The Still

Chapter 2

The week passed quietly. I visited mother, once with my brothers, then alone. She seemed less ill.

Meanwhile, preparations were under way for the meet of our Council of State. Duchess Larissa rode in from Soushire; the other members were expected anon. To escape the hubbub I waited until Elryc was at lessons, sternly bade little Pytor stay behind, and crossed the stony courtyard to the stables.

Kerwyn the groomsman bent into the half bow, that of a household servant to his masters. “An hour, my lord. Ebon’s at his oats, and Genard is combing him.”

The afternoon was young and I had no errands, but I stamped my foot with irritation at the delay. “I’m ready now.”

“Ebon is not.” Kerwyn gave an apologetic shrug. “Truly, my lord, Griswold is most insistent that the horses be fed.”

“Bring my mount!” At times, servants were impossible.

“If my master heard, it would cost me a day’s wage-”

“Imps take your wages!” I unknotted my pursestring, fished out a silver pence, flicked it onto the straw. “I’m your master. Bring Ebon!”

Kerwyn bit his lip, bent for the coin, nodding. “A moment, my lord.” He disappeared through the tall double doors to the inner stable.

I paced, fuming. Palace freemen recited petty rules and instructions, forgetting whom they were supposed to serve. In reality, we, the House of Caledon, served them. Vast sums from our treasury supported fools like the lazy, argumentative stablehand I’d sent away.

Muttering, I reknotted my purse, tied it to my fraying belt rope. In a gesture of munificence I’d thrown to the floor a half month of my stipend for sundries, and the Chamberlain would merely laugh were I to ask for more.

The door opened. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting the stableboy, leading Ebon. Instead, I met the stern eyes and graying beard of Griswold, Master of the Stables. “How may we serve you, youngsire?”

I flushed at the rebuke. Were he pleased with me, it would have been, “my lord.”

“I came for Ebon.”

“So Kerwyn said. He isn’t ready.”

“He’s mine to ride when I wish!”

Griswold pursed his lips, considering. Then, “After you take a horse, there’s none to stop your killing him. Here in stables, they’re mine to protect. You can’t feed him a bag of oats and then-”

“That’s for me to say!” What these folk needed was a firm hand.

He sighed. “Very well. I’ll tell Queen Elena you overruled me.”

I stopped short. “Griswold, there’s no need-”

“She’s my mistress. I must.”

I swallowed. “She’s ill. I don’t want her disturbed.” His stern visage didn’t waver. “Very well, I’ll wait.”

“Good.” He opened his hand. The silver glinted. “Stablehands are paid well enough; no need to spoil them. This is a month’s wages.”

I reached for my coin. “That was only for-”

His hand snapped shut. “Kerwyn didn’t earn it, so he won’t keep it. But you gave it away, so it’s no longer yours.”

I held fast the shreds of my temper. “Neither did you earn it, sir.”

“True. It’ll go to the Chamberlain, with an explanation.”

“Imps take you, Griswold!” Chamberlain Willem would tell Mother, and she’d have him close his purse to me for a month if not more.

“Yes, youngsire, you’ve always had a temper.”

“Don’t do this!” My cheeks flamed.

“You do it to yourself. If you’d be our King, learn the art of persuasion. At least pretend to have patience. Exhibit grace.”

I forced the words through unwilling lips. “I’m sorry, Griswold.” The gall of a servant, to lecture me.

“Too easily said.” The old man turned, passed through the door, swung it half closed behind him. “Unless … you’d like time to consider the fix you’ve put me in?”

I knew that he knew he had me. In despair I asked, “How?”

“Comb Ebon yourself.” That wasn’t so bad. As we passed through the gate he added gently, “And a few stalls need cleaning. Time for an energetic lad to reflect, while he busies himself.”

I cursed long and fluently, but without voice. Petulantly, I followed. A day of revenge would come.

Late in the afternoon, in foul temper, I rode Ebon down the trail as fast as was safe. Rust would no doubt be within his father’s stronghold that guarded the harbor. If not, Stryx was not so large I couldn’t find him.

