horse corrals, and herds of sheep, goats, and pigs watched over by children who waved excitedly to him as he passed.

Ranks of soldiers lined the way; some wearing his colors, others in Solari’s. They shouted his name and Korin’s, called out to Tharin, and beat their shields with their sword hilts and bows as the entourage passed. Tobin tried to count them, but couldn’t. There were hundreds. He was glad to recognize a few faces here and there; men who’d served with his father.

“About time you brought the prince home!” an old veteran called out to Tharin, restraining a huge boarhound on a chain. The dog barked and struggled; it seemed to Tobin the creature was looking at him.

“I told you I would one day!” Tharin shouted back. This drew even more cheering.

Solari and a blond noblewoman stood waiting for them at the head of the castle’s broad entrance stair.

Solari’s herald raised a trumpet and sounded a shrill salute, then cried out in a loud, formal voice: “Greetings to Korin, son of Erius, Prince Royal of Skala, and to Prince Tobin, son of Rhius and Ariani, Scion of Atyion. Duke Solari, lord of Evermere and Fair Haven and Lord Protector of Atyion and his good lady, Duchess Savia, bid you most welcome.”

Tobin swung down from the saddle and let his Protector come to him. Solari’s curly black hair and beard showed a thicker sprinkling of grey now, but his ruddy face was still youthful as he dropped to one knee and presented his sword hilt to Tobin.

“My liege, it is my very great honor to welcome you to your father’s house, now yours. His Majesty, King Erius, has appointed me Lord Protector of Atyion until you come of age. I humbly seek your blessing.”

Tobin clasped the hilt and looked hard into the man’s eyes. Despite Brother’s warning, he saw only welcome there and respect. Could Brother have been wrong, after all, or lying to make trouble, as he had with Ki?

As Solari smiled up at him, Tobin wanted Brother to be wrong. “You have my blessing, Duke Solari. It’s good to see you again.”

Solari rose and presented his lady. “My wife, Your Highness.”

Savia curtsied deeply and kissed him on both cheeks. “Welcome home, my prince. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long!”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be dignified for me to swing you up on my shoulders as I used to?” Solari said, dark eyes twinkling.

“I guess not!” Tobin laughed. “Allow me to present my royal cousin. And you remember Sir Kirothius, my squire.”

Solari clasped hands with Ki. “You’ve both grown up so, I hardly recognize you. And here’s Tharin, too! How are you, old friend? It’s been too long.”

“Indeed it has.”

“I’ve felt like an intruder, wandering these halls without you and Rhius. But with his son here at last, things begin to feel right with the world again.”

“How long have you been here?” asked Tharin. “We had no word you’d been appointed.”

“The king invested me before we sailed from Mycena and sent me ahead to make the house ready for Prince Tobin and his own arrival.”

“Is Lord Nyanis well?” Tobin asked. Nyanis had been Tobin’s favorite among his father’s generals. That sad day at the keep had been the last time he’d seen him, too.

“As far as I know, my prince. I’ve had no word otherwise.” Solari ushered them up the stairs. “I’ve been with the king at the royal camp this past year. Nyanis is still entrenched with General Rynar above Nanta until we see if the truce holds.”

As they passed beneath the arched portal the carved panel over the doors caught Tobin’s eye; it showed a gauntleted hand holding Sakor’s garlanded sword. He touched his heart and hilt as he passed under it and Korin did the same. But Tharin was frowning, first at the carving, and then at a swarthy, wide-set man wearing the silver chain and long tunic of a steward, who bowed low to them as they entered.

“Where’s Hakone?” he asked Solari.

“He’s finally grown too frail to carry out his duties, poor old fellow,” Solari told him. “Orun replaced him with some squint-eyed fellow of his own, but I got rid of him quick enough and took the liberty of installing Eponis here, a trusted man of my own household.”

“And of flying your own colors from the battlements,” Tharin noted pointedly. “For a moment Prince Tobin thought he’d come to the wrong house.”

“Highness, the fault is mine,” Eponis rumbled, bowing to Tobin again. “I will see it is remedied at once.”

“Thank you,” said Tobin.

Solari and his lady led them on through a receiving chamber where heady incense burned before a household shrine as large as a shop. A black cat sat at the foot of it, tail curled around its feet, and watched them pass with eyes like gold coins. A grey-muzzled old bitch lay companion-ably beside it, but at Tobin’s approach she lurched up stiffly and slunk away. The cat blinked placidly at him, then went on washing its face.

Beyond this, through a pillared gallery, lay the great hall. Entering for the first time, Tobin caught his breath in amazement.

Light streamed in through tall windows set high overhead, but even with the bright midday light flooding in, the peaks of the ceiling vaults were lost in shadow. Rows of stone columns supported the roof and cordoned off side chambers. The floor was made of colored bricks set in zigzag patterns, and the walls were hung with enormous tapestries. Gold and silver seemed to glint at him from all directions—plates on high shelves, shields and other war trophies hanging on the pillars, statues, and gracefully shaped vessels on the shelves of a dozen or more long sideboards. A company of servants in blue livery stood waiting at the center of the room.

A white cat lay beneath a nearby table, nursing a litter of yellow and white kittens. Across the hall two more cats—one black and white, the other striped yellow—were leaping and rolling in play. A huge black tom with a white blaze on its chest sat washing its hind leg among the silver vessels on a nearby sideboard. Tobin had never seen so many cats indoors. Atyion must be plagued with mice, to need so many.

Tharin chuckled softly beside him, and Tobin realized he’d been gaping like a yokel. And he wasn’t the only one.

“By the Flame!” Lutha gasped, and got no further than that. Even Alben and his friends were impressed.

“I’ve assigned servants to each of the Companions, since none of you are familiar with the house,” Eponis informed them. “It’s very easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around.”

“I can believe that!” Lutha exclaimed, and everyone laughed.

“Sir Tharin can guide me,” Tobin said, anxious to keep his friend close by.

“As you wish, my prince.”

“Any word of my father?” asked Korin:

“He’s expected tomorrow, my prince,” Solari replied. “All has been made ready.” He turned to Tobin and smiled. “The servants can take you to your chambers if you’d like to rest. Or perhaps you’d like to see some of your castle, first.”

Your castle. Tobin couldn’t help grinning. “Yes, I would!”

They spent the afternoon exploring, with Solari and Tharin as their guides. The main living quarters lay in this tower and a wing flanking the gardens between it and the second. The other one served as fortress, granary, armory, and treasury. Tobin was amazed to learn that an army of several thousand men could be quartered there in time of siege.

A second wing parallel to the other closed the rectangle of ground and housed the servants’ quarters, kitchens, laundries, brewing rooms, and other household offices. One large chamber was filled with weavers working at great clacking looms; in the next scores of women and girls sat singing together as they spun flax and wool into thread for the weavers.

Inside the rectangle formed by the towers and wings lay an expanse of gardens and groves, with an elegant little temple dedicated to Illior and Sakor. Pillared galleries on the upper floors of the main tower overlooked the grounds.

Tobin and the others were footsore and dazzled by the time Solari left them at their chambers to prepare for the evening feast.

The Companions had rooms high in the royal wing, along a gallery overlooking the gardens. Tobin and Korin were given private chambers. The rest were divided between two large guest rooms.

Alone with Ki and Tharin, Tobin looked around his room, heart beating faster. It had belonged to some young man of his family, he could tell. The bed hangings were worked with running horses, and there were weapons and shields on the walls. A few toys lay carefully arranged on a chest: a miniature ship, a wheeled horse, and a wooden sword.

“These are just like the ones Father gave me!” Then his heart skipped a beat. “These were his, weren’t they? This was my father’s room.”

“Yes. We slept here until—” Tharin paused and cleared his throat roughly. “It would have been yours. It should have been.”

Just then a woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed like a courtier and her faded golden hair was arranged in braids around her head. A heavy bunch of keys hung on a golden chain at her girdle. She was accompanied by a battle-scarred yellow tom, who stalked over to sniff at Tobin’s boots.

The woman’s face was lined with age, but she stood straight as a warrior and her pale eyes were bright with joy as she dropped gracefully to one knee before Tobin and kissed his hand. “Welcome home, Prince Tobin.” The cat rose on his hind legs and butted his scabby head against their hands.

“Thank you, my lady,” Tobin replied, wondering who she was. Her face seemed familiar somehow, though he was certain he’d never met her before. Then, as Tharin stepped to her side, Tobin realized that they had the same pale eyes and hair, the same straight, strong nose.

“Allow me to present my aunt Lytia,” Tharin said, obviously trying hard not to laugh at the look on Tobin’s face. “I still have a few cousins about the place, too, I think.”

Lytia nodded. “Grannia oversees the pantries, and Oril is Master of Horses now. I was a lady-in-waiting to your grandmother, my prince, and to your mother, too, while she lived here. Afterward, your father made me keeper of the keys. I hope you’ll accept my service?”

“Of course,” Tobin replied, still looking from one to the other.

“Thank you, my prince.” She looked down at the cat, who was winding himself around Tobin’s ankles and purring loudly. “And this rude fellow is Master Ringtail, Atyion’s chief rat slayer. He recognizes the master of the house, I see. He doesn’t go to many except for me and Hakorte, but he’s certainly taken a liking to you.”

Tobin knelt and gingerly stroked the cat’s striped back, expecting it to turn on him the way dogs did. Instead, Ringtail thrust his whiskered muzzle under Tobin’s chin and kneaded long sharp claws into his sleeve, demanding to be picked up. He was a strong, heavy animal, and had extra toes on each foot.

“Look at that! Seven toes. I pity the rat that comes in reach of them,” Tobin exclaimed, delighted. The cats he’d seen in barns and stables were wild, hissing things. “And look, he must be a great warrior. All his wounds are in the front. I accept your service, too, Master Ringtail.”

“There’s another room he should see, Tharin,” Lytia murmured. “I asked Lord Solari to leave it to us to show him.”

“What room is that?” asked Tobin.

“Your parents’ chamber, my prince. It’s been kept just as they left it. I thought you might like to see it.”

Tobin’s heart knocked painfully against his ribs. “Yes, please. You, too, Ki,” he said when his friend hung back.

Still cradling the heavy cat against his chest, Tobin followed Lytia and Tharin down the corridor to a large door carved with fruit trees and birds with long, flowing tails. Lytia took a key from her belt and unlocked the door.

It swung open on a handsomely appointed room bathed in late afternoon light. The bed hangings were dark blue worked with pairs of white swans in flight; the tapestries covering the walls echoed the theme. The balcony doors stood wide, overlooking the gardens below. Someone had burned incense and beeswax within recently. Tobin caught the underlying staleness of a room where no one had lived for a long time, but it had none of the musty rot smell he’d known at home. It was nothing like the sad, half-empty rooms at the Ero house, either. This room had been well tended, as if its occupants would soon return.

There were a number of fancy boxes and caskets arranged on a dressing table, and the usual implements on the writing desk that stood in front of one of the tall, mullioned windows. Brightly enameled mazers lined a wine board across the room, and carved ivory figures stood ready on a gleaming game board by the hearth.

He let Ringtail down and the cat trailed after him as he walked around the room, touching the bed hanging, picking up a game piece, running a fingertip over the inlaid lid of a jewel box. He ached to find some echo of his father here, but he was too aware of the others watching him.

“Thank you for showing me,” he said at last.

Lytia gave him an understanding smile as she placed the key in his hand and folded his fingers around it. “All this is yours now. Come here whenever you like. It will always be kept ready.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and Tobin guessed that she knew what he’d been seeking, and that he hadn’t found it.

18

They feasted in the great hall that night at three long tables arranged in a half circle. Solari and his family sat with Tobin and Korin. His eldest son by a previous wife was off serving with the king. Savia’s children, two young boys and a pretty little daughter named Rose, sat with them. The little girl spent most of the meal on Korin’s knee. The rest of the company was made up of the Companions, Solari’s friends and generals, and a number of rich merchants from the town. It was a raucous, clattering affair made louder by a steady procession of minstrels and bards.

Tobin had the seat of honor at the canopied head table, but it was clear that Solari was the host. His men served at table, and he ordered the courses, wines, and the minstrels and entertainers. He fussed over Tobin and Korin throughout the evening, choosing the choicest bits from each platter and extolling the quality of each wine, the fruit of Atyion’s fine vineyards.

Course followed course, each a banquet in itself. Lady Lytia stood by the servers’ entrance and inspected each dish closely before it was carried to the head table. The first course alone was made up of beef with mustard, roast woodcock, partridge, plover, and snipe. A fish course followed: eels in jelly, gurnard with syrup, fried minnows, smoked pike in pastry, and boiled mussels stuffed with bread and cheese. The desserts included cakes of three kinds, pies both sweet and savory, with brightly decorated pastry crusts.

Dozens of the castle cats kept them company, leaping onto the tables in search of scraps and getting under the servers’ feet. Tobin looked for his new friend, but Ringtail was nowhere to be seen.

“The cooks here put the royal kitchens to shame, my lady!” Korin exclaimed to Savia, licking his fingers happily.

“The credit belongs to Lady Lytia,” the duchess replied. “She oversees the menus and the cooks, even the buying of the food. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“Ah, and here she comes now with tonight’s centerpiece!” cried Solari.

Lytia led in two servers bearing a huge pastry on a litter. At her command, they placed it before Tobin. The golden crust was decorated in fine detail with Atyion’s oak flanked by two swans, all fashioned of pastry and colored glazes.

“For your amusement on your first night with us, Prince Tobin,” she said, offering him a long knife decorated with blue ribbon.

“It’s a shame to spoil it,” Tobin exclaimed. “You have my compliments, lady!”

“Cut it, cut it!” little Rose cried, bouncing on Korin’s lap and clapping her hands.

Wondering what the filling could be, Tobin thrust the knife into the center of the crust. The whole elaborate creation fell to pieces, releasing a flock of tiny blue-and-green birds that fluttered up to circle the table. The cats sprang onto the table after them, much to the amusement of the guests.

“Your esteemed aunt is a true artist!” Solari called down the table to Tharin, who acknowledged the praise with a nod.

Lytia waved in a second litter and presented them with an identical pastry filled with plums and brandy custard.

“All from your estate and cellars, my prince,” she told him proudly, serving Tobin the first helping.

A half-grown black-and-white kitten leaped into his lap and sniffed at his plate.

Tobin stroked its soft fur. “I’ve never seen so many cats!”

“There have always been cats at Atyion.” Lytia gave the kitten a bit of custard on the end of her finger. “They’re favored by Illior because they love the moon.”

“My old nurse told me that’s why they sleep all day and can see to hunt in the darkness,” Korin said, coaxing the kitten into Rose’s lap. “It’s too bad Father can’t bear the sight of them.”

The kitten jumped back into Tobin’s lap but just then Ringtail appeared from under the table with a growl. Leaping onto the arm of Tobin’s chair, he cuffed the kitten out of the way and took its place.

“You must be well favored with the Lightbearer, if that one comes to you,” Solari observed, eyeing Ringtail with distaste. “I can’t get near the brute.” He reached to scratch his head but the big cat laid his ears back and hissed at him. Solari hastily withdrew his hand. “You see?” He shook his head as the tom licked Tobin’s chin, purring loudly. “Yes, well favored indeed!”

Tobin stroked the cat’s back, thinking once again of Brother’s warning.

Nuts and cheese followed the pastry, but Tobin was too full to manage more than a few sugared almonds. A new set of minstrels was introduced with the sweets and some of the guests began to play dice among the wine cups. No one showed any sign of going to bed.

Exhausted and dizzy from too many wines, Tobin excused himself as soon as he could politely do so, pleading weariness.

“Good night, sweet coz!” Korin cried, rising to clasp him in an unsteady embrace. Not surprisingly, he was far drunker than Tobin.

Everyone rose to bid him good night. Tobin guessed that the feast would continue well into the night, but they’d have to do so without him. Tharin and Ki escorted him out, with Ringtail trotting ahead as vanguard, his striped tail straight as a standard pole.

Tobin was more grateful than usual for Tharin’s company as he guided them through the warren of corridors and staircases. Reaching an unfamiliar junction, Tharin paused. “If you’re not too tired, Tobin, there is someone else I’d like you to meet.”

“Another relative?”

“Practically. Hakone has served your family since your great-grandfather’s time. He’s longed to meet you ever since word came of your birth. It would mean a great deal to him to see you.”

“Very well.”

Turning aside, they left the main tower, descended a staircase, and made their way through the gardens to an entrance leading to the kitchens. The aroma of baking bread filled the passageway. Passing an open door, Tobin saw an army of cooks at work over pastry boards. He caught sight of a tall, grey-haired woman across the room, discussing something with another as she stirred something in a large cauldron.

“My cousin, Grannia, and the head cook,” Tharin told him. “There’s no purpose in stopping; they’re like a couple of generals, planning tomorrow’s feast for the king.”

Moving on past other kitchens, they climbed a flight of narrow stairs. The servants they met along the way greeted Tharin warmly and Tobin with awe.

“It’s almost as if they know you already, isn’t it?” said Ki.

Halfway down a plain, rush-strewn corridor, Tharin stopped and opened a door without knocking. Inside, the oldest man Tobin had ever seen lay dozing in an armchair by a brazier. A few wisps of white hair still fringed his shiny pate, and a thin, yellowed beard hung halfway to his belt. An equally ancient yellow cat lay on his lap. Ringtail jumped up and touched noses with it, then curled up beside it to have his ears washed.

The old man woke and squinted down with rheumy eyes, feeling Ringtail’s head with crabbed, red-knuckled fingers. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” His voice was as creaky as a rusty hinge. “Come to visit your old mother, but brought her no gift, you heedless fellow? What do you say to that, Ariani?”

Startled, it was a moment before Tobin realized that the man was addressing his cat. This Ariani was holding Ringtail down now with one seven-toed foot, washing his face. The big tom submitted contentedly.

“He didn’t come alone, Hakone,” Tharin said, raising his voice. Crossing the room, he took the old man’s hand in his, then motioned for Tobin and Ki to join him.

“Theodus, home at last!” Hakone exclaimed. Catching sight of Tobin and Ki, he broke into a fond, toothless grin. “Ah, and here are my dear boys. Tell me now, Rhius, how many grouse have you brought me? Or is it rabbits today? And you, Tharin, did you have any luck?”

Tharin bent closer. “Hakone, I’m Tharin, remember?”

The old man squinted at him, then shook his head. “Of course, my boy. Forgive me. You caught me dreaming. But then, this must be …” He gasped and fumbled for the walking stick lying by his chair. “My prince!” he exclaimed, dislodging the cats as he struggled to rise.

“Please, don’t get up,” Tobin told him.

Tears spilled down Hakone’s sunken cheeks as he fell back in the chair. “Forgive an old man’s weakness, my prince, but I’m so very happy! I was beginning to fear I wouldn’t live long enough to see you!” He reached out and cupped Tobin’s face in his trembling hands. “Ah, and if only I could see you better! Welcome home, lad. Welcome home!”

A lump rose in Tobin’s throat as he thought of how the old man had mistaken him for his father. He took Hakone’s hands in his. “Thank you, old father. And thank you for your long service to my family. I—I hope you’re comfortable here?”

“Very kind of you to ask, my prince. There’s a stool just there. Tharin, fetch the prince a chair! And move the lamp closer.”