At the foot of Castle Way the road passed through a formidable gate in the walls of Llewelyn’s keep. Another gate, near the shore, released traffic to a seaside road that passed through town.

The arrangement of road and keep would force an invading army to subdue Llewelyn’s stronghold before attacking the hill to the castle. Over time, tradesmen’s wagons had bypassed the keep by driving through an adjoining field, but even the awkward Tradesmen’s Cut was well within arrow reach of the keep’s high walls.

I had word sent to Rustin. Of course, the gatekeepers dared not hold me waiting like a commoner. Within the sprawling keep, I paced Ebon slowly along the garden path.

Rustin loped to meet me. “Rodrigo!” His smile was framed by a mop of curly red hair.

“Rust!” I was almost giddy with relief. Rustin’s moods changed like the summer breeze. At times, we’d be giggling over some trivial incident, when his face would darken abruptly, and all joy would vanish from his voice. It was best then to leave until his good humor returned. When I’d sought him with Elryc, a few days past, I’d given up after an hour and trudged back up the hill.

Still, at seventeen, two years older than I, Rust was my closest comrade. I hesitated to say “friend.” A Prince of Caledon dared have no friend.

In the presence of his family we adopted semi-formal manners. In their company he was accustomed to give me the bow of intimacy, that nod of the head and the so-slight movement of the back. But, secluded in the orchard, we’d sprawl easily in the soft cool grass, and he would hear out my confidences, and offer his own.

He knew how I felt about my uncles, about the earls of the realm. He’d heard which lessons I liked and which I could barely abide. Heraldry, for example. Why in Lord of Nature’s name should a young royal have to study the marks on shields and banners? We had clerks for that folderol.

Today, we settled ourselves in his bedchamber on the third floor of the keep. He threw himself across a billowy divan; I crossed my legs in a thick, rough-carved cherrywood chair. I told him of my encounter with obstinate old Griswold. Rust said little, but snickered when I told how I’d been made to clean the stables.

I glared. “Great consolation you give.” Still, I felt better for the telling.

“Prince Rodrigo the stableboy!” Rust’s chest shook with a silent spasm.

“You mock me?” I scrambled to my feet, hand momentarily brushing my dagger.

“Oh, sit, dunce. Laugh at yourself before others do. Then they’ll have no need!”

Nonsense, of course. But, grumbling, I bore it, and let him coax me back to my seat. Rust was the only one I could talk with about Tantroth, Duke of Eiber. There was no doubt of our family’s position in that regard; everyone, including the uncles, expected Rust’s father Llewelyn to defend his keep and the city or die in the attempt, and there’d be no forgiveness should Llewelyn falter.

I led the talk in a roundabout manner, so Rust wouldn’t know my concern. We spoke first of clothing, and after a time I mentioned the bright dyes for which Eiber was famous. “They’re fitting me for a cloak of Eiber orange,” I said. Then, casually, “I suppose I should bid them hurry, lest the supply is interrupted.”

“How? By war?”

“It’s always possible.”

Rust pondered. “They say Eiber bristles with war implements, and Tantroth seeks an excuse to use them. Just a year ago he seized the Isle of Malth under some silly pretext.”

“And started a blood-feud with the Norlanders, who claim it.”

“He keeps a full-time army, you know. Imagine armed men who never return to their crops. A wonder his whole earldom doesn’t starve. Of course with such a horde he’s in no danger of falling. The dye trade should be safe.”

“Unless he wars on a second front.”

Rust leaned back, crossed his arms behind his head. “Ah, why didn’t you say so?” A gentle amusement was in his eyes. “Yes, he’ll attack us, when the time is right. At least, that’s what Father says.”

I listened.

“He’ll try for what he’s always wanted, Roddy. You’ll have to face it.”

“Imps take his grandfather, anyway.” I kicked at a pillow.

It was ancient history. First came Varon of the Steppe, who wrested Caledon and Eiber from Cayil of the Surk, and held them as fiefdoms. The son of his second marriage was Rouel, grandfather of Tantroth, the Duke of Eiber. But Varon’s son by his first marriage was Tryon, my mother’s father.