When Tobin was seated by him, Hakone peered more closely into his face. “Yes, that’s better. Just look at you! Your dear mother’s eyes in the duke’s face. Don’t you think so, Tharin? It’s like seeing our Rhius reborn.”

“So it is,” Tharin said, giving Tobin a wink. They both knew he little favored either of his parents, but Tobin liked the old man already and was pleased to make him happy.

“And this must be the squire you told me of,” Hakone said. “Kirothius, isn’t it? Come boy, let me see you.”

Ki knelt by his chair and Hakone felt at his shoulders, hands, and arms. “A good strong lad, yes!” he said approvingly. “Hands hard as iron. You’ve warriors’ hands, both of you. Tharin tells me nothing but good things, but I suppose you get into all sorts of mischief, just as Rhius and this rascal did.”

Tobin exchanged a smirk with Ki. “Tharin was a rascal?”

“The both of them!” Hakone cackled. “Brawling with the village children, raiding the orchards. Tharin, do you recall the time Rhius shot your mother’s best milk ewe? By the Light, it seems like I was after you two with the switch every other day.”

Tharin mumbled something, and Tobin saw with delight that the man was blushing.

Hakone let out another rusty chuckle and patted Tobin’s hand. “Filled the salt cellars with sugar just before a banquet for the queen herself, one time, if you can imagine such a thing! Of course young Erius was in the middle of that one, but Tharin took the blame, and the whipping.” The memory loosened another spate of laughter, but it quickly changed to a coughing fit.

“Calm yourself, Hakone,” Tharin urged, fetching him a cup of wine from the sideboard and holding it to the old man’s lips.

Hakone managed a slurping sip and wine dribbled down into his beard. He sat wheezing for a moment, then let out a long sigh. “But that’s all done and gone now, isn’t it? You’re grown and Rhius is dead. So many dead …” He trailed off and closed his eyes. Tobin thought he’d gone to sleep. An instant later, however, he sat up again and said sharply, “Tharin, the duke has no wine! Get down to the cellars—” He broke off and looked around at them. “No, I’m wandering again, aren’t I? That’s your duty now, Kirothius. Serve your prince, boy.”

Ki jumped up to obey but Tobin stopped him. “That’s all right, old father. We’ve just come from the hall and had more wine than we can hold.”

Hakone lay back again and the old cat returned and settled in his lap. Ringtail curled up at Tobin’s feet.

“I was sorry to find a stranger wearing your chain,” said Tharin, taking Hakone’s hand again. “I thought Lytia would be the one to take your place.”

Hakone snorted. “That was Lord Orun’s doing. The king had already sent us half a dozen new servants after the princess died—may Astellus carry her softly.” He kissed his fingertips reverently and pressed them to his heart. “And then as soon as Rhius passed, Orun sent his own man. It was time for a change, of course—I’m blind as Bilairy’s goat and my legs are failing me—but this was a shifty-eyed, pasty-faced bastard and no one was sad when Solari replaced him. But it should have been your auntie, then, as you say. She’s been steward in all but name these past few years.”

“I’ll tell Solari to make her steward,” said Tobin.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that yet,” said Tharin. “Until you’re of age, the Lord Protector decides those things.”

“Then I’m not lord of Atyion, am I? Not really.”

Hakone found Tobin’s hand and clasped it. “You are, my boy, and no other. I heard them cheering you in today. That’s the heart of your people you saw out there. They’ve longed for you as much as I have. Solari is a good man, and keeps your father’s memory alive among the men. Let him keep you safe for now, while you serve the prince.”

Just then they heard a soft shuffling in the passage. Ki opened the door and found a cluster of cooks and kitchen maids crowding in the corridor.

“Please, sir, we just wanted to see the prince,” an old woman said, speaking for all of them. Behind her, the others nodded hopefully and craned their necks for a glimpse of Tobin.

“Be off with you! It’s too late to be troubling His Highness,” Hakone rasped.

“No, please, I don’t mind,” said Tobin.

Ki stepped aside and the women came in, curtsying and touching their hearts. Several of the older ones were weeping. The woman who’d spoken knelt and clasped Tobin’s hands.

“Prince Tobin. Welcome home at last!”

Overwhelmed anew, Tobin bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, old mother. I’m very glad to be here.”

She raised a hand to her cheek and looked back at the others. “There, you see that? I told you blood would tell! None of the rest of it matters.”

“Mind your tongue, Mora!” Hakone snapped.

“It’s all right,” Tobin told him. “I know what they say about me, and my mother. Some of it’s even true, about the demon and all. But I promise you I’ll try to be worthy of my father’s memory, and a good lord to Atyion.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about in him,” Hakone told the women gruffly. “This is Rhius reborn. You pass that on belowstairs. Go on now, back to your duties.”

The women took their leave, all but the one Tharin had pointed out as his cousin.

“What is it?” Tobin asked her.

“Well, my prince, I—” She stopped, twisting her chapped hands in her apron front. “Should I speak, Hakone?”

The old man looked to Tharin. “What harm can there be in asking?”

“Go on, Grannia.”

“Well, my prince,” she said. “It’s just that—well, a good many of us Atyion women served in the ranks once. Catilan, your cook up at Alestun keep? She was my sergeant. We were among your grandfather’s archers.”

“Yes, she told me about that.”

“Well, the thing is, Prince Tobin, that your father gave permission for us to keep in training, quiet-like, and to teach those of the young girls as wanted to learn. Is it your pleasure that we keep on with that?”

And there it was, that same mix of hope and frustration he’d seen so often in Una. “I would never change what my father willed,” he replied.

“Bless you, my prince! If you should ever need us, you’ve only to send word.”

“I won’t forget,” Tobin promised.

Grannia gave him a last awkward curtsy and hurried out, her apron pressed to her face.

“Well done, Tobin,” Tharin said as they made their way back to Tobin’s chamber. “Your reputation will spread through the house by dawn. You did your father proud tonight in every way.”

Koni and Sefus were standing guard at the end of the corridor near his room.

“Will you stay here with us?” Tobin asked, as they reached the door. “This was your room, after all.”

“Thank you, Tobin, but it’s yours now, and Ki’s. My place is with the guard. Good night.”

A steaming tub stood ready in their room and Tobin sank happily into it as Ki and a page lit the night lamps.

Tobin submerged to his chin and watched the ripples lap at the smooth wooden sides. He thought again of Una, and all the women who’d been denied their honor as warriors. Grannia’s face rose in his mind’s eye, so hopeful and sad all at once.

He shivered, sending more ripples across the water’s surface. If Lhel and Iya were right, if he did have to become a woman someday, would the generals still follow a woman? Those soldiers had cheered Duke Rhius’ son today. Would he lose everything by showing what the wizards claimed was his true face?

Tobin looked down at himself: the strong, tight-muscled arms and legs, his flat chest and hard belly, and the pale, hairless worm between his thighs. He’d seen enough naked women on his harbor rambles with Korin to know women didn’t have those. If he changed … He shuddered, cupping his hands over his genitals, and felt the reassuring stir of his penis under his hand.

Maybe they’re wrong! Maybe—

Maybe he’d never need to change. He was a prince, Ariani’s son and Rhius’. That was good enough for the soldiers he’d met here. Maybe it would be good enough for Illior, too?

He ducked under the water and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He wouldn’t think of such things tonight, of all nights. All his life he’d been called a prince, never until today had he truly felt like one. In Ero he’d always felt the gulf that lay between him and those who’d spent their lives at court. He was plain and unknown and awkward, someone none of the fine courtiers would have looked at twice if not for his title. In his mind, he was as much a grass knight as Ki, and happy with it, too.

But what he’d seen today had changed all that. Today he’d watched the wonder in the other Companions’ faces when they saw this castle. His castle! Let Alben and the others try and look down their long noses at him now!

And he’d basked in the adulation of the people. His father’s warriors had beaten their shields for him and chanted his name. Someday, no matter what else happened, he would lead them. In his mind he conjured battlefields and the clash of arms. He’d lead the charge, with Tharin and Ki at his side.

“Prince of Skala, Scion of Atyion!” he murmured aloud.

Ki’s laughter brought him back to earth. “Is his august Highness going to stay in that tub until the water’s cold for his humble squire, or do I get a turn?”

Tobin grinned at him. “I’m a prince, Ki. A real prince!”

Ki snorted as he cleaned the day’s mud from one of Tobin’s boots with a rag. “Who said you weren’t?”

“I don’t think I believed it. Not until today.”

“Well, you’ve never been anything else in my eyes, Tob. Or anyone else’s, either, except maybe Orun and look what that got him? Now, then—” He made Tobin an exaggerated bow. “Shall I duck your royal head under the water, or scrub your noble back? We lesser sorts like to get to sleep before dawn.”

Laughing, Tobin made quick work with the sponge and gave up the tub before the water had cooled.

Ki managed little more than a mumbled good night before he dozed off. But tired as he was, Tobin couldn’t sleep. Staring up at the horses of Atyion chasing each other across the green pastures of tapestry, he tried to imagine some ancestor of his, his father’s grandmother perhaps, working the pattern on her fine loom. His own father had looked up at these same horses, with Tharin asleep beside him—

Before he moved down the hall to the swan bed with his bride, thought Tobin. His parents had lain there together, made love there.

“And his parents before him, and theirs, and—” Tobin whispered aloud. Suddenly he wanted to know the faces of his ancestors and find his own plain face among them, an assurance that he really was of the same blood. There must be portraits somewhere in the house. He’d ask Tharin and Lytia tomorrow. They’d know.

Sleep still eluded him and his thoughts returned to that room just down the hall. Suddenly he wanted to open those boxes he’d seen, and the wardrobes, looking for—what?

He left the bed and went to the clothes rack. Reaching into his purse, he took out the key Lytia had given him and stared down at it. It felt heavy against his palm.

Why not?

Stealing past the sleeping page, he inched the door open and peeked out. He could hear the low, comforting rumble of Tharin’s voice from around the corner, but there was no one else in sight. Taking one of the night lamps with him, he crept out into the corridor.

I don’t need to skulk around like a thief in my own house! he thought. All the same, he hurried on tiptoe to his parents’ door and held his breath until it was locked again behind him.

Casting about with his lamp, he found another and lit it, then walked slowly around the chamber, touching things that his parents had touched: a bedpost, a chest, a cup, the handles of a wardrobe. Alone here at last, it didn’t feel like just another room anymore; it was their room. Tobin tried to imagine what it would have been like if they’d all lived here happily together. If everything hadn’t gone so terribly wrong.

At the dressing table he opened a box and found a woman’s hairbrush. Some dark strands were still twined among the bristles. He plucked a few free and wound them around his finger, pretending for a moment that his parents were down in the hall, laughing and drinking with their guests. They’d come upstairs soon and find him waiting to bid them good night …

But it was no good; he couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Reaching into his tunic, he unfastened the chain and slipped his mother’s ring on his finger, searching the two profiles carved in the beautiful purple stone—the stone his father had traveled all the way to Aurënen to choose because he loved his bride so much.

Try as he might to think otherwise, the proud, serene pair on the ring were strangers to him. They’d shared this room, shared that bed and a life Tobin had never known, never been a part of.

But his curiosity grew, fed by the loneliness that never quite went away. Still wearing the ring, he opened another box and found a few jewels his mother had left behind: a necklace of carved amber beads, a golden chain with links shaped like dragons, and a pair of enamelwork earrings set with smooth stones the color of a summer sky. Tobin marveled at the craftsmanship; why would she leave these things behind? He replaced them, then opened a large ivory casket. Inside were a set of heavy silver cloak pins and a horn-handled penknife. A man’s things. His father’s.

He went to the wardrobes next. The first held nothing but a few old-fashioned tunics on pegs. Taking one down, Tobin pressed it to his face, seeking his father’s scent. He held the garment up, thinking of the armor his father had given with him, with the promise that he would be old enough to go to battle when it fit him. He hadn’t tried it on for a long time.

He pulled the tunic on over his nightshirt. For all his growth this past year, the hem still fell well past his knees and the sleeves hung below his fingertips.

“I’m still too small,” he muttered, replacing it and moving to the next wardrobe. He swung the doors wide, then stifled a cry of dismay as his mother’s perfume wafted over him. It wasn’t her spirit, though; the scent came from bunches of faded flowers hung on hooks to freshen the folded gowns.

Tobin knelt to look at them, marveling at the colors. She’d always favored rich tones and here they were—wine dark reds, deep blues, saffron gold, greens like the colors of a summer forest in brocades, silks, velvets, and lawn. He touched the fabrics, hesitantly at first, then hungrily as his fingers found the raised work of embroidery, trimmings of fur, and colored beads.

A guilty yearning seized him and he stood up and lifted out a green gown trimmed with winter fox. He paused, listening for steps in the passage, then carried it to the long mirror near the bed.

He held the dress up in front of him and saw that he must be as tall as she had been, for the hem just brushed his toes. He shook out the wrinkles and held it up under his chin again; the full skirt spread out around him in graceful folds.

What would it feel like—?

Embarrassed by this unexpected longing, Tobin quickly thrust the dress back into the wardrobe. In doing so, he knocked a long cape of cream brocade from the peg it had been hanging on. It had a high collar of ermine and was stitched over the shoulders with rays of blue and silver.

Tobin had only meant to replace it, but somehow he found himself at the mirror again, draping it over his shoulders. The heavy fabric settled around him like an embrace, the dark satin lining cool as water against his skin. He fastened the golden clasp of the collar and dropped his arms to his sides.

The soft white fur caressed his throat as he slowly raised his eyes to his reflection. It was an effort to meet his own gaze there.

My hair is like hers, Tobin thought, shaking it out over his shoulders. And I have her eyes, just as everyone always says. I’m not beautiful like she was, but I have her eyes.

The cloak whispered around his ankles as he went to the dressing table and took out one of the earrings. Feeling sillier by the minute, yet unable to stop himself, he carried it back to the mirror and held the jewel to his ear. Perhaps it was the earring, or the tilt of his head, but Tobin thought he caught a glimpse of the girl Lhel had shown him. The blue stone complemented his eyes, just as the embroidery on the cape did, making them seem bluer.

In the forgiving light of the small lamp, she looked almost pretty.

Tobin touched the face in the glass with trembling fingers. He could see the girl, that stranger who had looked back at him from the surface of the spring. There hadn’t been time then, but now Tobin gazed in growing wonder and curiosity. Would a boy look at her the way his friends looked at the girls they fancied? The thought of Ki looking at him like that sent a hot, shivery feeling down through Tobin. The sensation seemed to pool between his hipbones like the moontide pains, but this didn’t hurt. Instead, he felt himself starting to go hard under his nightshirt. That made him blush, but he couldn’t look away. Suddenly lonely and unsure again, he called the only witness he could.

Brother made no reflection in the mirror, so Tobin had him stand beside it instead so that he could compare their faces.

“Sister,” the ghost murmured, as if he understood the nameless ache growing in Tobin’s heart.

But the fragile illusion was already broken. Standing side by side with his twin, Tobin saw only a boy in a woman’s cloak there in the mirror.

“Sister,” Brother said again.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?” Tobin whispered.

Before Brother could answer, Tobin heard voices outside the locked door. He froze like a frightened hare, listening as Koni and Laris exchanged greetings. It was only a change of guard, he knew, but he still felt like a thief about to be caught. What if someone noticed that he was gone from his room and came looking?

What if Ki found him here like this?

“Go away, Brother!” he hissed, then hastily put away the cloak and earring. Extinguishing all the lamps, he felt his way to the door and listened until the voices had faded away down the corridor.

He made it back to his own chamber without meeting anyone and Ki didn’t stir as he climbed back into bed. Pulling the covers over his head, Tobin closed his eyes and tried hard not to think of the swirl of heavy silk around his bare legs, or how, for a disjointed moment, his eyes had looked back at him in the glass from a different face.

I’m a boy, he told himself silently, squeezing his eyes shut. I’m a prince.

19

Korin had everyone up at dawn the next morning to be ready for the king. The sun was out and mist was rising in long streamers from the river and off the wet fields.

The Companions dressed in their mail and corselets, and wore their finest cloaks. Going downstairs, they found the house in an uproar.

Armies of servants were at work everywhere Tobin looked. The great hall was already hung with the king’s colors and all the gold plate lay ready. Outside, smoke billowed from the kitchen chimneys, and from several pits in the kitchen garden, where whole stags and boars were being roasted Mycenian style on buried beds of coals. Entertainers of all sorts milled in spare rooms and courtyards.

Solari was once again master of the situation. Breaking his fast with Tobin and the others, he outlined the evening’s entertainments and courses, with the steward and Lytia hovering at his elbow. Every few minutes he would pause, and ask, “Does this meet with your approval, my prince?”

Tobin, who knew nothing of such things, nodded silent agreement to everything presented.

When he’d finished, Lytia summoned two servers bearing cloth-draped boxes. “Something special for the highest-ranking guests. A specialty of this house since your great-grandparents’ day, Prince Tobin.” Whisking aside one of the covers, she lifted out a glass vase filled with delicate glass roses. Tobin gasped; worked glass of this sort was worth a dozen fine horses. His eyes widened further when Lytia casually broke off one ruby petal and popped it into her mouth, then offered him one.

Tobin hesitantly touched it to his tongue, then laughed. “Sugar!”

Solari chuckled as he helped himself to a flower. “Lady Lytia is a true artist.”

“Your great-grandmother sent my grandmother to Ero to train with a famous confectioner,” said Lytia. “She passed the craft down to my mother, and she to me. I’m glad my little flowers please you, but what do you think of this?” Reaching into the second box, she lifted out a translucent sugar dragon. The hollow body was red like the rose petals, with delicate gilded wings, feet, and drooping facial spines. “Which would you prefer for tonight?”

“They’re both astonishing! But perhaps the dragon is proper, for the king?”

“Good, then you won’t be needing this!” Korin exclaimed, and tapped the sugar vase with his knife. It shattered with a delicate tinkle and the boys scrambled for the large pieces.

“It’s a shame to break them,” Tobin said, watching them.

Lytia smiled as she watched the Companions elbowing each other to snatch up the last morsels. “But that’s why I make them.”

As soon as Solari released Tobin, Korin insisted on riding down to the town gates to stand watch. Porion insisted on coming with them, and Tharin came along, too, but Korin wanted no other guard.

Tobin recognized that mix of longing and excitement in his cousin’s eyes. He remembered loitering around the barracks yard, waiting for his father to ride out from the trees at the bottom of the meadow. He wished he could share Korin’s excitement instead of feeling sick to his stomach the way he did. He’d kept a worried eye out for Brother all morning, but there’d been no sign of him.

A crowd gathered around them as they sat their horses just outside the gate, admiring the Companions’ arms and horses. Everyone seemed to know Tharin.

Soldiers loitering around the square found reasons to come over, too, and Tobin found them easy to talk to. He’d been around fighting men all his life. He asked them about their scars and admired their swords or bows. With a little encouragement, they shared stories of his father and grandfather, and some of his aunts who’d fought under the queen’s banner in years gone by. Many started their tales with, “You’ll have heard this one …” But Tobin hadn’t, mostly, and wondered why his father had told him so little of his own history.

Noon came and went. Food vendors brought them meat and wine and they ate in the saddle like picket riders. At last, bored with waiting and tired of being stared at, Tobin rallied his friends and they passed the time giving children rides up and down the road. Korin and the older boys stayed by the gate, flirting with the local girls. They’d put on their best dresses for the occasion and reminded Tobin of a flock of bright, chattering birds as they giggled and preened for the boys.

The sun was halfway down the sky when an outrider arrived at last, announcing the king’s arrival.

Korin and the others would have ridden out in a mob if Porion hadn’t caught them up with a sharp shout.

“Form up properly, now!” he ordered, keeping his voice down in deference to the princes. “I’ve taught you better than this. You don’t want the king thinking bandits are attacking him, do you?”

Chastened, they formed up in a proper column, each noble with his squire beside him, and Korin and Tobin in the lead. Solari and Savia rode down just in time to join them, dressed in festival splendor.

“They look like a king and queen themselves, don’t they?” Ki whispered.

Tobin nodded. Both glittered with jewels and their horses’ tack was fancier than Gosi’s.

They took the north road at a gallop, the princes’ banners and Solari’s bright against the afternoon sky before them. A mile or so on they caught sight of answering colors, and a long column of soldiers coming their way. A score of armed warriors and the king’s standard-bearer led the way. Behind them Erius rode with his principal lords. Tobin couldn’t see his face yet, but knew him by his golden helm. They were dressed for battle, but carried hawks and falcons rather than shields. Dozens of noble standards snapped in the crisp late afternoon breeze.

A long column of foot soldiers marched behind them, like a red-and-black serpent with glinting scales of iron.

Porion held the boys to a formation canter, but they called out excitedly to each other as they spied the banners of their fathers or kinsmen.

They quickly closed the distance between the two companies, and Korin reined in and dismounted.

“Down, Tob,” he murmured. “We greet Father on foot.”

Everyone else had already dismounted. Swallowing his fear, Tobin steeled himself to hate this stranger who shared his blood. He handed Gosi’s reins to Ki and followed his cousin.

He’d glimpsed his uncle only once before, but there was no mistaking the man now. Even without the golden helm and a gold-chased breastplate, Tobin would have known Erius by the sword that hung at his left side: the fabled Sword of Ghërilain. Tobin had learned to recognize it from the little painted kings and queens his father had given him, then seen it carved with differing skill on the stone effigies at the Royal Tomb. If he’d had any doubt that this was the sword he’d been offered by the ghost of Queen Tamír that long-ago night, they were laid to rest now. This was the one.

He’d never seen the king’s face, though, and when he looked up at the man at last he let out small gasp of surprise; Erius looked just like Korin. He had the same square, handsome face and dark, merry eyes. There were thick streaks of white in his hair, but he sat his tall black horse with the same soldierly dash that Tobin’s father had, riding up the river road to the keep.

Korin dropped to one knee and saluted his father. Tobin and the other Companions did the same.

“Korin, my boy!” Erius exclaimed, as he swung down from the saddle to meet them. His voice was deep and filled with love.

Instead of fear or hate, Tobin felt a sudden stab of longing.

Abandoning any pretense of dignity, Korin threw himself into his father’s arms. A roar of acclaim went up from the ranks as the pair hugged and pounded each other on the back. The Companions cheered the king, beating their sword hilts against their shields.

After a moment Korin noticed Tobin still kneeling and dragged him to his feet. “This is Tobin, Father. Cousin, come and greet your uncle.”

“By the Flame, look how you’ve sprouted up!” laughed Erius.

“Your Majesty.” Tobin started to bow, but the king caught him in a strong embrace. For a dizzying instant Tobin was back in his father’s arms, enveloped in the comforting smells of oiled steel, sweat, and leather.

Erius stepped back and gazed down at him with such fondness that Tobin’s knees went weak.

“The last time I saw you, you were a babe asleep in your father’s arms.” Erius cupped Tobin’s chin in one hard, callused hand and a wistful look came over his face. “Everyone said you have my sister’s eyes. I can almost see her looking out at me,” he murmured, unknowingly sending a superstitious chill up his nephew’s spine. “Tobin Erius Akandor, have you no kiss for your uncle?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Tobin managed. All his hate and fear had melted away at that first warm smile. Now he didn’t know how to feel. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against the king’s rough cheek. As he did so, he found himself looking at Lord Niryn, who stood just behind the king. Where’d he come from? Why was he here? Tobin stepped back quickly, trying to cover his surprise.

“How old are you now, boy?” Erius asked, still clasping him by the shoulders.

“Twelve and a half, almost, Your Majesty.”

The king chuckled. “That old, eh? And already a dangerous swordsman, by all reports! But you mustn’t be so formal. From this day forth, I’m ‘Uncle’ to you, and nothing else. Come now, let me hear it. I’ve waited a long time.”

“As you wish—Uncle.” Looking up, Tobin saw his own shy, traitorous smile mirrored in the king’s dark eyes.

It was a relief when Erius turned away. “Duke Solari, I’ve brought your own son back to you, too, safe and sound. Nevus, go and greet your parents.”

He’s your enemy! Tobin told himself, watching the king laugh with Solari and the young noble. But his heart wasn’t listening.

Korin and Tobin flanked the king as they rode on to the castle. Solari and his family rode ahead with the standard-bearers.

“What do you think of your new guardian?” Erius asked.

“I like him a great deal better than Lord Orun,” Tobin answered truthfully. Knowing now that Brother sometimes lied, he was prepared to believe better of the man. Solari had treated him no differently than he ever had, always kind.

Erius chuckled at his bluntness and gave Tobin a wry wink. “So do I. Now, where’s this squire of yours?”

This is it, Tobin thought, tensing again. He’d been given no warning of a new guardian. Did the king have a new squire for him hidden among the ranks, as well? Putting on a brave face, he waved Ki up. “May I present my squire, Uncle? Sir Kirothius, son of Sir Larenth of Oakmount steading.”

Ki managed a dignified bow from the saddle, but the hand he pressed to his heart was shaking. “Your Majesty, please accept my humble service to you and all your line.”

“So this is the troublesome Sir Kirothius? Sit up and let me look at you, lad.”

Ki did as he was told, gripping the reins with white-knuckled hands. Tobin watched them both closely as the king sized up his friend. Fitted out in fine new clothes, Ki looked the equal of any of the Companions; Tobin had seen to that.

“Oakmount?” the king said at last. “That would make your father Lord Jorvai’s man.”

“Yes, my king.”

“Odd place for Rhius to seek a squire for his son. Wouldn’t you agree, Solari?”

“I thought so myself at the time,” Solari replied over his shoulder.

Would Erius nullify the bond right here in front of everyone? Ki’s expression didn’t change, but Tobin saw his friend’s hands clench harder on the reins.

But Solari wasn’t done. “As I recall, Rhius met Larenth and some of his sons in Mycena and was impressed with their fighting ability. Strong country stock, he said, not spoiled with court manners and intrigues.”

Tobin stared down at Gosi’s neck hoping his surprise didn’t show. Of course his father had had to lie, but it had never occurred to him to wonder what he might have said to explain Ki’s presence.

“A wise choice, judging by this fine young fellow,” said Erius. “Perhaps more of my lords should take Rhius’ advice. Do you have any brothers, Kirothius?”

Ki broke into a buck-toothed grin. “A whole pack of them, Your Majesty, if you don’t mind ’em rough and plainspoken.”

This won a hearty, full-throated laugh from the king. “We could do with more country honesty at court. Tell me, Kirothius, and be honest now, how does this son of mine strike you?”

No one but Tobin noticed Ki’s slight hesitation. “It’s a great honor to serve Prince Korin, Majesty. He’s the best swordsman of us all.”

“Just as he should be!” Erius clapped Ki on the shoulder, then gave Tobin a wink. “Your father chose well, my boy, just as I thought. I won’t break the bond he blessed, so perhaps now the pair of you can stop looking like dogs in need of green grass.”

“Thank you, my king!” Tobin managed, his rush of relief so strong he could hardly get his breath. “Lord Orun was so set against him—”

The king’s mouth quirked into an odd little smile. “You see where that got him. And call me uncle, remember?”

Tobin raised his fist to his heart. “Thank you, Uncle!”

The king turned back to Korin, and Tobin gripped the saddlebow, dizzy with relief. Ki’s place was safe, after all. For that, at least, he could love his uncle a little.

All of Atyion turned out to greet the king, but it seemed to Tobin that the cheering wasn’t quite as loud as it had been the day before. And this time it was Solari’s troops in the forefront at the castle yard, rather than his own.

That night’s feast more than made up for any disparity in the welcome. Lytia had been busy.

The tables were draped with red and strewn with fragrant herbs. Flat wax candles floated in silver basins, and hundreds of torches burned in sconces on the pillars that lined the room, so that even the painted ceiling vaults were illuminated.

Under the direction of Lytia and the steward, a steady procession of dishes was carried in, more exotic and varied than anything Tobin had ever seen. Huge pike quivered in glistening aspic skins. Humble grouse were encased in new pastry bodies, shaped and painted to look like mythical birds, complete with brilliant plumed tails of real feathers. Companies of spiced crabs stood at attention, holding tiny silk banners in their claws. A roast stag was carried in on a shield, its belly filled with mock entrails made of dried fruit and nuts threaded on strings and glazed with honey and nutmeg. The sweet courses included pears filled with sweet brown cream whipped to peaks, pastry apples filled with dried fruit and chopped veal, and another bird pie, this one filled with tiny red warblers. As they burst free and swirled up toward the rafters, the king’s men released their hawks and roared with laughter as the soft red feathers floated down around them.

Lytia’s sugar dragons were presented on a silver platter the size of a war shield. Each was made in a slightly different pose, some rearing, some crouched as if to pounce, and arranged as if doing battle with each other. The spectacle was borne around to all the tables before the dragons met their ultimate fate.

The squires served the head table. Tobin and the noble Companions sat to the king and Korin’s right. Niryn, Solari and his wife, and other nobles had the king’s left. Tobin was pleased to see Tharin seated among the king’s friends.

“Were some of these men in your Companions, too, Uncle?” he inquired, as the panters worked, cutting the first round of bread trenchers and laying the upper crusts before the king and his kin.

“Your swordmaster was a squire, before his lord was killed in battle. General Rheynaris was one of my boys, and that duke beside him was his squire. Tharin was our butler. Your squire puts me in mind of him at that age. Look at them, Tharin,” Erius called down the table, pointing to the Companions. “Were we as fine a company in our day?”

“I daresay we were,” Tharin called back. “But we’d have found them a fair match on the sword ground.”

“Especially your son, my king, and those wild young ruffians,” Porion called, pointing to Tobin and Ki. “Those lads will match any swordsman in the court when they get their growth.”

“It’s true, Father,” Korin said, slopping wine from his mazer as he saluted Tobin. “Tobin and Ki have dusted the jackets of most of us.”

“They had good teachers.” The king raised his mazer to Tharin and Porion, then clapped Korin on the shoulder. “I’ve brought some gifts for you and your friends.”

These proved to be Plenimaran longswords for Korin and Tobin, and handsome belt knives for the rest. The steel had a dark blue tinge not seen in Skala and it took a cruel, sharp edge. The workmanship was exceptional and the boys excitedly compared their gifts. Tobin’s sword had a curved guard of bronze and silver, and the metal had been worked to look like intricately intertwined briars or vines. He turned it admiringly in his hands, then looked at Korin’s, which had guards made in the shape of wings.

“Beautiful work, isn’t it?” said Erius. “The eastern craftsmen stick closer to the old styles. There are weapons in the treasury vaults dating from the Hierophantic Era just like them. I captured these myself; they belonged to generals.”

He sat back and exchanged a wink with Korin. “I’ve one more gift to bestow, though I won’t take credit for thinking of it. Boys?”

Korin, Caliel, and Nikides left the hall and returned with a bulky cloth-wrapped bundle and Tobin’s standard pole. The banner was furled and muffled in white cloth.

Korin gave the bundle to his father’s page and grinned at Tobin. “Lord. Hylus sends his regards, coz.”

Erius rose and addressed the hall. “I’ve been gone a long time, and have a great deal of business to attend to now that I’m home. The first duty I’m pleased to discharge tonight regards my nephew here. Rise, Prince Tobin, and receive from my hand your new coat of arms: the might of Atyion married to the glory of Skala.”

Nikides unfurled the banner and the king opened the bundle and shook out a dagged silk surcoat, both worked with Tobin’s arms.

The arms shield was divided by a vertical impalement of red, which, together with the silver dragon crest at the top, proclaimed his royal blood. The left side showed the oak of Atyion in white on a black ground edged with silver silk. The right side of the shield bore the red dragon of Illior beneath the golden flame of Sakor on azure edged in white, his mother’s colors.

“They’re wonderful!” Tobin exclaimed. He’d almost forgotten the conversation he’d had with Hylus and Nikides. He shot Nikides a grateful look, suspecting he’d had something to do with this.

“It’s a brave device,” Erius told Tobin. “You must have your battle shield repainted and new tunics for your guard.”

Tobin dropped to one knee, holding the surcoat across his chest. “Thank you, Uncle. I am honored.”

The king ruffled his hair. “And now it’s time to pay the piper.”

“Uncle?”

“I’ve heard great things about this squire and you—I’d like to see for myself. Pair off with some of the others. Helms and hauberks, that will do. Squire Kirothius, fetch your master’s armor. Clear the floor, you minstrels, and we’ll have proper warrior’s entertainment.”

“You take on Garol, Ki,” Korin ordered. “Who’ll face Tobin?”

“I will, my prince,” Alben called out before anyone else could answer.

“Bastard!” Ki muttered. Any of the other boys might have gone easy on Tobin, let him make a good first showing for the king. But not jealous, proud Alben.

“Yes, let my son test your nephew!” called one of the nobles down the table This must be the famous Baron Alcenar, thought Tobin. The man was dark and handsome like his son, and looked just as arrogant.

Ki and Garol fought first. Taking their places, they saluted the king, then began to circle each other. The nobles pounded the tables and traded wagers.

The betting was all on Garol at first. He was older than Ki and more heavily muscled. The odds seemed justified at first, as he drove Ki back with a series of powerful opening swings. The two had sparred often enough to know each other’s tricks; Ki would have to win with speed and skill.

Working grimly, he blocked Garol’s blows and slowly began turning him, so as not to get trapped against the tables. It put Tobin in mind of the dancing lessons they’d had with Arengil and Una. Ki might be the one backing up, but he was the leader, making Garol open his guard as he was forced to follow his retreating foe. Tobin grinned, guessing what Ki was up to. Garol’s greatest weakness was impatience.

Sure enough, the older boy quickly tired of the chase and sprung at Ki, nearly knocking him over. Quick as a snake, Ki spun on his heel, ducked under Garol’s arm, and smacked him across the back of the neck with the flat of his blade, knocking him on his face. Everyone heard the hiss of his blade across the mail coif; it would have been a killing blow. Arengil had taught them that move.

The audience bellowed and hooted as gold changed hands. Ki helped Garol up and threw an arm around his shoulders, steadying him. Garol rubbed ruefully at his neck, looking a little dazed.

Then it was Tobin’s turn. He was already nervous, and didn’t like the smirk Alben exchanged with Urmanis as he took his place. As much as he disliked Alben, Tobin knew better than to underestimate him; he was a strong, cunning fighter and could be counted on to do anything to win. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms to settle the heavy mail shirt more comfortably, Tobin took his place.

When they’d saluted the king, Alben struck a defensive stance and waited, forcing Tobin to make the first move or appear a fool. It was a calculated strategy, and Tobin narrowly missed getting a belly stroke when Alben sidestepped his first feint. It unbalanced him and Alben pressed the advantage with a quick series of punishing swings. Tobin danced and ducked, but still caught a ringing blow across the top of his helm that nearly knocked him to his knees. He recovered just in time to turn a swing, and the tip of his blade caught Alben in the face, sliding across the coif to nick him on the cheek.

Alben swore and redoubled his assault, but Tobin’s blood was up now, too. He would not be shamed in front of the king, or in his own hall.

“For Atyion!” he cried, and heard the challenge echoed in a deafening chorus at the lower tables. Chained at the far end of the hall, the castle hounds bayed and howled. The cacophony lifted Tobin on wings of fire. His sword felt as light as a dry stick in his hands.

After that, all he knew was the clash of steel and his opponent’s ragged breathing as they battered each other around the floor, toiling like harvest threshers with the sweat burning their eyes and soaking the tunics under their hauberks.

Hoping to lure Alben into a fatal overreach, Tobin stepped back, but caught his heel on something and fell on his back. Alben was on him in an instant. Tobin still had his sword but Alben trapped his wrist under his foot and raised his blade for the killing stroke. Pinned, Tobin saw that Alben’s blade wasn’t turned; if he struck, it would take him edge on, breaking bones or worse.

Just then two hissing, yowling streaks shot from beneath the nearest table and ran between Alben’s legs. Startled, he rocked off-balance just enough for Tobin to wrench his arm free and bring his blade up, leveling it at his opponent’s face, the tip just inches from Alben’s left eye. Alben flailed with his arms, trying not to pitch forward, and Tobin hooked his legs out from under him with one foot. The other boy toppled back and Tobin scrambled up to straddle him. Yanking back Alben’s coif, he pressed the edge of his blade to his throat.

Alben glared up at him, eyes burning with pure malice.

Why do you hate me? Tobin wondered. Then Ki and the other Companions were pulling him to his feet and thumping him on the back. Urmanis and Mago tried to help Alben up, but he shook them off. Making Tobin a mocking salute, he stalked back to the table.

Looking around, Tobin found Ringtail innocently washing his face under the head table.

“Well done!” the king cried. “By the Flame, you’re both as good as Porion claims!” Unfastening the golden brooch from the throat of his tunic, he tossed it to Ki. The startled boy caught it, then pressed it to his heart and fell to one knee. Erius presented Tobin with his gold-hilted dagger.

“Now then, let’s see the rest of you at it. Korin and Caliel, you first, and show me that you haven’t forgotten what I taught you!”

Korin won his match, of course. Tobin was certain he saw Caliel drop his defense at least once, letting Korin score a hit. The rest of the boys fought hard and Lutha earned special praise for winning his bout after Quirion broke his little finger in the first assault. Tobin paired with Nikides, and made certain his friend got in a few good hits before Tobin dispatched him.

Erius saluted them with his wine cup when they’d finished. “Well done, every one of you! The Plenimarans are giving us a rest just now, but there are still raiders and pirates.” He gave his son a wink.

Korin jumped up and kissed his father’s hand. “We’re yours to command!”

“Now, now, I’m not making any promises. We shall see.”

The final course of soft cheeses and gilded nutmeats was brought out on painted porcelain plates and the minstrels played old ballads as they ate.

“Here’s a new conceit from the Ylani potters,” Solari told them when the dainties had been eaten. Turning his plate over, he showed the king a verse painted on the underside. “Each one has a riddle or song, which the owner of the plate must deliver to the company, standing on his chair. If I may demonstrate.”

Amid much laughter and table pounding, Solari mounted his chair and declaimed a very silly parody with maudlin dignity.

Delighted, Erius was the next one up, declaiming a blisteringly obscene verse in the tender tones of a pale court poet.