On Varon’s death the Steppe collapsed, overrun by the fierce Norlanders. Tryon seized Caledon, the most prosperous province, and was able to hold it even without benefit of the Still. His half brother Rouel, who seized Eiber, claimed Caledon was his by will of their father.

Over a generation’s time the Seven Wars decided the issue in our favor. After Tryon died, Mother was able to wield the Still, which balanced Eiber’s Cleave that sundered friends and allies. Now, the descendants of Rouel were the Nordukes, who held Eiber, in theory, as a vassalage of Caledon.

“Curse them all you wish,” said Rust. “It won’t help Elena hold the realm.”

“If only she had the …” My voice trailed off.

We almost never spoke of the Power.

“Yes, it would help.” A quick grin. “But then you wouldn’t be among us.”

A soft knock at the door forestalled my reply. “It’s me, Sir Rustin. I had time before supper.” The door opened; a pretty little wench with russet hair peered in, hands twisting at her apron. “I’m so sorry! I–I mean-forgive me!” She glanced round in confusion, curtsied, and fled.

I growled, “What was that all about?”

Rustin shrugged. “Chela. She helps in the kitchen.” Under my gaze his cheeks reddened.

“Why would she-oh!”

His words came in a rush. “She’s just-we’re not particularly …”

“It’s nothing to me,” I said, fighting for composure. “You’re grown.” Casually, I stood. “Well, I have business to attend. See you another day.” I escaped to the stairs, rushed out to the stable.

By the time I’d unknotted Ebon’s bridle, Rust had caught up to me. “I’m sorry she burst in.” His hand fell on my arm. “Wait.”

I shook him off. My voice was tight. “Another time.” I flung up a leg.

He caught me before I could mount. Ebon whinnied in alarm. “I’m sorry, Rodrigo. It must be hard for you, never having-”

I swung a knotted fist, and knocked him to the straw-scattered floor.

Rust lay on the planking, half-dazed.

“Don’t speak of it,” I said. “Ever.”

Hard for me? He couldn’t possibly imagine.

I was near sixteen, sported a faint moustache, tall almost as a man. The castle servants, young visiting cousins, my town companions, and, for all I knew, my little brother, rutted like stallions, while I writhed alone in the damp sheets of my chamber.

I could not lie with a woman.

“Roddy, I-”

I howled, “Shut thy mouth!” I clutched at Ebon.

Not that I was physically unable. Were I impotent, I’d be spared the frenzies of desire, the sticky sheets, the unbearable humiliation. But I must withhold my yearning.

Prince Rodrigo, heir presumptive to the throne of Caledon, must remain a virgin.

Else he could not wield the Still.

My vision blurred, I clawed blindly for the saddle. A sob. My own. I swung up my leg to mount.

A lithe form hurtled across the floor, hauled me from my steed, toppled me to the dung-specked straw. We rolled and thrashed. I pummeled Rustin’s arms, his chest, his face, until at last he pinned me helpless under his legs. “You’ll listen,” he grated. “As we are friends, by the Lord you will listen!”

“Get off! I’ll have your life!” I bucked and kicked. “Mother will-”

“Oh, stop your nonsense!” His palm lashed out in a slap that spun my head and rang against the rafters.

I squawked. “It’s treason to lay hand on-” I faltered, as he raised his hand again.

“Stop your foolery! Think you Elena Queen of Caledon cares if two youngsires tussle in the hay, as we have for years? Fah!” He flung a loose tuft of straw at my face. I blinked, unhurt. Rustin rolled to one side, releasing me. “Roddy, I’ve known for years how miserable your need makes you. Never do you speak of-”

I aimed a kick at his side, which he avoided by a dexterous twist. Again, he swarmed atop me, pinning my shoulders. His strong fingers seized my jaw, held it still. “You’ll listen, or I’ll stuff this hay down your throat!” He snatched up a handful, waved it in my face. “By the Lord of Nature, I will have my say!” His eyes blazed.

I sobbed in frustration, but knew better than to try to break free. When Rustin’s temper was well and truly ignited, he was a formidable adversary. After a time, I lay quiet. “Have your way.”