The game was a great success and went on for over an hour. Most of the pieces were equally bawdy, and a few were worse. Tobin blushed hotly when Tharin climbed onto the table and, with a perfectly straight face recited a poem about a young wife satisfying her lover in a pear tree while her ancient, nearsighted husband stood below, urging his wife to pluck the plumpest fruit she could find.

To Tobin’s relief, his plate just had a riddle. “What fortress can withstand fire, lightning, and siege, yet can be defeated by a soft word?”

“A lover’s heart!” Korin cried, and received a round of good-natured catcalls as his reward.

“Show Tobin the great sword, Father,” Korin urged when the plate game was over.

The king’s baldric bearer came forward and presented it to the king on bended knee. Drawing the long blade free of the studded sheath, Erius held it up for Tobin to admire. Yellow torchlight slid along the polished steel, glinting warmly on the worn gold dragons set in raised relief on the sides of the curved quillons.

Erius offered the hilt to Tobin and he had to stiffen his arm to hold it; it was much longer and heavier than his own blade. Even so, the hilt of yellowed ivory wrapped with braided gold wire felt good in his hand. Lowering the point, he examined the large ruby carved with the Royal Seal of Skala set in the fluted gold pommel. This was a pattern he’d seen often in reverse, pressed into the wax at the bottom of his uncle’s letters: Illior’s dragon bearing Sakor’s Flame in a crescent moon on its back.

“The very sword King Thelátimos gave to Ghërilain,” Korin said, taking it and turning the blade to catch the light. “All these years later, it’s come back to a king’s hand.”

“And one day to yours, my son,” Erius said proudly.

Tobin stared at the sword, trying to imagine his fragile, unpredictable mother wielding this blade as a warrior. He couldn’t.

Suddenly, for the second time that day, he was aware of Niryn watching him. Pride replaced fear. Thinking only of the feel of the sword in his hand, he returned the wizard’s stare. This time he was not the first to look away.

20

It was well after midnight when Solari and the Companions accompanied Erius and his party from the feasting hall. Tobin kept close to Tharin and as far as he could from Niryn as they wended their noisy way upstairs. He couldn’t help stealing glances at the king, trying to square this jovial, laughing man with the stories he’d grown up with. But it was like trying to measure his body to its long evening shadow; the two simply didn’t match. Confused, he gave up trying. His fickle heart yearned for a new father, but his mother’s memory still haunted him too strongly to abandon all caution.

Of one thing he was certain, however, from all Iya and Lhel had told him, and what he’d seen here; for good or ill, the king held the threads of his life in those square warrior’s hands. Erius had put Orun over him, and now he’d given charge of Atyion to Solari. Despite the seeming freedom he enjoyed among the Companions, his life in Ero was as ruled by others as it had been at the keep, and this time by people he did not dare trust. For now, it was safer to pretend to love the man he must call Uncle. And for now, the feeling seemed to be honestly reciprocated.

The king’s room lay next to the one that had belonged to Tobin’s parents. Pausing outside his door, Erius clasped hands with Tharin, then took Tobin’s chin in his hand again, gazing into his eyes. “By the Light, it is almost like seeing your mother again. So blue! Blue as the evening sky in summer.” He sighed. “Ask me a boon, child. For my sister’s sake.”

“A boon, Uncle? I—I don’t know. You’ve already been too generous.”

“Nonsense, there must be something.”

Everyone was staring at him. Tharin shook his head slightly as if in warning. Standing with the other squires, Ki grinned and gave Tobin a tipsy little shrug.

Perhaps it was the wine that made Tobin bold, or seeing Mago smirk just then. “I don’t need anything for myself, Uncle, but there is something I’d like.” He didn’t dare look at Ki as he plunged on. “Could you please ennoble my squire’s father?”

“It’s a fair boon,” Korin chimed in drunkenly. “Ki’s as good as any of us. It’s not his fault he’s only a grass knight.”

Erius raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” said Tobin, encouraged. “I’m not yet of age to grant it, so I humbly ask Your Majesty to do so in my name. I wish to make Sir Larenth Duke of—” He searched his memory for all the lands he owned but had never seen. One seemed as good as another. “Of Cirna.”

As soon as the words were out he knew he’d taken a serious misstep of some sort. Tharin went pale, and Lord Niryn made a faint, strangled noise. Several of the others gasped.

The king’s smile disappeared. “Cirna?” He released Tobin and stepped back. “That’s an odd parcel to make a gift of. Did your squire ask this of you?”

The black look he shot Ki send a thrill of dread through Tobin. “No, Uncle! It was just the first place that came into my head. It—it could be any holding, so long as it comes with a title.”

But Erius was still staring from Tobin to Ki, and something unpleasant had crept into his eyes. Tobin knew he’d made a grave error but couldn’t imagine what it had been.

To Tobin’s surprise, it was Niryn who came to his rescue. “The prince has his mother’s noble soul, my king, generous to a fault. He does not know his lands yet, and so could not know what he offered.” Something in the way he looked at the king just then unsettled Tobin even more, though the wizard was apparently trying to help him.

“Perhaps not,” Erius said slowly.

“I believe Prince Tobin owns a very suitable tract north of Colath,” Niryn offered. “There’s a fortress there, at Rilmar.”

Erius brightened noticeably. “Rilmar? Yes, a very good choice. Sir Larenth shall be Marshal of Roads. What do you think, Squire Kirothius? Will your father accept?”

It was a rare thing for Ki to be speechless, but all he managed was a jerky nod as he sank to one knee. Erius drew his sword and rested it across Ki’s right shoulder. “On behalf of your father and all his descendents, do you swear fealty to the throne of Skala, and to Prince Tobin as your liege lord?”

“I do, my king,” Ki whispered.

Erius held the point before Ki’s face and he kissed the tip of it.

“Then rise, Kirothius, son of Larenth, Marshal of Rilmar. Give the kiss of fealty to your benefactor before these witnesses.”

Everyone clapped, but Tobin could feel Ki’s fingers shaking as he took his hand and kissed it. Tobin’s were, as well.

When they’d bidden the king good night, Tharin followed Tobin and Ki to their room. He sent their page off for hot water, then dropped into a chair and held his head in his hands, saying nothing. Ki kicked off his boots and sat cross-legged on the bed. Tobin settled on the hearthrug and poked at the embers, waiting.

“Well, that was unexpected!” Tharin said, recovering himself at last. “And when you tried to give away Cirna—By the Light, did you have any idea what you were doing?”

“No. Like I said, it was the first place I thought of. It’s only a small holding, isn’t it?”

Tharin shook his head. “In acreage, perhaps, but the man who holds Cirna holds the bulwark of Skala, not to mention the Protector’s share of revenues collected in your name. And at the moment, Lord Niryn is that man.”

“Niryn?” Ki exclaimed. “What’s Fox Beard doing with a commission like that? He’s no warrior.”

“Never mock him, Ki, not even in private. And whatever the reason, it’s between him and the king.” He stopped and rubbed at his beard, thinking. “I suppose it’s between you and Niryn, too, Tobin. Cirna is yours, after all.”

“Does that make Niryn my liegeman?” Tobin shivered at the thought.

“No, and neither is Solari. They’re the king’s men. But don’t worry. You’ll hardly see either of them, and you’re under the king’s protection. He has say over you before anyone else.”

“That’s good,” said Ki. “Korin thinks the sun rises and sets on Tobin, and now the king likes him, too, doesn’t he?”

Tharin stood and ruffled Tobin’s hair. “I’d say so.”

“But I did do something wrong, didn’t I? I saw it in the king’s face.”

“If you’d been a few years older—?” Tharin shook his head, casting off some dark thought. “No, he saw you spoke from an innocent heart. It’s nothing to worry about. You two get to bed, now. It’s been a long day.”

“You could sleep here tonight,” Tobin offered again. There was more to the king’s reaction than Tharin was letting on and it still scared him.

“I promised Lytia I’d visit with her tonight,” Tharin said. “But I’ll check on you on my way back. Sleep well.”

With the door safely closed behind him, Tharin sagged against the wall, hoping the sentries down the corridor would put his sudden weakness down to too much wine. He’d recognized the look in Erius’ eyes—suspicion. If Tobin had been sixteen, instead of twelve, his request might have marked him and Ki both for death. But he was only a child, and an unworldly one at that. Erius still had enough good left in him to see that.

All the same, Tharin spent a long time in aimless conversation with the sentries, keeping an eye on the king’s door, and Niryn’s.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. Waste a king’s boon on me,” Ki said when Tharin was gone. Tobin was still sitting on the rug, hugging his knees the way he did when he was feeling troubled. “Come get into the bed. The fire’s out.”

But Tobin stayed where he was. “Will your father be angry?”

“Not hardly! But what made you think of it, Tob? My old dad’s a lot of things, but noble isn’t one of them. I can see it now, him and my brothers using the king’s warrant to steal horses.”

Tobin looked around at him. “You always said he wasn’t a horse thief!”

Ki shrugged. “Guess I’ve lived around decent folk long enough to know what my people are.”

“They can’t be so bad, Ki. You’re as good as any of us. Anyway, now no one can call you grass knight.”

But they still will, some of them, thought Ki.

“I made you a promise the day we left the keep,” Tobin said earnestly.

“I don’t remember any promise.”

“I didn’t say it out loud. Remember how hateful Orun was being to you and Tharin? I promised Sakor that day that I’d make you and Tharin great nobles so Orun would have to bow to you and be polite.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Tharin! I should have asked something for him, too, but I was so surprised I couldn’t think. Do you think I hurt his feelings?”

“I think he was probably glad you didn’t.”

“Glad? Why?”

“Think about it, Tob. You gave my dad Rilmar fortress, and off he goes; nothing changes for me in that. But if you made Tharin lord of some important holding, like he deserves, he’d have to go and administer it. That means leaving us—you, I mean, and he wouldn’t like that much.”

“Us,” Tobin corrected, coming to join him on the bed. “I never thought of that. I’d miss him, too. Still—” He pulled his boots off and settled back against the bolsters. His mouth had that stubborn set to it that Ki knew so well. “Bilairy’s balls, Ki! Tharin deserves better than to be just a captain of my guard! Why didn’t Father ever promote him?”

“Maybe Tharin asked him not to,” Ki said, then wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Why would he do that?”

Now I’ve done it, thought Ki, but it was too late to take it back.

“Why would Tharin do that?” Tobin demanded again, reading his face like a book.

You couldn’t hide much from Tobin, that was certain. So it was either tell or lie, and he’d never lie to Tobin. It’s not like Tharin cares who knows. He said so himself.

Ki pushed himself up against the footboard, squirming inwardly as he tried to make a start on it. “Well, it’s just that—Well, when they were young, in the Companions, they—your father and Tharin, that is—uh—loved each other and—”

“Well, of course they did. You and I—”

“No!” Ki held up a hand. “No, Tobin, not like us. That is, not just like us.”

Tobin’s eyes widened as he caught Ki’s drift. “Like Orneus and Lynx, you mean?”

“Tharin told me so himself. It was only when they were young. Then your father married your mother and all. But Tharin? Well, I don’t think his feelings ever changed.”

Tobin was staring at him now, and Ki wondered if they’d fight over it, they way Ki used to fight people who accused his father of horse thieving.

But Tobin only looked pensive. “That must have been sad for Tharin.”

Ki recalled Tharin’s expression when he’d spoken of it that rainy night. “You’re right about that, but they stayed friends all the same. I don’t think he could’ve stood being parted from your dad any more than I could’ve if Orun had sent me away.” Tobin was watching him again, looking a little odd. “Not that I—Well, you know. Not like that,” Ki hastily amended.

Tobin looked away quickly. “No! Of course not.”

The silence drew out so long between them that Ki was grateful when the page banged back in with the water pitcher.

By the time the boy had built up the fire and gone out again, Ki could look Tobin in the face. “So, what was it like, meeting your uncle?”

“Strange. What do you think of him?”

“He’s not how I expected, exactly. I mean Korin always speaks well of him, but he’s his father, right?” Ki paused, lowering his voice just to be safe. “My dad never had much good to say about the king, on account of him keeping women out of the ranks. And there’s all that with the female heirs and the Harriers and such. You notice we weren’t the first to greet him, either? There’s Old Fox—Niryn, I mean—riding close as his shadow. How’d he get to the king before we did?”

“He’s a wizard.” Tobin had that distant, guarded look again, the one that came over him whenever Fox Beard was around.

Seeing it, Ki crawled up beside him. Not touching, but close enough to let him know he wasn’t alone, being scared of the man. “I think if I met the king at some tavern and didn’t know who he was, I’d take him for a good fellow,” he offered, going back to the subject at hand.

“So would I, after today. All the same …” He trailed off and Ki realized he was trembling. When he spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “My mother was so afraid of him!”

Tobin almost never spoke of his mother.

“Brother hates him, too,” he whispered. “But still, after today? I hardly know how to feel except—Maybe the stories aren’t true? I mean, Mother was mad, and Brother lies … I just don’t know!”

“He likes you, Tob. I could tell. And why wouldn’t he?” Ki settled closer, shoulder to shoulder. “About the stories, though, I don’t know … I’m just glad you weren’t born a girl.”

Tobin’s sudden stricken look dropped the bottom out of Ki’s belly. “Oh hell, I’m sorry, Tob. I let my tongue run away from me again.” He took his friend’s hand. In spite of the fire, it was ice-cold. “Maybe they are just stories.”

“It’s all right. I know what you meant.”

They sat a moment like that, and the quiet between them felt good. The room was warming and the bed was soft. Relaxing back against the bolsters, Ki closed his eyes and chuckled. “I know someone who is going to have trouble with the king, and soon. Did you see the looks Erius was giving the butler toward the end, when Korin was so drunk?”

Tobin let out a rueful laugh. “He was well down into it, wasn’t he? I’m afraid I was, too. Who knew Atyion made so many kinds of wine, eh?”

Ki yawned. “Mark my words. Now that the king’s back, Master Porion is going to get his way and there’ll be no more drink in the mess for any of us.” He yawned again. “And that’s fine with me, if it means not having to watch Korin and the others drink themselves stupid every other night.”

Tobin grunted sleepy agreement.

Ki felt himself drifting. “Room’s spinning, Tobin.”

“Mmmm. Guess Korin wasn’t the only one who had too much. Don’t sleep on your back, Ki.”

They both chuckled.

“You say Brother hates the king, too?” Ki mumbled, thoughts wandering toward sleep. “Good thing he didn’t show up at the feast, eh?”

Ki’s sleepy mutterings drove the sleep from Tobin’s mind. Perhaps Brother could see into the king’s heart, know if he was kind or evil? Deeper than that, however, lay the ever-present, lonely knowledge that liar and demon that he was, Brother was the only other one Tobin could completely confide in.

When Ki was snoring, Tobin blew out the night lamps and took the doll from his pack. Feeling his way to the hearth, he knelt, heart pounding in his ears. Did he dare call him at all? The day the king had come to the keep Brother had gone wild, thrashing around like a whirlwind. What would he do now, with Erius just down the corridor?

Tobin clutched the doll tightly, as if that would restrain Brother. “Blood, my blood. Flesh, my flesh. Bone, my bone,” he whispered, then braced for violence. But Brother simply appeared, kneeling in front of him like a reflection. The only sign of his anger was the terrible, bone-aching chill he brought with him.

“The king is here,” Tobin whispered, ready to order him away if Brother moved.

Yes.

“You aren’t angry with him?”

The chill grew unbearable as Brother leaned forward. Their noses almost touched; if he’d been alive, Tobin would have tasted his breath as he hissed, “Kill him.”

Pain shot through Tobin’s chest, as if Brother had torn the hidden stitching open.

He fell forward on his hands, willing himself not to faint. The pain slowly faded. When he opened his eyes again, Brother was gone. He listened fearfully, expecting some outcry nearby, but all was silent. He whispered the spell again to make certain Brother was actually gone, then hurried back to the bed.

“Did he come?” Ki asked softly, awake after all.

Tobin was glad he’d blown out the lamps. “You didn’t hear?”

“No, nothing. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“He came,” Tobin said, relieved Ki hadn’t overheard the dangerous words. He shifted, bumping Ki’s bare foot with his.

“Damn, Tobin, you’re chilled through! Get under the covers.”

They shucked off their clothes and pulled the blankets and counterpanes over them, but Tobin couldn’t seem to get warm. His teeth chattered so loudly that Ki heard and moved over to warm him.

“Bilairy’s balls, you’re cold!” He chafed Tobin’s arms, then felt his brow. “Are you sick?”

“No.” It was hard to talk with his teeth chattering like that.

A pause, then, “What did Brother say?”

“He—He still doesn’t like the king.”

“No surprises there.” Ki rubbed Tobin’s arms again, then settled close against him, yawning again. “Well, like I said—it’s a lucky thing you’re not a girl.”

Tobin squeezed his eyes shut, glad again of the sheltering darkness.

That night the woman pains returned. He sometimes felt a dull ache under his hipbones when the moon was full, but this was the same stabbing ache he’d felt before he’d run away. He’d forgotten the sack of leaves Lhel had given him. Scared and miserable, he curled himself tighter, grateful for Ki’s warmth against his back.

Niryn was about to let his valet undress him when he felt it again, that strange little shiver of energy. As usual, it was gone before he could tell what it was, but this was the first time he’d encountered it outside Ero. Waving the man away, he fastened his robe again and went in search of the troubling magic.

He thought he caught a whiff of it again outside Prince Tobin’s door, but when he cast a sighting inside, he found the boys fast asleep, curled up together like puppies.

Or lovers.

Niryn’s lip curled into a sour smile as he stored away this nugget of information. One never knew when such knowledge might prove useful. Prince Tobin was too young to be a threat, but the king was already showing signs of favor. And there was that embarrassing moment when the stupid brat had tried to take Cirna from him. Niryn would not forget that. No indeed.

21

The king was in no hurry to return to Ero. The following day he announced that the royal retinue would honor his nephew by spending the next fortnight in Atyion. Within the week Chancellor Hylus and the other chief ministers arrived and the castle hall became the Palatine in miniature, with the king conducting business between hunting parties and feasts. Only the most pressing matters were allowed and Hylus carefully evaluated each petition and suit, sending away those that could wait. Even so, the hall was filled from dawn to dusk.

With the truce in force, most of the business centered on strife within Skala’s own borders. Loitering with the other boys, Tobin heard reports of new outbreaks of plague, bandit raids, tax disputes, and failed crops.

He was also keenly aware of his dependent status among the nobles. His banner might hang highest beneath the king’s and Korin’s, but the adults paid him little mind except at banquets.

This left Tobin and the other boys free to explore the town and the seashore beyond the castle and they found themselves welcome wherever they went.

The town was a thriving one, and had none of Ero’s filth or disease. Instead of a shrine, there were temples to each of the Four set around a square, fine buildings of carved and painted wood. The Temple of Illior was the largest, and Tobin was awed by the painted ceilings and the black stone altar. Priests in silver masks bowed to him as he burned his owl feathers there.

The people of Atyion were well fed and friendly, and every merchant vied eagerly for the honor of serving Atyion’s scion and his friends. They were cheered, toasted, and blessed everywhere they went, and gifted royally.

The taverns were the equals of any in Ero. Bards from as far away as Mycena and northern Aurënen plied their craft there, and knew how to please the Companions with tales of their ancestors’ prowess.

Tobin was accustomed to living in Korin’s benevolent shadow, but here he was the shining light. Korin received great praise and honor, of course, but it was clear that in Atyion Tobin was the people’s darling. Though Korin made light of it, Tobin sensed he was jealous. It came out most clearly when Korin had been drinking. For the first time since Tobin had known him, he found himself the butt of the more cutting jokes usually reserved for Orneus or Quirion. Korin began to find fault with the taverns, the theater, the whores, and even Lytia’s excellent feasts. He and the older cohort soon went back to their old ways, going off on their own at night and leaving Tobin behind.

Ki was furious, but Tobin let it go. It did hurt, but Tobin understood what it felt like to be second-best. Trusting that things would return to normal back in Ero, he kept his own friends around him and made the most of his time at Atyion.

They were sitting in the sunny window of the Drover’s Inn by the market one day, listening to a balladeer sing of one of Tobin’s ancestors, when Tobin caught sight of a familiar face across the room.

“Isn’t that Bisir?” he said, elbowing Ki to make him look.

“Bisir? What would he be doing here?”

“Don’t know. Come on!”

Leaving Nik and Lutha behind, they hurried out in time to see a slim, dark-haired man in the rough tunic and wooden clogs of a farmer disappearing around a corner across the street. They hadn’t seen the young valet since Lord Orun’s death, but despite the incongruous clothing, Tobin was certain it was he.

Giving chase, Tobin caught up with the man and saw that he was right.

“It is you!” he exclaimed, catching him by the sleeve. “Why did you run away?”

“Hello, Prince Tobin.” Bisir was still pretty and soft-spoken, and had that same startled hare look about him, but he was thinner, too, and ruddy as a peasant. “Forgive me. I saw you go in there and couldn’t help wanting a better look at you. It’s been a long time. I didn’t think you’d remember me, really.”

“After that winter at the keep? Of course we do!” Ki laughed. “Koni still asks about you now and then.”

Bisir blushed and rubbed his hands together nervously, the way he used to. They were brown and callused, with dirt under the nails. Looking at them, Tobin realized that the former valet was ashamed to be seen like this.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Mistress Iya brought me here after—after the troubles in Ero. She said you told her to look after me, but that I wasn’t to trouble you. That it would reflect badly on you to be associated with anyone from that household.” He gave Tobin a self-deprecating shrug. “She was right, of course. She found me a place in a dairyman’s household, just outside the town. And I’m much happier here.”

“No, you’re not. You’re miserable,” said Tobin, sizing him up at a glance. Iya must have dumped him at the first likely-looking place.

“Well, it is quite a change,” Bisir admitted, staring down at his muddy clogs.

“Come back to the castle with me. I’ll speak to Lytia for you.”

But Bisir shook his head. “No, Mistress Iya said I mustn’t go there. She was very strict and made me swear, my prince.”

Tobin let out an exasperated sigh. “All right then, what would you rather do?”

Bisir hesitated, then looked up shyly. “I’d like to train as a warrior.”

“You?” Ki exclaimed.

“I don’t know—” Tobin couldn’t think of anyone less suited to arms than Bisir. “You’re a bit old to be starting,” he added, to spare the man’s feelings.

“Perhaps I can be of some help, my prince,” an old woman in a long grey cloak said.

Tobin glanced at her in surprise; he hadn’t noticed her standing there. She looked a bit like Iya somehow, and he thought she must be a wizard until she showed them the intricate dragon circles on her palms. She was a high priestess of Illior. He’d never met one not wearing the silver mask before.

She smiled as if she knew his thoughts. Pressing her hands to her heart, she bowed to Tobin. “I am Kaliya, daughter of Lusiyan, chief priestess of the temple here in Atyion. You don’t recognize me, of course, but I’ve seen you many times, there and around the town. If you’ll forgive an old woman’s meddling, I think I might be able to suggest a more suitable situation for your young friend here.” She took Bisir’s hand and closed her eyes. “Ah, yes,” she said at once. “You paint.”

Bisir blushed again. “Oh, no—Well, a little, when I was a child, but I’m not very good.”

Kaliya opened her eyes and regarded him sadly. “You must forget all your former master told you, my friend. He was a selfish man, and had his own uses for you. You do have the gift, and it’s far more likely to come out with training than swordplay. A friend of mine is a maker of fine manuscripts. Her shop is in Temple Square and I believe she’s seeking an apprentice. I’m sure your age would be of no consequence to her.”

Bisir stared down at his dirty hands for a moment, as if he didn’t quite recognize them. “You really saw that in me? But Mistress Iya?” Hope and doubt warred in Bisir’s eyes as he looked imploringly at Tobin.

He shrugged. “I’m sure she won’t mind, as long as you stay out of the castle.”

But Bisir still hesitated. “This is so sudden. So unexpected. I don’t know what Master Vorten will say. There’s the winter forage to bring in and the muck to spread. I’m to help build the new stalls, too—” His chin was trembling now.

“Oh, don’t take on like that!” Ki said, trying to cheer him. “Your master can’t very well say no to Tobin, can he?”

“I suppose not.”

“He won’t say no to me, either,” the priestess said, taking Bisir’s arm. “There’s no need to trouble the prince with this. We’ll go speak with Vorten and my friend, Mistress Haria, right now. She’ll make you work, but I believe I can promise you no more muck spreading.”

“Thank you, my lady. And thank you, my prince!” Bisir exclaimed, kissing their hands. “Who would have imagined, when I followed you in there—?”

“Run along home, now,” Kaliya told him. “I’ll be along shortly.”

Bisir clattered away in his clogs. Kaliya laughed as she watched him go, then turned to Tobin and Ki. “Who would have imagined?” she said, echoing Bisir. “Who, indeed, would have imagined that a prince of Skala would cross the street to help a dairyman’s laborer?”

“I knew him in Ero,” Tobin explained. “He was kind to me, and tried to help me.”

“Ah, I see.” Her smile was as enigmatic as a silver mask; Tobin couldn’t read this face at all. “Well, if the Scion of Atyion should ever be in need of help, I hope you will remember me. May the Lightbearer’s blessings be on you both.” With that she bowed and went on her way.

Ki shook his head as she disappeared into the market day crowd. “Well, that was damned strange!”

“A bit of good luck, I’d call it,” Tobin said. “I’m glad we found Bisir again. A dairyman? Can you imagine?”

Ki laughed. “Or a warrior? It’s a good thing for him that woman happened along when she did.”

Despite Tobin’s status among the townspeople, Duke Solari continued to play host in the hall at night, and managed all the estate business.

“Hosting a court is an expensive undertaking,” he told Tobin one night. “But don’t worry. We’ll recoup the loss by taxing the inns and taverns.”

There were taxes for using the roads and the seaport at the mouth of the river, as well, and each noble was charged for housing their own retinue and guards inside the castle.

Still torn between loyalty and distrust of his father’s former liegemen, Tobin consulted Tharin, who in turn steered him to Lytia and Hakone.

“Oh yes, it’s always done this way,” Hakone assured him as they sat around the old steward’s hearth one night. “The lord of the estate—that being you in this case—gains honor by hosting the king, but he foots the bill, too, and passes it down to the town. You needn’t worry, though. If the duke didn’t collect a copper from the tolls and taxes, the treasuries of Atyion could withstand a good many royal visits.” He paused and looked up at Lytia. “Why, he’s never seen it, has he?”

“Is there a lot of gold?” asked Tobin.

“Mountains of it, I always heard!” Ki exclaimed.

“Very nearly.” Lytia chuckled. “I’d show you, but that’s one key I don’t have.” She rattled the heavy chain at her girdle. “You’ll have to ask your uncle or the duke about that. Tharin, see that he does ask. It’s not just coin, Prince Tobin. There are the spoils of battles all the way back to the Great War and beyond, and gifts from a dozen queens.”

“Get him to show you, Tob,” Ki urged. “And make sure I get to come along!”

The next day Tharin spoke to Solari, and Tobin invited all the Companions to tour the treasury.

It was located deep under the west tower, and dozens of armed men and three sets of ironbound doors guarded it.

“We’ve kept it all safe for you, my prince,” the captain of the watch told Tobin proudly. “We’ve just been waiting for you to come home and claim it.”

“When he’s of age,” Solari murmured, as they started down the steep stairs. He smiled as he said it, but Tobin noted the remark.

Just then Ringtail appeared out of nowhere and darted between Solari’s feet. He staggered, then kicked at the cat. Ringtail hissed and clawed at his foot, then ran back the way he’d come.

“Damn that creature!” Solari exclaimed. “That’s the third time he’s done that today. I nearly broke my neck coming down to the hall this morning. And he pisses in my bedchamber, too, though how he gets in I don’t know. The steward should have him drowned before he kills someone.”

“No, my lord,” said Tobin. “Lady Lytia says the cats are sacred. I won’t have any of them harmed.”

“As you wish, my prince, but I must say, there are more than enough of the creatures about.”

Lytia’s description had done nothing to prepare Tobin for the sight that greeted them as the final door swung open. It was not one huge room but a whole maze of them. Gold there was in plenty, and silver too, in leather bags stacked like sacks of oats. But this was not what made Tobin’s eyes pop. Room after room was filled with armor, swords, tattered banners, jeweled harnesses and saddles. One held nothing but golden cups and platters, shelves of them shining in the torchlight. In the middle of it a huge double-handled vessel stood on a velvet-draped trestle. It was large enough to bathe a small child in and decorated under the rim with writing that Tobin did not recognize.

“It’s the old tongue, the language spoken in the courts of the first hierophants!” Nikides exclaimed, pushing in between Tanil and Zusthra for a better look.

“I suppose you can read it,” sneered Alben.

Nikides ignored him. “It’s what they called an endless inscription, I think. One that creates magical powers or blessings when a priest reads it.” He had to walk around the vessel to see all the words. “I think it starts here—The tears of Astellus on the bosom of Dalna sprout the oak of Sakor that stretches its arms to Illior’s moon that brings down the tears of Astellus on the—’ Well, you see what I mean. It was probably used in a temple of the Four to catch rainwater for ceremonies.”

Tobin grinned, happy to see his friend shine. Nikides might not be the greatest swordsman, but no one could best him at learning. Even Solari took a second look at the vessel. For a moment Tobin saw his Protector’s face mirrored in the curved golden surface, distorted into a yellow, greedy mask. He glanced at the man, feeling the same uneasy chill that he had the day Brother whispered his accusations. But Solari looked no different and seemed genuinely pleased to show Tobin his inheritance.

Despite the king’s duties, Erius still made time to hunt and hawk and visit the horse breeders with the boys, and had them at his table every night. Tobin continued to wrestle with his own heart. The more he saw of his uncle, the less of a monster he seemed. He joked and sang with them, and was free with gifts and rewards after the hunts.

They feasted every night, and Tobin couldn’t imagine where so much food and drink could come from. Lines of wagons rumbled up the roads every day and Solari had to send out crews to keep the roads mended. He took the boys out to see the progress: The roadways were still soft from the spring rains, so the soldiers laid logs down crossways to the road, drove stakes to keep them tightly in place, then sent carts loaded with stones to pack them down.

Every day seemed to bring some new diversion, and Tobin slowly grew used to the idea that this great castle, its riches and lands all belonged to him. Or would someday, at least. The court business was interesting, but Tobin still felt most at home in Hakone’s room or wandering among the soldiers in the castle’s enormous barracks yards. He always found a warm welcome there.

Iris and hag sorrel were tall in the ditches, and foals and spring lambs gamboled in the fields as the king’s column set off for Ero at the fortnight’s end.

Korin and the Companions rode with the king for a while, discussing hawking and the best hunts they’d had. But Erius’ mind was already in the city and he was soon conducting business on horseback, listening to petitions read out by mounted scribes. Bored, the boys fell back and left him to it.

Someone back in the ranks started a ballad and soon the whole column joined in. It was an old one, from the time of the Great War, and told of a general who’d died defeating the Plenimaran necromancers. The song ended, and talk turned to dark magic. None of the boys had any real knowledge of such matters, but they’d all heard lurid tales and eagerly shared them.

“My father told me a story passed down through all my grandfathers,” Alben said. “One of our ancestors led a force against a necromancer’s castle on an island near Kouros. It was fenced all around with the bodies of Skalan warriors, nailed up like scarecrows. Inside the castle, all the books were bound with human skin. The servants’ shoes and belts were made of it, and all the cups were made of skulls. We have one in the house treasury. Father says we should have exterminated every necromancer when we had the chance.”

They hadn’t seen Niryn all morning, but suddenly there he was, riding beside Korin. “Your father speaks wisely, Lord Alben. Necromancy has deep roots in Plenimar, and it’s growing stronger again. Their dark god demands innocent blood and flesh in his temples. The priests make a feast of it and their wizards use the bodies like the carcasses of cattle, just as you say. Their filthy practices have even come to our shores, and some wearing the robes of the Four secretly practice the red arts. Traitors, every one of them. You boys must be vigilant; their influence is a canker in the heart of Skala, and death is the only cure. They must be hunted down and destroyed.”

“As you and your Harriers do, my lord,” Alben said.

“Bootlicker,” Lutha muttered, then busied himself with his reins when the wizard’s hard brown gaze flickered momentarily in his direction.

“The Harriers serve the king, just as you boys do,” the wizard replied, touching his brow and heart. “The wizards of Skala must defend the throne from these foul traitors.”

He rode forward again, and Zusthra and Alben excitedly launched into the stories they’d heard of such executions. “They burn them alive,” said Zusthra.

“They only hang the priests,” Alben corrected. “They have a special magic for the wizards.”

“How can they do that?” Urmanis demanded. “They must catch only the weak ones. The strong ones could just use their own magic to escape.”

“The Harriers have their ways,” Korin told him smugly. “Father says that Niryn was gifted with binding magic in a vision from Illior and told to purify his kind for Skala’s sake.”

Word of the king’s progress went before them and every village was decked out to greet him. Bonfires blazed on hilltops and people lined the road, cheering and waving as they passed. It was no different when they reached Ero just before dusk of the second day. The whole city was ablaze with light and the north road was lined for half a mile out with well-wishers.

Erius happily acknowledged the welcome, waving and throwing fistfuls of gold sesters to the crowd. At the gate he saluted the carved emblems of the gods, then drew his sword and held it up for all to see. “In the name of Ghërilain and Thelátimos, my ancestors, and in the name of Sakor and Illior, our protectors, I enter my capital.”

This set off an ever-louder roar of acclaim. It rolled like a wave into the city. As the echoes died, Tobin could hear the distant cheering on the Palatine.

Inside the walls the streets were decked with banners, flags, and torches, and people had strewn the street with hay and sweet herbs to make the king’s way soft. Clouds of incense billowed up from every corner shrine and temple. People poured out of the shops and houses, gathered in the markets, hung from windows, calling out to the king and waving whatever they could find—hats, kerchiefs, rags, cloaks.

“Is the war over?” they cried. “Are you home for good?”

It was the same on the Palatine. Nobles decked in their finest clothes massed along the royal way, throwing flowers and waving red silk banners.

Reaching the New Palace, Erius dismounted in the garden and made his way through the happy throng, clasping hands and kissing cheeks. The Companions and officers followed in his wake and were cheered just as loudly.

At last they gained the palace steps, and the crowd beyond parted before them as the king strode to the audience chamber.

Tobin had been here once before, soon after he first came to Ero. Still a bumpkin then, he’d been awed by the huge pillared hall, with its grand fountains, colored windows, and huge shrines. Today, he could scarcely see any of it beyond the masses of people who filled the corridors.

Phalanxes of the King’s Guard formed a cordon between the dragon pillars, opening an arrow-straight concourse to the dais. The Harrier wizards flanked the stairs, a line of white against the red backdrop of the Guard. Lord Chancellor Hylus stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, dressed in full regalia. He bowed low as Erius approached and bade him welcome, as if he hadn’t seen him only a few days earlier in Atyion.

Niryn, the Companions, and the rest of the entourage took their places in the front rank before the dais, but Korin and Tobin followed the king.

“Just do as I do, but on the other side,” Korin had instructed him earlier.

Following his cousin’s lead, Tobin took his place behind the throne and stood at attention, left hand on his sword hilt, right fist over his heart.

The ceremonial cloak was still draped over the throne, as it had been throughout the king’s absence, and the tall, gem-studded crown rested on the seat. This crown was not a round circlet, but square, like a house with a fancy spire at each corner. When Erius reached the throne, noble equerries reverently lifted the square crown and bore it away on a large velvet cushion. Others draped the cloak over the king’s shoulders, fastening it at his shoulders with jeweled brooches. Tobin saw with an unpleasant start that one of the equerries was none other than Moriel the Toad. Solemn in his red tabard, Moriel finished with the brooch and took his place at the bottom of the dais stair. The other Companions had formed up just beyond and Ki shot Tobin a bemused look. The Toad gave no sign that he’d seen either of them.

Erius faced the throng and raised his sword again. “By the blood of my ancestors and the Sword of Ghërilain, I claim my throne!”

Everyone except Korin and Tobin sank to their knees, fists to hearts. From where Tobin stood it looked like a field of oats suddenly flattened by a strong wind. His heart gave a painful little hitch; no matter what Arkoniel or Lhel said, Erius was a true king, a warrior.

Erius took the throne and laid the sword across his knees.

“The Sword of Ghërilain has returned to the city. Our Protector has returned,” Hylus announced in a surprisingly loud voice for such a frail old man.

The cheer was so loud this time that it reverberated in Tobin’s chest. He felt the same exhilaration he’d experienced entering Atyion. This is what it is to be king, he thought.

Or queen.

22

The king’s return put an end to the Companions’ easy, insular life in the city. Erius wanted Korin with him at court nearly every day, and the Companions went with him.

Or half of them. Split already by age, they now found themselves further divided by blood and title. Tobin had slowly come to understand the subtle distinction between squire and noble, although the squires were the sons of noble families themselves. But now those distinctions were thrown into still sharper contrast. When Korin and the others went to court, the squires remained behind at their lessons at the Old Palace.

Tobin didn’t care much for this new arrangement, for it meant being separated from Ki.

He was walking through the Companions’ wing in search of him one afternoon not long after their return when he heard a woman sobbing somewhere nearby. Rounding a corner, Tobin saw a maid hurrying away down the corridor with her apron over her face.

Puzzled, he went on, only to hear more weeping as he approached his own door. Inside, his page Baldus was huddled sobbing in one of the armchairs. Ki stood over him, awkwardly patting his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Tobin exclaimed, hurrying over. “Is he hurt?”

“I just got here myself. All I’ve gotten out of him so far is that somebody’s dead.”

Kneeling, Tobin pulled the boy’s hands away from his face. “Who is it? Someone in your family?”

Baldus shook his head. “Kalar!”

The name meant nothing to Tobin. “Here, take my handkerchief and wipe your nose. Who was she?”

Baldus drew a hitching breath. “She brought the laundry around and changed the hallway rushes …” He dissolved into tears again.

“Oh, yes,” said Ki. “The pretty blond with the blue eyes who was always singing.”

Tobin knew who he meant. He’d liked her songs and she’d smiled at him. He’d never thought to ask her name.

They could get nothing more out of Baldus. Ki gave him some wine, then tucked him into the disused squire’s alcove to cry himself to sleep. Molay came in and set about his duties, but he was uncharacteristically silent and grim.