“Your word, that we will not fight, and you will hear me.

I had no choice. I nodded. He rolled aside, helped me to my feet.

“We’ve horse dung all over us.” He wiped his knees. “Let’s wash and change. Then we’ll talk.”

I followed him to the well, where we poured icy water on our leggings and shirts, until the worst of the mess was rinsed. Then, soggy and shivering, we ran up the stairs to his chamber and shucked off our soaking clothes outside his door for a servant to gather.

Inside, naked as I, he tossed me a towel and pawed through a trunk while I dried myself. He found clothes for himself, and dug to the bottom of the chest for his discarded, smaller garments. “These will do for now.”

I stole a glance at his parts while we dressed. Rustin had always been bigger than I. Hair adorned his chest, while I had none.

He sat me in a chair, pulled up another across. “I was four, when first I remember my father taking me to the castle. Even from the safety of his shoulder, it seemed immense, except for you, on your stool at Elena’s skirts. Then, you were barely two. We’ve been friends ever since. Why hide your grief from me?”

“Rustin, I beg you, don’t.” A wave of shame.

“Aye, I’ll do the talking; you promised to listen, not to speak. You think I haven’t seen how hard it was for you? When you were twelve, and your cousin Bayard began to moon over Lady Agora, speaking of her without cease until we wanted to plug our ears, I saw your expression for the first time. You stopped playing with Bayard then, and haven’t spoken to him since.”

I shifted, tried to look as if he talked of things that mattered not.

He studied me, gauged his words. “As each of our friends found a girl’s company, you withdrew from him because you couldn’t do likewise. I was the only one you didn’t abandon.”

I yearned to shut my ears, but I could not. I’d given my word.

“Surely you know Chela wasn’t my first. I’m sorry she came to my room. I’ve tried not to rub it in your face that I could satisfy myself, while you are barred.”

“I beg you, Rustin-”

“Speak of it! Before it destroys you!”

Frightened, I drew back. Rustin hunched forward in his oaken chair, eyes locked to mine. The silence lengthened. I waited for him to urge me further, but he did not.

An eon passed.

Abruptly my words gushed forth in a torrent, as if spring floods had broken a decrepit dam. “I’m more than a boy, though everyone treats me as one. Mother threatens a strapping, and even old Griswold considers me a child. But I have a man’s feelings, and a man’s”-my voice quavered-“needs. Even horses do it in the pasture. Why should I, of all the kingdom, be the only one denied?”

“For the-”

“I know. The Still. The precious force of Caledon. Someday I’ll wield our Power, if I haven’t sullied myself first.” I hesitated; this was as much as ever we’d spoken of things sacred and arcane. “And from all I hear, I’ll need the Power. Our line is not so secure after two generations that rivals won’t rise.”

“You have many. Some closer than you think.”

“Uncle Mar? He’s loyal.” Rust, friend or no, was not family, and I couldn’t speak to him of betrayal from within. “Someday, I’ll mount the throne. The longer Mother lives the greater my chance. But-” My voice cut short.

He waited. Then, “Yes, Rodrigo?”

I hadn’t known I would say it. I hadn’t ever been aware I’d had the thought. “The longer Mother lives, the heavier my burden. Can you imagine how that makes me feel? I love Mother, and ought to, but she’s been ill for years, everyone knows even if no one admits so. When she’s gone, I’ll have the kingdom, and for a while I’ll be able to wield the Power, until I judge it safe to put it aside for my heirs.”

Rustin was silent, his gaze like a confessional urn into which I poured the libation of my soul.

“But while she lives, I can’t bear the lust! I wait, loving her truly, unable to stand the nights, resenting her life that locks me ever longer into chastity.” I could not meet his eye.

“Roddy.” The words came soft. “My friend.”

He unmanned me, but the cup of my despair was not yet emptied. I said, “Chastity, Rustin. But not abstinence.” I spun my chair to face the empty hearth, my face scarlet. “I make love with myself, as a child.”

Blessedly, Rustin left me time to compose myself, to make my breath again steady, to dry my face. Then he approached. His hand fell gently on my shoulder. “Tell me of the Power.”