“Did you know this Kalar, too?” asked Tobin.

Molay sighed as he hung a discarded tunic in the wardrobe. “Yes, my prince. Everyone knew her.”

“What happened?”

The man pulled a few socks from under Tobin’s workbench and shook off the bits of wax and metal shavings. “She died, my lord.”

“We know that!” said Ki. “What happened to her? It wasn’t plague, was it?”

“No, thank the Light. It seems she was pregnant and miscarried last night. Word came a little while ago that she did not survive.” The man’s careful reserve gave way for a moment and he wiped at his eyes. “She was hardly more than a girl!” he exclaimed in a low, angry voice.

“That’s nothing unusual, losing a child early on like that, especially the first one,” Ki mused when Molay was gone. “Most don’t die of it, though.”

It was several days before the servants’ gossip made its way into the Companions’ mess. The child was rumored to have been Korin’s.

Korin took the news philosophically; after all, it had only been a bastard, and a servant’s child at that. Red-haired Lady Aliya, who’d been the focus of his attention for some time now, was the only one who seemed pleased with the news.

The girl was soon forgotten as the boys came to grips with another unpleasant development, and one that struck closer to home. Not only had Moriel somehow gotten appointed to the king’s retinue, but he was already a favorite.

Korin was no more pleased than Tobin was with this unexpected addition to his father’s household. Promotion had not improved the Toad’s manners, as far as they could see, but the king doted on him. A tall, pale, arrogant boy of fifteen now, Moriel stuck close to the king, always at hand, always obsequious.

His new duties frequently brought him into the Old Palace, as well, though equerries had seldom been seen there before. There was always some message to deliver or some object the king needed from one of the old wings. It seemed to Tobin that every time he turned around the Toad was disappearing around a corner, or hanging about with Mago and his friends among the squires. In that, he’d gotten his wish, after all, if only peripherally.

Korin detested him even more than anyone. “He’s in Father’s chambers more than I am!” he grumbled. “Every time I go there, there he is, smirking and fawning. And the other day, when Father was out of earshot, he called me by my first name!”

Things came to a head between the two boys a few weeks later. Tobin and Korin had gone to the king’s chamber to invite Erius to hunt and found their way blocked by Moriel. Instead of bowing them in, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“Go tell my father I wish to see him,” Korin ordered, already bristling.

“The king does not wish to be disturbed, Highness,” Moriel replied, his tone just short of rude.

Tobin watched his cousin size the other boy up. He’d never seen Korin really angry, but he was now.

“You will announce me at once,” he said in a tone that anyone would have been foolish to ignore.

To Tobin’s amazement, Moriel shook his head. “I have my orders.”

Korin waited the space of a heartbeat, then backhanded Moriel so hard that he went sprawling and slid several feet along the polished marble floor. Blood trickled down from his nose and a split lip.

Korin bent over him, shaking with fury now. “If you ever dare speak to me in such a tone again—if you fail to obey my command or forget to address me properly, I will have you impaled on Traitor’s Hill.”

With that he wrenched his father’s door open and strode inside, leaving Moriel cowering. Tobin might have pitied the boy, but the poisonous glare Moriel shot after Korin killed the sentiment.

From the antechamber, he could hear Korin raging to his father, and the murmur of the king’s amused reply. Entering the room, he found Niryn with them, standing just behind the king’s chair. He said nothing, but Tobin was certain he caught a hint of Moriel’s smirk in the wizard’s eyes.

Aside from these disruptions, the summer flowed on smoothly enough for a while. It was the hottest in memory and the countryside suffered. Petitioners at court brought tales of drought and wildfires, murrains and dry wells.

Standing by the throne each day, Tobin listened with interest and sympathy, but felt little touched by it, busy as he was with his new duties.

The noble Companions often served at the king’s table now, just as the squires served them. By right of birth, Tobin acted as their panter, cutting the different breads for each course. Korin was an expert carver, flashing the six kinds of knives skillfully about as he served up the meats. The other boys fell out by age and family, with hulking Zusthra as butler and Orneus making a clumsy job of mazer, despite all Lynx’s attempts to train him. The second time he slopped wine on the king’s sleeve he was summarily demoted to almoner and Nikides took charge of the king’s cup.

Afternoon arms practice and their lessons with old Raven continued in spite of the heat, but the mornings were spent at the audience chamber. Korin and Tobin sat next to the king. Hylus and the others stood just behind them, often for hours at a time. Erius began consulting Korin on the smaller matters, letting him decide the fate of a miller found to be short measuring, or an alewife selling sour brew for good. The king even allowed him to try some of the lesser criminals and Tobin was surprised at how quick his cousin was to mete out floggings and brandings.

With the exception of Nikides, the other boys found attending court tedious duty. Even with its high, pillared roof and tinkling fountains, the throne room was like an oven by noon. But Tobin found it fascinating. He’d always had a knack for reading faces and now he had an endless assortment to study. Soon he could almost see the thoughts forming as the petitioners cajoled, complained, or tried to curry favor. The tone of voice, the way a person stood, or where their gaze went as they spoke—all of it stood out like letters on a page. Liars fidgeted. Honest men spoke calmly. Scoundrels wept and carried on louder than the honest.

His favorite studies were not the Skalans, however, but the foreign envoys. Tobin marveled at the intricacies of diplomacy, as well as the visitors’ exotic clothing and accents. Mycenians were the most common, an earnest, hardheaded lot concerned with harvests, tariffs, and the defense of their borders. The Aurënfaie were the most diverse; there were dozens of different clans, each with their own distinctive headclothes and dealings.

One day the king received a half dozen men with swarthy skin and curly black hair. They wore long blue-and-black-striped robes of a type Tobin had never seen before, and heavy silver ornaments dangled from their ears. These, he was surprised to learn, were Zengati tribesmen.

Arengil and Tobin’s friends among the Aurënfaie craftsmen always spoke of Zengat with hatred or disdain. But, as Hylus later explained, the Zengati were as clannish as the ’faie, and some clans were more trustworthy than others.

The heat brought more than drought again that summer. From their secret rooftop practice ground, Tobin, Una, and the others could see great brown swaths marring the distant fields, where blight had destroyed the crops.

The summer sky was marred, as well. The Red and Black Death had broken out along the harbor outside the walls. Whole neighborhoods were burned flat and great columns of smoke hung over the water. To the west, a smaller column rose with darker urgency from the funeral grounds. Even people who’d died with no taint of plague on them were quickly disposed of.

Reports came from the inland towns of dead horses and oxen, and more disease. Erius ordered livestock and grain to be disbursed by the wealthy lords in each stricken district. Niryn’s Harriers hanged any who spoke of a curse on the land, but that did not stop the murmurs from growing. At the temples of Illior, the amulet makers had more business than they could keep up with.

Safe atop the Palatine, the Companions thought themselves untouched by such events until Porion forbade them to go farther into the city than Birdcatcher Street. Korin complained bitterly for days, cut off from his haunts in the harbor stews.

One thing they still had plenty of was wine, in spite of disapproving rumblings from the king. It flowed more freely than ever and even normally sensible Caliel began to show up for sword practice with red eyes and a sour demeanor.

Tobin’s set followed lead and drank their wine well watered. Thanks to this, they were generally the first up in the morning, and the first to learn that Korin’s squire was finding other places to sleep.

“What are you doing here?” Ruan demanded the first time they found Tanil curled in a blanket by the messroom hearth. He gave the older squire a playful nudge with his boot. Tanil usually answered such liberties by throwing the offender down and tickling him, signaling the others to pile on for an all-out wrestle. Instead, he stalked out without a word.

“Who pissed in his soup?” Ki muttered.

The others snickered, except for the crestfallen Ruan, who idolized Tanil.

“I wouldn’t be too chipper either, if I spent the night on the floor,” said Lutha. “Maybe he’s tired of Korin’s snoring.”

“Korin hasn’t been doing much snoring lately,” Ki confided. Living next door to the prince, he and Tobin had heard enough late night thumping and whispering to guess that Korin didn’t often go to bed alone.

“Well, I guess we know it’s not Tanil,” said Ruan.

“It never was!” Lutha scoffed. “No, Korin’s after another chambermaid.”

“I don’t think so,” Nikides mused later, trudging along beside them as they set off on the morning run. He’d gotten a bit more growth over the summer and lost most of his boyish fat, but he was still the slowest.

“What do you mean?” asked Ki, always eager for gossip.

Nikides looked ahead to make sure none of the older boys were in earshot. “I shouldn’t say anything—”

“You already have, blabbermouth. Tell!” Lutha urged.

“Well, when I was dining at Grandfather’s the other night, I overheard him saying something to my cousin the Exchequer about the prince and—” He looked ahead again, making certain Korin was still well ahead of them. “That he was—dallying with Lady Aliya.”

Even Ki was shocked. Servant girls were one thing, or other boys, even, but the noble girls were strictly kept.

Worse yet, none of them liked Aliya. She was pretty enough, but she had a mean, teasing way with everyone except Korin. Even Caliel avoided her when he could.

“Haven’t you noticed?” said Nikides. “She’s always with him, and from the way the maids have been sulking and moping, I’d say she’d pushed the rest of them out of his bed.”

“And Tanil,” Ruan reminded them.

Lutha let out a whistle. “Do you suppose he’s in love with her?”

Barieus laughed. “Korin in love? With his horses and hawks, maybe, but her? Bilairy’s balls, I hope not. Picture her as queen!”

Nikides shrugged. “You don’t have to love ’em to bed ’em.”

Lutha pretended to be shocked. “Is that any way for the Lord Chancellor’s grandson to talk? For shame!” He gave his friend a playful cuff on the ear.

The other boy yelped and swung at Lutha, who easily veered out of reach without breaking stride.

“You six, double time!” Porion shouted, falling out of the line to glare at them. “Or would you rather do a second round to build up your strength?”

“No, Master Porion!” Tobin called, and lengthened his stride, leaving Nikides to fend for himself.

“Nik’s right, you know. Just look at him,” said Ki. Korin was loping at the head of the pack, dark eyes sparkling as he shared some joke with Zusthra and Caliel. “He’s too wild to give his heart away. All the same, though, if Aliya is his favorite now, she’ll be worse than ever!”

23

By late summer the city was unbearable. Many Palatine nobles fled to their country estates, and those who stayed built bathing pools. In the lower parts of the city, the weak and the elderly died by the dozens.

The king and Porion relented a bit with the boys. Released from court duties, the Companions rode in the wooded hills and bathed in the sea. The men of the princes’ guard were as grateful for this light duty as the Companions. At the pools and sea coves, everyone stripped off and swam. Soon they were all as brown as farmers, and Ki was the brownest of them all. He was starting to fill out like the older boys, too, Tobin couldn’t help but notice. He, on the other hand, was not.

Riding back through the city after an excursion in mid-Lenthin, Tobin was suddenly struck by the near silence. The streets were always quiet on these blistering days; most people stayed indoors to escape the heat and the stench. Even so, those who were about always cheered the prince’s banner as the Companions rode past. This morning had been no different, but now many looked away, or stared darkly after them. One man even spat on the ground as Korin passed.

“Has something happened?” Korin called out to a harness maker fanning himself on a crate in front of his shop. The man shook his head and went inside.

“What rudeness,” Zusthra exclaimed indignantly. “I’ll thrash the fellow!”

To Tobin’s relief, Korin shook his head and kicked his horse into a gallop.

They were within sight of the Palatine gate when someone threw a cabbage from the upper window of a house. It missed Korin’s head by inches and struck Tanil on the shoulder, knocking the squire from his horse.

Korin reined in furiously as the Companions closed ranks around him. “Search that house. Bring me the man who dares attack the king’s son!”

His captain, Melnoth, kicked the door down and stormed in with a dozen men. The rest formed a circle around the Companions, weapons drawn. Screams and the sound of breaking crockery soon came from inside.

A crowd gathered as Korin helped Tanil back into the saddle.

“I’m all right,” Tanil insisted, rubbing his elbow.

“You’re lucky it isn’t broken,” said Ki. “Why the hell is someone shying cabbages at us all of a sudden?”

The soldiers dragged three people from the house: an old man and woman, and a young fellow in the blue-and-white robes of an Illioran temple initiate.

“Which of you attacked me?” Korin demanded.

“I threw the cabbage!” the priest shot back, staring arrogantly up at Korin.

The prince was visibly taken aback by the man’s brazen vehemence. For a moment he looked more like a hurt child than an angry noble. “But why?”

The man spat on the ground. “Ask your father.”

“What’s this to do with him?”

Instead of answering, the young priest spat again, and began yelling, “Abomination! Abomination! Murders! You are killing the land—”

Captain Melnoth struck him on the head with his sword hilt and the man fell senseless to the ground.

“Is this your kin?” Korin demanded of the cowering elderly couple.

The toothless old man could only whimper. His wife wrapped her arms around him and looked imploringly up at Korin. “Our nephew, my prince, just in from the country to serve at the Dog Street temple. I had no idea he’d do such a thing! Forgive him, I beg you. He’s young …”

“Forgive?” Korin let out a startled laugh. “No, old mother, I don’t forgive such an act. Captain, take him to the Harriers and see that he’s questioned.”

The old woman’s wailing followed them as they rode on.

Erius made light of the incident that night as the boys feasted with him in his private courtyard. The squires served at table, assisted by a few of the king’s young men. Moriel was among them, and Tobin was amused to see how he was careful to stay out of Korin’s reach.

Niryn, Hylus, and a handful of other nobles dined with them. Everyone had heard of the incident with the young Illioran, of course, but had to have it again from Korin.

When he was done, Erius sat back and nodded. “Well, Korin, perhaps it’s time you see that it’s not all cheers and roses, ruling a great kingdom. There are traitors everywhere.”

“He called me an abomination, Father,” said Korin. The accusation had been eating at him all day.

“What else would you expect from an Illioran?” Niryn sneered. “I wonder sometimes that you let their temples remain open in the city, Majesty. Priests are the worst traitors of all, corrupting the simpleminded populace with their wives’ tales.”

“But what did he mean, telling me to ask you about it?” Korin persisted.

“If I may, my king?” asked Lord Hylus, looking grave. “The man’s remarks were most certainly in reference to the executions announced today.”

“Executions?” Korin turned expectantly to his father.

“Yes, that’s why I invited you here tonight, before this other unpleasantness occurred,” his father replied. “I’ve something special planned, my boys. Tomorrow night there’s to be a burning!”

Tobin felt cold despite the lingering heat of the day.

“A wizard burning?” Korin exclaimed, delighted. “We’ve been wanting to see one of those!”

Lynx leaned over Tobin’s shoulder to fill his cup. “Some of us have,” he muttered without much enthusiasm.

“Your father understands that you are no longer a child, my prince,” Niryn said with an obsequious smile. “It’s time you and your Companions witness the full power of Skalan justice. Thanks to your quick thinking this afternoon, we’ll have one more rope on the gibbet pole.”

“And you won’t have far to go to see it done,” the king said, comfortable over his wine and nuts. “The East Market is being cleared as we speak.”

“Then you mean to go forward with this, my king?” Hylus asked softly. “You will not reconsider?”

The chamber went silent.

Erius turned slowly to his chancellor, and Tobin recognized the sudden change in his uncle’s jovial countenance. It was the same look he’d given Tobin when he’d foolishly asked that Cirna be given to Ki’s father. This time Niryn did not intervene.

“I believe I made myself clear on the matter this morning. Do you have something more to say?” the king replied, his voice dangerously low.

Hylus looked slowly around the table, but no one would meet his eye. “Only to reiterate that such matters have always been dealt with outside the city walls. In light of today’s incident, perhaps Your Majesty should—”

Erius lurched to his feet, clutching his mazer in one upraised hand, ready to hurl it at the old man. His face had gone dark red and sweat beaded his brow. Caught behind the Lord Chancellor’s chair, Ruan clutched the empty alms basin to his chest. Hylus lowered his head and pressed a hand to his heart, but did not flinch.

Time seemed to stop for one awful moment. Then Niryn rose and whispered something in the king’s ear.

Erius slowly lowered the cup and slumped back in his chair. Glaring around at the table, he demanded, “Does anyone else object to the execution of traitors?”

No one spoke.

“Very well, then,” Erius said thickly. “The executions will proceed as I order. Where I order. Now if you will all excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

Korin rose to follow his father, but Niryn shook his head and accompanied the king himself. Moriel followed. Korin stared after them in silent outrage, cheeks flaming.

It was Hylus who broke this silence. “Ah, my prince, these are trying times. I should not have questioned your good father. I pray you will convey my apologies to him.”

“Of course, my lord.” Korin was still shaken, too.

Everyone rose to leave, but Tobin sat a moment longer, heart pounding in his ears. He’d grown complacent again, basking in his uncle’s favor. Tonight he knew he’d had a true glimpse of the man his mother had feared, the man who could in cold blood order the death of children.

24

“Traitors or not, I don’t like the feel of this,” Ki muttered as they finished dressing the following evening. “It’s bad business, killing priests. My dad used to say that’s what brought on all the famines and sickness there’ve been since the king—” Ki bit his tongue and looked quickly at Tobin to see if he’d offended him; the king was his uncle, after all. He kept forgetting that.

But Tobin was staring off with that distracted look he still sometimes got since his illness. Ki wasn’t sure if he’d even heard him.

Tobin tugged on his new surcoat and let out a troubled sigh. “I don’t know what to think, Ki. We’re pledged to fight all traitors against Skala, and I will! But the way the king looked at Hylus?” He shook his head. “I grew up with my mother’s madness. I know the look of it, and I swear that’s what I saw in the king’s eyes when he was shouting at that poor old man. And no one else said anything! They all acted like it was nothing. Even Korin.”

“If he is mad, who’d dare say anything? He’s still king,” Ki reminded him. “And what about Niryn? He looked pretty damn pleased, I thought.”

A soft knock came at the door and Nikides and Ruan slipped in. Ki noted with alarm that Nikides was close to tears.

“What’s wrong?” Tobin asked, guiding him to a chair.

Nikides was too overcome to answer.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” asked Ruan.

“No,” Ki replied. “What is it?”

Nikides found his voice then. “Grandfather is under arrest. For treason! For asking a question!” Nikides choked out, shaking with anger. “All Grandfather did was ask a question. You heard him. The king knows as well as anyone that there’s never been an execution inside the city walls, except—Well, you know.”

“Except during Queen Agnalain’s reign,” Ruan finished for him. “Begging your pardon, Prince Tobin, but your grandmother did some dark things.”

“You needn’t apologize to me. She was mad, just like my mother.”

“Don’t say that, Tob,” Ki begged. Her memory seemed to be on Tobin’s mind too much these days. “She never did anything like Mad Agnalain.” Or the king, he added silently.

“It can’t be true,” he said to Nikides. “Chancellor Hylus is the wisest, most loyal man in Skala and everyone knows it. You know how rumors are.”

“But what if it is true?” Nikides fought back tears. “What if he’s executed with the others tonight? And—” He looked imploringly up at Tobin. “How could I just sit there and watch?”

“Come on. Korin will know, I bet,” said Tobin.

Tanil answered their knock. “Time to go already?” He had on his showiest armor but his boots were still unlaced.

“No, we need to speak with Korin,” Tobin replied.