Gratefully, I turned my chair to face the setting sun, cleared my throat. “The Still of Caledon. The Receptor’s a sort of bowl, made of white gold, set with emeralds. There’s a Chalice, with a stopper, kept full of stillsilver. One pours the liquid into the Receptor. Almost instantly, it becomes Still.”

For a moment I debated whether to reveal the rest, but Rustin already held my soul; all he could steal was the crown. “You put your hands over the Still, say the words of encant. Mother says it’s as if a great peace comes over you, and the world slides away. Then you know the Power.” I shivered.

“Who may use it?”

“The King. He who has been crowned. No one else. And perhaps, not even he.” I tried to make light of the oppression. “I have to be True, you see. Sometimes that’s even harder than the other.”

Rust crouched on his bed. “No one can live free of lies, Roddy. It doesn’t seem possible. Can you never tell an untruth to anyone, about anything?”

“I hope not, or it’s too late.” My smile was unsteady. “I’m not sure it has to do with lies. It may be about keeping my word. Mother simply says the wielder must be True, and she’ll speak no more of it. The other, she reminds me of incessantly. It’s a miracle she doesn’t have me put in-” On my lips was a jest about a chastity belt, but my dread of it was too real to mention.

Rustin nodded, his eyes sorrowful. “The wielder must be virgin.”

“As was Mother when she was crowned. Only when she vanquished our enemies and held Stryx secure in her hand did she send for Father. The marriage was prearranged.” I’d loved him with all my soul, until one night he lay down to sleep and did not wake. I was nine.

Rust stirred awkwardly. “Roddy, are there ways you can-I mean, you can do things with a girl aside from …”

“Not even those.” My tone was firm.

“But if it’s all right by yourself … that seems unfair.”

I snorted. “It’s not a constraint I’d have asked.”

“What about …” He blushed. “Other than girls?”

“You’d have me take a lover? Perhaps a cook’s boy, wriggling in my sheets until I satisfied myself, sniggering afterward to his kitchenmates? Or a stablehand? Leave me some pride.”

“So you’re alone.”

“Always.” It came as a whisper.

A silence, in which I heard the cry of gulls from the harbor.

“You see …” I peered out the narrow window, past the iron arrowguard. “One by one you drop away, to take the life of a man. It’s hard to bear, when those we grew up with are already giggling behind my back. When-”

“No one giggles beh-”

“Castor did, to Michel, when he thought I couldn’t hear. We were playing roundfield ball, in the pasture. ‘Think he’d even know where to put it?’ Aurrgh!” I sat, astonished that I’d spoken aloud the words with which Castor had mortified me, a year past.

“So that was why.” He sighed.

“May I be struck dead if I ever consort with either of them again!” I stared at the stone tiles. “Each day it’s worse. Bayard is married, and Kronin. They’ve made babies, and they’re no older man I. What when I’m seventeen, or twenty? My whole court will have the laugh of me! ‘Virgin King Roddy, who’s never known a woman’s embrace.’ Jeers like Castor’s, only twentyfold.”

Rustin sighed, rose from the bed. “Come, let’s find dinner. You’ll stay the night, and tomorrow I’ll ride home with you.”

“Better I go now.”

“Please. For my sake.” Without waiting for answer, he crossed to the door. “We’ll send word to the castle. By morning your clothes will be dry, and the Queen need never learn you attacked me like a common ruffian.”

I’d have thrown a boot, but he was already gone. Meekly, I followed.

Downstairs, Rustin poked his head into the kitchen, bussed the fat perspiring cook, wheedled her out of some meat still warm from the gatekeepers’ dinner. The woman bade Chela throw a few ears of corn into a pot, and a few minutes later Rustin and I bore our bronze trays into the garden for a secluded supper.

Our chat came more easily, away from the bedchamber. We talked of Tantroth, of the crown, then of boyish things. Afterward, we paid our respects to Rustin’s parents Joenne and Llewelyn, went outside to kick his sewn leather ball back and forth until the light was gone. Then we made ourselves ready for bed.

Rustin’s room was big enough for us both. The servants had made up a divan, the same one on which I’d slept often enough over the years, while we’d grown from childhood to youth.

I lay quietly, in the light of the guttering candle. In this chamber where my shame had been revealed, my earlier vexation was rekindled. I tossed and turned, until at last I raised myself on my elbow.

I saw Rustin was awake.

“Those matters I spoke of, when I was upset.” My voice was low and cold. “If you repeat them to a living soul, I’ll kill you. This I so swear.” I blew out the candle, turned away onto my side.

Silence, then a long sigh. “Rodrigo, at times you’re an ass.”

An hour passed, minute by excruciating minute, while I pretended to sleep. The effort to hold myself still was nearly intolerable.

At last, the sound of a striking flint. The candle flickered. “Stand.” His voice was a command.

I lay still, but my covers were snatched away. For a moment I lay curled in nothing but my breechcloth.

“Out of bed.” Rustin’s tone bore no refusal. I complied, wondering if he’d strike me. At the very least I’d let myself in for one of his prolonged sulks.

But I saw no anger in his gaze. He glided closer until we were face-to-face.

Rust was inches taller. His fair unclothed skin shone in the candlelight. For a moment I was near panic, thinking he intended an amorous advance, out of charity. Then, truly, I’d have to kill him. Not for the advance, but for the pity.

“My prince.”

I met his eyes, startled.

“I am Rustin, son of Llewelyn, Householder of Stryx. Our rank is by ancient right and from time immemorial, and I am vassal to no man.”

I nodded, my lips dry. I knew this, as who did not?

“Rodrigo, I acknowledge you as lawful and rightful heir of the House of Caledon. I shall accept no other while you live, save that your mother the Queen renounce you.”

I gaped, incapable of a word.

He dropped to a knee. “I pledge myself to thee as vassal, from this moment unto our deaths or my release. I shall serve and protect thee with honor. I do swear my loyalty, and vow I shall take no other as my liege save thee.” In the age-old gesture, he touched his palm to my chest, and bowed his head.

For a moment I stood transfixed, almost in dread. He’d proffered me his life, his independence. Then, slowly, my hand dropped to his forehead. “Rustin, son of Llewelyn, I accept thee as vassal, and pledge by my honor that I shall do thee and our House no shame.”

I released him. Dazed, I fell back on my bed. He sat alongside me, fluffed my quilt as tenderly as a nursemaid, covered me.

I caught his arm. “Rust, I know I’m not-that is …” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Am I worth so much?”

“You’re foolish at times.” His smile was gentle. “More often than I’d wish. And selfish. Thoughtless. Yet you’re more. That day the drunken guard came at me in the tavern, and you leaped to defend me, with nothing but a tankard. And the day I gave you Ebon …”

“Yes?” I recalled the foolish tears I’d shed.

“I saw a boy who could be King.” His hand flicked out, stroked my brow.

“But by swearing fealty … you gave me everything.”

“I saw you need it.”

My scorn dripped. “This afternoon, by my shame?”

“No, my lord. Tonight, by your fear.” He sighed. “Now, perhaps, you can allow yourself a friend.”

He settled in his bed.

Much later, I said into the night, “Rustin, I’m so sorry.” There was no reply. I snuggled into my pillow and, swallowing a sob mixed with joy, slept like a child.

At daybreak Rustin made clear by his silence that he preferred to be left alone. Dressed and combed, I trotted downstairs to the airy hall, chatted with his mother Joenne while a servant brought breakfast. I downed eggs and soft cheese, and the weak wine mixed with water that made a common day-drink among the nobility.

“Hallo, Mother.” Rustin crossed the flagstoned hall, his sandals clicking against the tiles.

She beckoned him for a quick kiss, held his face for swift scrutiny. “You kept each other up again?”

“I slept well.” His tone was cool. He poured apple-wine, downed the draught in one swallow. “I’m going with Roddy to the smithy.”

I said, “No, I’ll ride home.” He seemed to take me for granted, and I couldn’t allow that.

He turned on me. “Your clothes haven’t dried yet, you lout. Would you ride in rags, like a nomad?”

Even his mother was taken aback.