Korin was standing before his long looking glass with his cuirass half-buckled. The Sakor horse charm Tobin had made for him swung against the gilded leather as Tanil wrestled with the stubborn buckles. Two valets, meanwhile, were laying out ceremonial cloaks and polishing the prince’s gold-chased helm.

Ki felt a pang of guilt, seeing all this. Tobin still dressed himself, and only let Ki help with the straps he couldn’t reach. As much as he admired Tobin’s simplicity, he sometimes wondered if he shouldn’t try to live a bit more like a royal.

Tobin explained Nikides’ concerns, but Korin only shrugged. “I’ve heard nothing of it, Nik. You mustn’t mind Father. You know how changeable he can be, especially when he’s weary. It’s this damn heat!” He turned back to the mirror to watch as Tanil draped his maroon-and-gold cloak over his shoulders. “But Hylus should know better than to question Father!”

Any son would stand up for his father, Ki knew; he’d done it often enough himself. All the same, there was an imperious note in Korin’s voice he’d been hearing more often lately and it left him uneasy. So did poor Nikides’ stricken look.

“I thought it was the Lord Chancellor’s role to advise the king,” Tobin said quietly.

Korin turned and ruffled his cousin’s hair. “An advisor must still show the proper respect, coz.”

Tobin started to say something, but Ki caught his eye and shook his head slightly. Nikides’ nervous glance told him he’d done the right thing, as well as just how much life at court had changed since the king’s return.

The Companions assembled in the mess for Master Porion’s inspection before going on to the New Palace. Tobin stayed close to Nikides as the others milled about.

Ki stood with them, but his eye was on Korin. The prince was in high spirits, chattering on with the older boys like it was some festival they were going off to. Some of them had seen hangings, but tonight wizards would be burned!

“I hear they turn black and shrivel up like a spider in the fire,” said Alben, clearly relishing the idea.

“I heard they explode into colored smoke,” Orneus countered.

“We’ll show ’em how traitors are served in Ero!” Zusthra declared, brandishing his sword. “Bad enough to have enemies over the water without worrying about vipers here at home.”

This was greeted with a hearty cheer.

“Wizards are the most dangerous sort of traitor, with their magic and free ways,” Orneus declared, and Ki guessed he was quoting something he’d heard his father say.

“Rogue priests are the next worst, like that bastard who attacked Korin,” Urmanis chimed in. “And these damn Illiorans who still claim that only a woman can rule Skala? It’s like shitting on all the victories King Erius has given them.”

“My father says all Illiorans still secretly believe that,” said Alben. “Bunch of ingrates! King Erius saved this land.”

Lynx was quiet, Ki noted. That was nothing unusual, but Ki had heard him mention having an uncle who was a wizard and guessed he was more troubled than he let on. Maybe, like Nikides, he was scared of seeing a familiar face tonight.

“Wizards, priests—they’re all moonstruck,” Zusthra declared. “It’s Sakor who puts the strength in our arms.”

Porion strode in just then, looking like a thundercloud. Leaping up on a table, he shouted for their attention.

This was the first time Ki had seen the arms master in full armor. His cuirass was oiled and polished, but showed the scars of many battles, as did the great scabbard swinging at his side and the steel helmet he carried beneath his arm.

“Line up!” he barked, glowering around at them. “Listen to me now, boys, and listen well. It’s no pleasure jaunt we’re going on tonight, so I don’t want any more of that kind of talk. The servants can hear you at the other end of the corridor.”

He set his helmet down and folded his arms. “Traitors or not, the men and women who die tonight are Skalans, and some of them will have supporters in the crowd—friends, family, and the like. As you know, this is the first time in a long time that an execution has been held inside the city walls instead of at Traitor’s Hill. It’s not for me to say whether that’s wise or right, but I can tell you it’s not popular among some factions here in Ero. So keep your mouths shut, your eyes open, and your swords at the ready. You Companions are coming into your own tonight. What’s your purpose?”

“To guard Prince Korin!” Caliel replied.

“That’s right. You’ve all trained for this and tonight you could be called on to live up to your oath. We’re to ride before the king to the market and back, with king’s men flanking us. At the first sign of trouble, we close ranks around Korin and get him back here any way we can. The king’s men may help us, but the honor and duty are ours.”

“What about Father?” Korin demanded. “I’m not going to be carried off like baggage if he’s in danger!”

“The king will be well protected. Your task, my prince, is to stay alive to rule after him. So no heroics tonight, do you understand?” He held Korin’s eye until the boy nodded, then gave the rest of them a dark look. “And no more carrying on like a bunch of little girls on a picnic, either! This is solemn business.” He paused and rubbed at his grizzled beard. “And a risky one, too, if you ask me. Blood will be spilled in the capital tonight; the blood of priests. Whatever their crimes, it’s an unlucky thing, so stay sharp and be ready for trouble every inch of the way until we’re safe back here again.”

He jumped down from the table and began to sketch out a battle plan on the floor with a bit of chalk. “I’m the most concerned about the market square; that’s where the crowd will be thickest, and most contained. We’ll be here, before the platform at the center. Korin, you and the nobles will flank the king to his right. Squires, you’ll each sit your horse behind your lord and I want you to keep an eye on the crowd while the others are watching the executions. If the worst happens, you stay with Korin and we’ll fight our way back to the gate. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, Master Porion!” they answered with one voice.

He paused again, looking around at them. “Good. And it’s rule of war tonight. Anyone who panics and deserts the prince, I’ll kill myself.”

“Yes, Master Porion!” Ki shouted with the others, knowing it was no idle threat.

As they filed out he gave Tobin’s wrist a quick, furtive squeeze. “Ready?”

Tobin glanced at him, perfectly calm. “Of course. You?”

Ki nodded, grinning. He wasn’t scared either, but swore secretly that if trouble did come, his first concern would not be for Korin.

A yellow full moon hung over the city, painting a rippling golden path across the face of the harbor below. The air was dead still, as if the whole city was holding its breath. No sea breeze cut the fetid summer smell of the streets. Ki’s torch hardly flickered as they rode slowly along. The tall stone buildings that lined the high street gave back the clatter of hooves and the mournful throbbing of the drums.

Tobin rode beside Korin and Porion, of course, which put Ki just behind them with Caliel, Mylirin, and Tanil. All the squires carried torches. The King’s Guard flanked them and brought up the rear. Ki was glad of the line of red tunics to either side. Tonight he felt the full weight of the responsibility that underlay all their training and banquets and mock battles.

Looking back, he could just see the king over the heads of the other Companions. The torchlight turned Erius’ crown to a wreath of fire around his brow, and glanced from his upraised sword.

“He looks like Sakor himself, doesn’t he?” Mylirin whispered admiringly, following Ki’s gaze.

Ki nodded, distracted by a flash of silver and white beside the king. Lord Niryn rode at the king’s side like a general.

The crowds outside the Palatine had been smaller than they’d expected, and quiet. Passing through a neighborhood populated mostly by Aurënfaie nobles and rich merchants, however, Ki looked around nervously. It was not late, but hardly a light showed.

A herald rode ahead of the main column, calling out, “The king’s justice will be served. Long live King Erius!”

A few bystanders returned the call, but others faded back into shadowed doorways, watching their progress in silence. Looking up, Ki saw people watching them from their windows. He braced for more cabbages, or worse.

“Priest killer!” a lone voice shouted from the darkness. Ki saw several of the guards look around for the dissident, and a sense of unreality swept over him. These streets he’d ridden so freely suddenly felt like enemy territory.

Tobin and Korin rode at saddle attention, stiff as a pair of pokers, but Tobin was glancing around, alert to any threat. Ki wished he could see his friend’s face, read in those blue eyes what Tobin thought of all this, for suddenly he was more aware than he ever had been of the gulf that separated them—not of wealth, but of blood and history and position.

The crowds were thicker near the East Market. Many held up torches to light the king’s way and Ki scanned their faces: some looked sad, others smiled and waved. Here and there he saw people weeping.

Ki tensed, sweeping the crowd now for the glint of a blade or curve of a bow. He shivered with a mix of relief and dread as the gate finally come into sight ahead of them. He could already hear the sounds of a huge crowd.

This was the largest square in the city. Located halfway between the Palatine and the harbor, it was surrounded on three sides by tall buildings, including a theater the Companions had often patronized. The paved square sloped to the east and was bounded on that side by a low stone parapet overlooking a small wooded park and the harbor below.

Ki hardly recognized the place tonight. All the stalls had been cleared away and people stood shoulder to shoulder except for a processional way kept clear by Niryn’s grey-backs. Even the shrine of the Four was gone. That, even more than the sight of all those Harrier guards, gave him a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

At the center of the square a broad, banner-draped platform rose like an island above the sea of faces. It was guarded on all sides by ranks of grey-backs armed with hand axes and swords. Eight white-robed wizards stood waiting there. Torches set at the four corners illuminated their silver-stitched robes, and the two large wooden frames looming just behind them.

They look like upended bedsteads, or doorways with no walls around them, thought Ki, already guessing their purpose from the stories he’d heard. Just behind them loomed a more familiar device: the stark frame of a gibbet. Ladders were propped ready against the crossbeam and Ki counted fifteen halters hanging ready.

A crowd of ministers and nobles sat their horses in the cleared space in front of the platform and Ki was glad to see Lord Hylus among them. No doubt Nikides was breathing a sigh of relief, too, though the old man looked to have aged ten years since the night before.

The crowd fell silent at the king’s approach. The only sounds were the drums and the sound of hooves on the cobblestones.

Korin and the Companions lined on the king’s right, as ordered. Taking his place just behind Tobin, Ki steadied Dragon and rested his hand on his sword hilt.

Niryn dismounted and followed the herald onto the platform. The drummers ceased their playing and for a moment Ki could hear the sea. The Harrier wizards bowed low to the king, then formed up in a semicircle behind their master.

“Witness, all you who have gathered here, the sacred justice of the king!” cried the herald. “By order of King Erius, Heir of Ghërilain, Holder of the Sword, and Protector of Skala, these enemies of Skala will be put to death before this gathering and the Four. Know that they are traitors against the throne and all lawful people.”

Some cheered this proclamation, but most only murmured among themselves in low voices. In the distance someone shouted angrily, but he was quickly drowned out by other voices.

The herald unrolled a scroll heavy with seals and read out the names of the condemned and the charges against them. The fourth was the young priest who’d thrown the cabbage. His name was Thelanor and he was charged with treason, sedition, and assault against the person of the Prince Royal. He’d already been branded across the mouth with the traitor’s T, the mark of a heretic priest. Guards on the far side of the platform hoisted the bound prisoners into the waiting arms of the hangmen.

The condemned wore long sleeveless tunics of coarse, unbleached muslin. There were a few women among them, but most were men and boys. Most bore the traitor’s brand on their foreheads and all were gagged. Only two others, an old man and woman with grey hair and thin, wrinkled faces, were branded on the mouth like Thelanor. They held their heads high as the guards pushed them to the ladders.

Ki had gone with his family to see thieves and brigands hanged in Colath. The crowds had roared for blood and pelted them with whatever came to hand. Ki and his brothers and sisters had thought it great fun, scavenging stones and rotten apples to throw. His father had given them a copper groat for each hit to spend later at the sweet seller’s booth.

Ki looked around with growing unease. Only a few people threw things and he didn’t see many children at all, except for those standing under the gibbet. One of the boys looked so much like his brother Amin that Ki almost called out to him in alarm before he heard the stranger’s name read.

The drummers beat out a quick tattoo. Soldiers braced the ladders against the gibbet beam and, one by one, the prisoners were forced up to the halters. A cheer went up from the other Companions as the first man was pushed off to jerk at the rope’s end.

Korin brandished his sword, shouting “Death to Skala’s enemies! Long live the king!”

The others were quick to do the same and none quicker than eager Orneus. Ki was sure he saw the boy look to see if Korin was watching him and despised him for it.

Tobin had drawn his sword with the rest, but didn’t wave it about or cheer. Ki couldn’t muster much enthusiasm, either.

The second man struggled and cried and had to be pried free of the ladder. This panicked some of the other prisoners and for a moment it looked as if the soldiers might have to force them all.

The crowd was warming up now, and a flurry of rotten vegetables rained down on the condemned and their guards.

A woman was the next hanged, and then it was young Thelanor’s turn. He tried to shout something through his gag, but no one could have heard him over the noise anyway. In the end he went to his death like a man, leaping off the ladder before the guards could push him.

A few of the remaining prisoners had to be forced up, but most of them must have been braver, or shamed by the priest’s example. One man made the warriors’ salute as best he could with his bound hands and flung himself off. The jeering of the crowd failed for an instant, then redoubled as the next man clung to the rungs, struggling and pissing himself as the guards beat him about the head. The young boys and women went more quietly.

The old priests’ turns came last. They didn’t hesitate, except to raise their bound hands to their hearts and brows before they climbed the ladders. This impressed even the lowest sort in the crowd and no one threw anything at them. Both tumbled off the ladders without struggle or protest.

The crowd was almost silent now. Ki thought he heard weeping. The old people had died quickly, their frail necks snapping like dry sticks. But the women and children were light and the warriors had necks like bulls; most struggled hard and long before Bilairy claimed them. Ki had to force himself to watch, not wanting to shame Tobin by turning away. Usually hangmen gave the strugglers a good yank on the legs to put them out of their misery, but no one helped them tonight.

When it was finally over the drumming resumed with a sharper, faster rhythm. A large, high-sided cart rumbled into the square, pulled by a pair of black oxen and surrounded by ranks of grey-backs with shields and upright swords. Six Harrier wizards stood in the back of the cart, facing inward with their arms linked.

No one dared throw anything at them, but an ugly muttering swelled to screams of anger and outrage. Ki shivered, feeling the sudden fury like a wave of nausea. But whether it was the Harrier wizards or their unseen prisoners who were jeered, he could not tell.

Tobin had never seen an execution before and it had taken all his willpower tonight not to kick Gosi into a gallop and flee. What little dinner he’d managed roiled and burned at the base of his throat and he swallowed convulsively, praying Korin and Porion would not see his weakness. None of the others seemed to be bothered by the spectacle; Korin was acting like this was the finest entertainment he’d ever seen, and shared whispered bets with some of the others on which of the hanged prisoners would last the longest.

As the cart reached the platform a sudden, irrational fear overwhelmed Tobin. What if it was Arkoniel they pulled out, or Iya? Gripping the reins so tight his fingers ached, he watched as two naked prisoners were dragged from the cart.

It’s not them! he thought, dizzy with relief. Both were men and neither was hairy like Arkoniel. There was no reason to think that it would have been him, he realized, but for an instant the possibility had seemed all too real.

Both men had elaborate patterns painted in red on their chests, and iron masks strapped over their faces. These were featureless except for slanting slits where the eyes and nose would be and gave the prisoners an evil, inhuman appearance. Metal shackles bound their wrists.

The guards forced them to their knees and Niryn stepped behind them, raising his hands above their heads. He’d always struck Tobin as rather bookish, but now he seemed to swell and grow taller, looming over the condemned.

“Behold the enemies of Skala!” he cried in a voice that carried to the farthest corners of the square. He waited until the renewed roar died away, then went on, “Behold these so-called wizards, who would overthrow the rightful ruler of Skala. Witches! Blighters of crops and flocks, preachers of sedition, these storm bringers call down lightning and fire on the innocent people of their villages. They defile the sacred name of Illior with perverse magics and threaten the very safety of our land!”

Tobin shuddered; these were charges of the most serious nature. Yet as he looked at the condemned wizards, it struck him how helpless and ordinary they looked. It was hard to imagine them hurting anyone.

Niryn pressed both hands to his brow and heart, then bowed low to the king. “King Erius, what is your will?”

Erius dismounted and climbed up to join him. Facing the crowd, he drew Ghërilain’s sword and planted the tip between his feet, hands folded over the hilt. “Cleanse the land, loyal wizards of Skala,” he cried. “Protect my people!”

No soldier stepped forward. Instead, Harrier wizards dragged the condemned to the upright frames. Three stood a little apart, chanting steadily as the prisoners were loosed from their shackles and quickly bound spread-eagle to the frames with silver ropes.

One of them seemed drugged or ill. His legs would not support him and he had to be held upright as he was lashed into place. The other one was not so passive. Just as the wizards reached to tie his hands, he suddenly twisted loose and staggered forward. Raising his hands to his face, he let out a muffled scream and the iron mask shattered in a cloud of smoke and sparks. Blood spattered the robes of the closest wizards. Tobin watched in horrified fascination, unable to look away. The man’s bloody face was horribly torn, and twisted with agony. Shattered teeth showed in a defiant snarl as he raised his fists at the crowd, screaming, “Fools! Blind cattle!”

The wizards grappled with him, but the man fought wildly, throwing them off. “Your reckoning will come!” he shouted, pointing at the king. “The True Queen is at hand. She is among us already—”

He jerked away as another wizard seized him and suddenly he was staring straight down at Tobin.

Tobin thought he saw a spark of sudden recognition in those crazed eyes. A strange tingling sensation spread over him as they stared at each other, locked eye to eye, for what felt like a long time.

He sees me! He sees my real face! Tobin thought numbly as something like joy came into the man’s eyes. Then the others were on him again, dragging him back.

Freed from that gaze, Tobin looked around in panic, wondering if the crowd would let him flee if Niryn denounced him. From the corner of his eye he saw the wizard and king standing apart from the scuffle, but didn’t dare look directly at them. Were they staring at him? Had they understood? When he finally chanced a look, however, both were watching the execution proceed.

The Harrier wizards hauled the struggling man back by his arms and hair, yanking his head down so that another could gag him.

“Lightbearer will not be mocked!” he managed as they forced a loop of the silver rope between his teeth. Even then he kept fighting. Transfixed, Tobin didn’t notice the king move until he’d plunged the Sword of Ghërilain into the man’s belly.

“No!” Tobin whispered, horrified to see that honorable blade stained with a prisoner’s blood. The captive thrashed once, then crumpled forward as Erius withdrew the blade.

The wizards held the man upright and Niryn pressed his hand to the man’s brow. Still alive, the prisoner spat at him, leaving another red stain on his white robes. Niryn ignored this insult and began to chant softly.

The prisoner’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and his legs gave way. After that it was a simple matter to bind him into place on the frame.

“Proceed,” Erius ordered, calmly wiping his blade clean.

With order restored, the wizards formed a circle around the frames and began a new chant. It grew louder and louder until white flames, brighter than anything Tobin had ever seen blossomed over the condemned men’s bodies. There was no smoke, and none of the stench that sometimes wafted into the city from the burning grounds outside the walls. The doomed wizards struggled for a few seconds, then were consumed as quickly and completely as a moth’s wing in a candle flame. Within a few seconds nothing remained of them but their charred hands and feet, still hanging in the silver bonds at the corners of the scorched wooden frame.

The searing brightness left dark spots before Tobin’s eyes. He tried in vain to blink them away as he stared at the frame on the left, remembering that look of recognition he’d glimpsed in the man’s pain-wracked face. Then the world was tilting crazily around him. The square, the jeering crowd, the pathetic, shriveled scraps on the frames, it all disappeared and Tobin was staring instead at a gleaming golden city set on a high cliff above the sea.

Only Ki was close enough to hear Tobin’s faint cry as he slumped slowly over Gosi’s neck, and he didn’t understood the single word Tobin gasped out, nor would Tobin remember it for a long time.

“Rhiminee!”

No one, not even Niryn, noticed a tiny charred pebble lying among the ashes of the wizards.

Twenty miles away, under that same yellow moon, Iya rested her head on a tavern tabletop, gasping as white fire filled her vision as it had that day in Ero. In it she made out another doomed face, twisted in agony. It was Kiriar. Kiriar of Meadford. She’d given him a talisman that night in the Wormhole.

The pain passed quickly, but left her badly shaken. “O Illior, not him!” she moaned. Had they tortured him, learned of the little band of wizards hidden away under their feet?

Slowly she became aware of the tavern noise around her.

“You’ve hurt yourself.” It was a drysian. Iya had noticed her earlier, healing village children outside the shrine. “Let me tend to you, old mother.”

Iya looked down. The clay wine cup she’d been drinking from had shattered in her hand. The shards had cut her palm, crosshatching the faded scar Brother had given her the night she’d brought Ki to the keep. A sliver still jutted from the swell of flesh just below her thumb. Too weak to reply, she let the drysian wash and dress her wounds.

When she’d finished, the woman laid her hand on Iya’s head, sending a cool soothing energy through her. Iya smelled fresh green shoots and new leaves. The sweet tang of springwater filled her dry mouth.

“You’re welcome to sleep under my roof tonight, Mistress.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Better to sleep on Dalna’s hearth tonight, than here where too many curious idlers were still watching the crazy old woman to see what foolishness she’d do next. Better, too, to be with a healer if the awful pain returned. Who knew how many wizards Niryn might burn tonight?

The drysian helped her down the muddy street to a small cottage at the edge of the village and settled her on a soft bed by the fire. Names were neither asked for nor given.

Lying there, Iya was glad of the thick bands of protective symbols carved in the beams and the hanging bags of charms. Sakor might be at war with the Lightbearer in Skala, but the Maker still watched over all equally.

Despite that, Iya found little comfort that night. Every time sleep claimed her she dreamed of the sybil in Afra. The girl looked up at her with shining white eyes and spoke with the Lightbearer’s voice.

This must stop.

In the vision, Iya fell on her face before her, weeping.

25

Arkoniel had watched the Alestun road hopefully in the months since Iya’s visit. Spring had passed with no visitors. Summer burned the meadow brown, and still no one but tradesmen and Tobin’s messengers raised any dust above the trees.

It had been another blisteringly hot summer; even the valley around Alestun, spared the worst of the ongoing droughts for years, was struck. Crops withered in the fields and new calves and lambs died in the meadows. The river shrank to a gurgling stream between cracked, stinking expanses of mud and dead water plants. Arkoniel stripped to a linen kilt again and the women went about in their shifts.

Be was working in the kitchen garden late one afternoon in Lenthin, helping Cook dig the last of the yellowed leeks, when Nari shouted down to them from a second floor window. A man and a boy were coming up the road.

Arkoniel stood and brushed the dirt from his hands. “Do you know them?”

“No, it’s strangers. I’ll go.”

Watching from the gate, however, Arkoniel recognized the broad-set, grey-bearded man walking beside Nari, but not the little boy perched among the baggage on the sway-back horse the man led.

“Kaulin of Getni!” Arkoniel called, crossing the bridge to meet them. It had been ten years or more since he’d watched Iya give the man one of her pebble tokens. Kaulin had been solitary then. His little companion looked no older than eight or nine.

“Iya said I’d find you here,” Kaulin said, clasping hands with him. He gave the younger wizard’s stained kilt and sunburned chest a wry look. “Turned farmer, have you?”

“Now and then,” Arkoniel laughed. “You look like you’ve had some hard traveling.”

Kaulin had always been ragged, but it was the boy who concerned Arkoniel. He seemed healthy enough, and was brown as a trout, but he kept his gaze on the horse’s dusty withers as Arkoniel approached and he read more fear than shyness in those wide grey-green eyes.

“And who’s this, then?” asked Nari, smiling up at the child.

The boy didn’t look up or reply.

“Did a crow steal your tongue?” she teased. “I’ve got some nice cold cider in the kitchen. Would you like some?”

“Don’t be rude, Wythnir,” his master chided, when the child turned his face away. Grasping the back of the boy’s ragged tunic, Kaulin hoisted him down like a sack of apples. Wythnir promptly retreated behind the man’s legs and stuck a finger in his mouth.

Kaulin scowled down at him. “It’s all right, boy. You go with the woman.” When Wythnir didn’t move, he grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him none too gently to Nari. “Do as you’re told!”

“There’s no need for that,” Nari said tartly, taking the child’s hand. Then, more gently to the boy, “You come along with me, Wythnir. Cook has some lovely cakes baking and you shall have the largest one, with cream and berries. It’s been a long while since we’ve had a little boy to spoil.”

“Where did you meet with Iya?” Arkoniel asked, following with Kaulin. “I’ve had no word from her in months.”

“She found us up north a few weeks back.” Kaulin pulled a pouch from the neck of his tunic and shook out a small speckled stone. “Claimed she found me by this and told me to come here to you.” He looked around the tidy kitchen yard and his expression softened a little. “Said we’d be safe here.”

“We’ll do our best,” Arkoniel replied, wondering what Iya expected him to do if Niryn and his Harriers were the next ones up the road.

Like all those Iya would eventually send him, Kaulin had seen glimpses of chaos and a rising queen in his dreams. He’d also watched fellow wizards consigned to the Harrier’s fire.

“Your mistress won’t say what her purpose for us is, but if she stands against those white-robed bastards, then I’ll stand with her,” Kaulin declared, as he and Arkoniel sat in the shadowy hall after the evening meal. It was too hot still for even a candle, and so they made do with a light orb Arkoniel cast in the hearth.

Cook had made up a bed for Wythnir upstairs, but the boy silently refused to be parted from his master. Arkoniel hadn’t heard him speak all afternoon.

Kaulin looked down sadly at the child curled asleep on the reeds. “Poor lad. He’s had reason enough not to trust strangers, these past few months.”

“What happened?”

“We were up in Dimmerton, back at the end of Nythin. Stopped at an inn there, hoping to earn our supper. One young fellow in particular was taken with my tricks, and stood me a jug of good wine.” He clenched a fist angrily against his knee. “It was strong, and perhaps fortified with something else, for next thing I know I’m running off at the mouth about the Afran Oracle and how I thought the king had brought the plagues on by ignoring it. He was agreeable to my opinions and we parted friends, but that night a maidservant woke me, saying a mob was coming for us and we’d better run for it.

“I wasn’t so fuddled I couldn’t fend off a pack of drunken wizard baiters, but who should be leading them but my drinking companion? Only now he wore the Harrier’s robe. There was only one, thank the Light, but he managed to give me this mark before we got free of him.” He pushed back his sleeve, showing Arkoniel a livid, puckered scar that ran the length of his forearm.

Arkoniel’s heart sank. “Did you tell him anything of the visions?”

“No, that’s locked safe away in my heart. Only you and Iya have heard me speak of—” Kaulin hesitated and cast a furtive look around. “Of her.” Kaulin pushed his sleeve down and sighed. “So, what are we to do here? We’re not so far from Ero that the Harriers might not find us again.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Wait and keep each other safe, I guess.”

Kaulin said nothing to this, but Arkoniel could see by the way he glanced around that he wasn’t reassured by this vague battle plan.

Later, Arkoniel sat at his window and watched the moonlight glimmering on the river. Kaulin had been halfway up the hill before anyone had noticed him. The day Orun’s men had come thundering up the road to demand Tobin, his only warning had been a cloud of dust above the trees, and that had given them little enough time. Without Tobin here, he’d grown lazy.

Now there was even more reason for vigilance. Sheltering wizards who fled the king’s Harriers was a far riskier undertaking than guarding a child whom no one was yet seeking.

26

In the weeks following the execution, none of the Companions dared speak openly about the king’s frightening outburst or the fact that he’d killed a bound man with his sword. Tobin’s fainting fit was another matter, however.

The king had been furious that a member of his own family would mar the event with such a show of weakness. Ki was quick to point out that Tobin hadn’t actually fallen all the way off his horse, though he’d come close to it. By the time Ki got to him Tobin had already righted himself, but people had seen and the damage was done. By the following day it was the talk of the Palatine, at least behind upraised hands.

The more charitable gossips had put it down to Tobin’s youth and sheltered upbringing; others were not so kind. Though none of the Companions dared tease Tobin to his face, or say anything in front of Korin, more than once Ki caught Alben and his friends pantomiming a girlish swoon behind Tobin’s back

The worst of it for Ki was Tobin’s silence with him. Clearly, he was too shamed to speak of it, even to his friends, and Ki hadn’t the heart to pry. The burning had been an awful business and he’d come close to puking up dinner himself.

Better to say nothing and just forget it for now, he told himself.

A few weeks after the execution, he and Tobin were heading into the messroom when they caught a bit of conversation from inside that put a knot in Ki’s gut.

“Between that, and how he reacted to Lord Orun’s death?” That was Alben speaking, spiteful as always. And there was no question of whom he was speaking.

Tobin halted, just outside the door and shrank back against the wall to listen. Ki wanted to haul him away before he heard any more, but knew better than to attempt it; Tobin had gone pale. From where he stood Ki could just see half the room, and some of the people loitering there. Alben was leaning at ease against the long table, holding forth to Zusthra and Urmanis. Korin and Caliel must not be around, Ki guessed, or Alben wouldn’t dare talk that way about Tobin.

“Oh, who cares about that?” Zusthra growled, and Ki’s spirits rose; Zusthra could be rough, but he was usually fair. But what he said next dashed any good feelings. “If he can’t take the sight of a bunch of traitors getting their due, what use will he be on the battlefield?”

This was too much. Ki strode in, fists clenched in front of him. “You shut your mouth!” he snarled, not caring that they were lords and he was only a squire. He’d take a beating before he’d let Tobin hear any more of this. When he glanced back, however, Tobin was gone.

Zusthra looked abashed, but the others snickered as Ki backed out again.

The incident was gradually eclipsed by other gossip and more pressing concerns.

Despite his hopeful words in Atyion, Erius still refused to send them out to fight. Every day it seemed there was some new report of brigands terrorizing the villages somewhere, or pirates striking out of the islands at the coast. But as the summer quickly faded, Erius would not consent to his son’s pleas to get them blooded.

Perhaps because of this, the older boys turned more often to the pleasures of the lower city, led, as always, by Korin.

The king’s return had done nothing to stem the prince’s drinking or his taste for low pleasures. According to Nikides, their conduit to court doings, Erius had winked at Porion’s reports, and said, “Let him sow his wild oats while he can!”

Judging by how often Tanil ended up sleeping in the mess or in the squire’s alcove in Tobin’s room, Korin had plenty of oats to sow, and eventually, a few of them sprouted. A few more chambermaids turned up pregnant, but were quickly banished from court. How many bastards Korin might have fathered on the harbor whores was not known, at least to the Companions.

Even in the aftermath of the execution shame, Korin’s regard for Tobin never wavered, but all the same, the older boys began to leave the younger ones behind more often when they went out at night.

If Tobin noticed or cared about this increasing division, he gave no sign of it, even to Ki. As the summer waned into a cooler autumn, Tobin and his friends kept up their secret sword practice with Arengil and Una’s warrior girls.

Nearly a dozen showed up most days, though Ki was certain most of them just liked dressing in boy’s clothes and sneaking about. Una, Kalis, and a girl named Sylani were the only ones who showed any real skill.

They met there a few days after Tobin’s thirteenth name day celebration. When Tobin and Ki arrived, they found the girls laughing among themselves. Una colored indignantly when one of them confessed that they’d been debating whether or not Tobin was old enough for marriage under the royal laws.

“Old enough for battle, that’s all I care about,” Tobin countered, blushing furiously. He hated it when they flirted with him.

“What about you, then?” said Kalis, turning warm eyes on Ki. “You’re fifteen. That’s old enough to marry in my town.”

“If you want a child for a husband,” Arengil scoffed, shouldering Ki aside. “How about me? I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”

“You don’t look much like my grandfather,” she said, running a hand over the Aurënfaie’s smooth cheek.

Jealous, Ki tried to lure her fickle attentions back with a fancy two-handed flourish he’d picked up from Korin. “If you ever want to feel the way a beard tickles, he won’t be much use to you.” Nikides ducked out of the way as Ki’s blade flashed past his shoulder.

“Let’s see you put that move to practical use, Squire Kirothius,” Una challenged, laughing at him. She knew he fancied Kalis.

Tobin had marveled at the progress Una had made. It was less than a year since they’d started training and she was already a match for Nikides. She wouldn’t let any of the other boys give quarter when they sparred, either. She’d had a few split knuckles and bruises to explain away, but bore her wounds proudly.

Watching her now with Ki, he thought again of Grannia in Atyion and the girls she trained in secret there, hoping for the day when a queen would call them to arms. How many more were there all over Skala? And how many like Ahra, who were lucky enough to serve openly?

In the midst of these contemplations, he caught sight of Nikides across the circle. He was staring over the roofline at something, looking positively horrified.

Tobin turned just in time to see the king stride into view less than twenty feet way. Porion and Korin were with him, and their old enemy, Moriel, was leading the way. The king’s face was an ominous sight. Korin saw him and shook his head. Porion caught Tobin’s eye and gave him a withering look.

One by one the others realized what audience they had. Several of the girls let out cries of dismay. Ki dropped his sword and fell to one knee. Arengil, Lutha, Nikides, and their squires quickly did the same. Tobin couldn’t move.

Erius strode into their midst and looked around, memorizing faces for future punishment. At last, he rounded on Tobin.

“What’s going on here, nephew?” he demanded.

Tobin realized that he was the only one still standing, but his legs still refused to obey him. He glanced quickly into the king’s eyes, reading the weather signs there. There was anger, to be sure, but also that quicksilver danger, a hint of madness.

“Well?” Porion prompted gruffly.

“We—we’re just playing,” Tobin managed at last. Even to his own ears it sounded ridiculous.

“Playing?”

“Yes, Majesty,” a trembling voice piped up. It was Una. She placed her sword on the ground in front of her, as if offering it to him. “It’s just a game we play—pretending to be warriors.”

The king rounded on her. “And whose idea was this?”

“Mine, Your Majesty,” she answered at once. “I asked To—Prince Tobin if he’d show us how to play at swords.”

The king raised an eyebrow at Tobin. “Is this true? You come all the way up here, hiding away, just to play?”

Moriel was gloating openly now. How long had he spied on them, Tobin wondered, hating him even more. And how much had he told the king?

“Una asked me to teach her and I did,” he replied. “We come up here because her father wouldn’t approve. And so the older boys wouldn’t laugh at us, fighting girls.”

“You, Nikides?” asked Erius. “You went along with this as well, and never thought to tell your grandfather?”

Nikides hung his head. “No, Majesty. It’s my fault. I should have—”

“You damn well should have!” Erius thundered. “And you know better, too, young miss!” he snapped at Una. Then he was back to Tobin again, face twisted with mounting rage. “And you, my own blood, practicing sedition! If news of this reached my enemies—”

Tobin’s knees gave way at last and he knelt before the king, certain the man was about to lay hands on him. Just then he caught a hint of motion from the corner of his eye and an even greater fear froze the breath in his throat.

Brother stood on the ridge where the king had been, framed against the sky. Even at this distance Tobin saw murder in his twin’s face. Brother started forward, stalking the king as Erius continued to berate Tobin.

Tobin had been too surprised to react at Orun’s house. This time he brought his hands in front of his mouth, as if in supplication, and whispered the words as loudly as he dared behind his fingers.

Brother stopped and looked at Tobin, mouth curled in a silent snarl of rage. He was only a few paces from the king, almost within arm’s reach. The spirit’s hungry fury rolled across the roof slates like a cold fog but Tobin stared him down, lips moving now in a silent command. Go away. Go away. Go away.

Before he could tell if Brother had obeyed, Erius stepped closer, blocking his view.

“What are you whimpering about, you whelp?” he demanded furiously.

Terrified, Tobin waited helplessly for the king to drop dead in front of everyone.

“Are you deaf as well as mute?” Erius shouted.

“No, Uncle!” Tobin whispered. Shifting his weight ever so slightly, he could just see past the king.

Brother was gone.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” he said, relief making him giddy and bold. “I just didn’t see any harm in it.”

“No harm? When you know that I expressly forbid—”

“We weren’t really teaching them, Your Majesty,” Ki blurted out. “We just figured if we went along with it and got them alone, they’d let us kiss them. It—it’s not like any of them were any good.”

Tobin cringed inwardly; Una must know this was an outright lie, said only to spare them the king’s wrath, but Tobin couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“He’s lying!” Moriel cried. “I watched them. They were really teaching them.”

“Like you’d know the difference, you pasty-faced lap-dog!” Ki shot back.

“That’s enough out of you!” Porion barked.

But somehow, Ki had managed to say exactly the right thing. Erius stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to Tobin with the beginnings of a grin. “Is this true, nephew?”

Tobin hung his head so he wouldn’t have to see any of the girls’ faces. “Yes, Uncle. It was just a game. To get them alone.”

“And kiss them, eh?”

Tobin nodded.

“That’s a new one!” Korin said with a too-loud laugh.

His father burst out laughing. “Well, it’s hard to fault you for that, nephew. But you girls should have better sense. Shame on you! Get back to your mothers’ houses where you belong, and don’t think they won’t hear of this!”

Una looked back at Tobin as she turned to go. The doubt in her eyes hurt him worse than anything the king could have said or done.

“As for the rest of you—” Erius paused, and Tobin’s belly tightened again. “You can spend the night at the altar of Sakor, meditating on your foolishness. Go on! Stay there until the other Companions come in the morning.”

That night, Tobin meditated instead on the king and all he’d let himself forget once again. Despite the lapses he’d already witnessed, he’d let himself be taken in by Erius’ fatherly manner and generosity.

Brother’s appearance today had broken the spell once and for all, and his heart with it. It was proof that for at least a moment, the king had meant to hurt him, just as Orun had.

But it was not that, or the punishment, that started him softly weeping in the darkest hour of the night. As he knelt there, shattered, exhausted, dozing even as he wavered on aching knees, the breeze shifted and the strange-smelling smoke from Illior’s altar enveloped him, and he remembered—remembered how his mother had dragged him to that window, trying to pull him out with her as she fell to her death. He remembered how the river had looked, black between the snow-covered banks. There’d been ice along the edges and he’d wondered if it would break when he landed on it. His mother was going to make him fall. He had been falling, but someone had yanked him back at the very last moment and dragged him away from the window, away from the sound of his mother’s dying scream.

It had been Brother. But why hadn’t he saved their mother, too? Had he instead pushed her out?

Sobs rose in his throat. It took every ounce of will to hold them in. Just when he thought he was going to give way and shame himself again, Ki’s hand found his and squeezed it. The grief and fear receded slowly, like the waves of the ebb tide. He didn’t disgrace himself, and greeted the morning sun dazed but strangely peaceful. Brother had saved him that day, and again with Orun. And would have today, perhaps, if the king had lost control of himself after all.

He needs you, and you need him, Lhel had said. Brother must know it, too.

Returning to the palace with the others later that morning, he learned from Baldus that Una had disappeared in the night without a trace.