He sighed, his brow clearing in an instant. “Oh, come along, Roddy. We’ll see about my new sword, and if the sun lasts you’ll have your clothes dry.”

Still irritated, I plucked at my tunic. “In these rags?”

He crossed the hall, tugged gently at my forearm. “Sorry for my temper. Please come. I want your advice.”

It was why I could seldom refuse him. I nodded to Lady Joenne, followed him meekly to the gate. At times, I understood why my young brother Elryc followed me about.

The keep that Llewelyn guarded lay athwart the harbor, a forbidding stone stronghold that served as the first barrier to invasion by sea. A stone seawall jutted into the bay, cleaving the harbor in twain. This was to make more difficult the task of an invading army intent on siege. They’d have to struggle neck deep or worse, to encamp north of the keep’s walls.

Because Llewelyn’s keep occupied the northern end of the harbor, the town of Stryx had no choice but to spread southward. We ambled along the sunny road that ran along the lapping sea.

Along much of the coast, waves met only unyielding cliffs, but at Stryx the cliffs fell back a thousand paces to where our castle sat high over the town. From my room, I had view of a rocky shoreline that wound along a wide inviting bay.

We ambled along the shore road. Rust squinted in the bright morning light. “Until you’re eighteen, you need your uncle Mar’s favor to be crowned. If you go about like an unwashed ragamuffin-”

“You’re not my father!”

“No, my prince. Your vassal, and sworn to protect you. Even from yourself.”

“Such service I don’t need.” But I said it lightly. I really ought to take more time choosing an unstained cloak, and make sure my breeches matched my blouse.

Even were we blind, we’d have located the smithy from the clanking within, or the sooty breath of coal in the air.

The swordsmith was a runty fellow, not at all the giant one might expect. Beside him, working the bellows with a grin, stood a huge muscled boy who served as prentice.

“Ah, Rustin of the keep. Your sword’s on the rack. Not done yet. Two more dippings, I imagine, perhaps three.”

“That long?” Rustin sounded forlorn. He plucked the weapon from its rack, hefted it, handed it to me with eyebrow raised. I made a few passes, as if testing.

“Take it now, if you want dross. A work of beauty wants time.”

“You’ve had weeks.”

“And I have other orders. Margenthar refitted half his cavalry this year. Those dangling iron stirrups your guards catch their foot in when they ride.” He snorted. “As if mounted spearmen decide a battle. Newfangled nonsense, like all the Norberk fashions, but who am I to argue? I’m just a poor, simple-”

The bellows boy winked. Haughtily, I put him in his place by ignoring his effrontery.

Rust growled, “You’re the best swordsmith in Stryx, but you charge as if you’re the finest in the Estreach.” Rustin’s tone was polite, but had an edge. “I’ve already laid out the expense. When may I have my sword?”

“Um … three days hence?” The smith took up a hammer, donned his glove to pull a bar from the fire.

I scowled at a hayroll, chopped at a haystalk that towered above the rest.

Rust turned to me. “What think you, Rodrigo?”

“A few days don’t seem too-”

“Of the sword, dolt.”

“Oh.” How in blazes should I know? A sword was a sword, in my hand. Falla of Toth, our master of swordplay, droned about the merits of the long blade versus the epee, the weight, the haft, the grip, the-

“Well?”

“It seems a touch out of balance,” I said, guessing wildly. “Perhaps too heavy in the-”

“Precisely!” The smith dropped his bar on the anvil, took the sword from my hand. “Fine discrimination, my lord. The blade is a touch overbalanced as yet for the haft.” He fussed at the sword, flung open the window to hold it in the light. “You see there, where the jewels will be set? And here, the silver? Gold would be better, but the expense … It takes a fine hand to discern such a trifling imbalance.”

I nodded politely, saying nothing. I’d meant to say the haft was too heavy for the blade, not the reverse.

“Three days, then. I can’t wait.” Rustin’s eyes shone. “Thank you.” He bid the smith good day, and we made our way out of the sweltering shop. “You see why I wanted your advice? I’d have never noticed in a million-”

A clatter of horses. We stepped aside, pressed against the wall of the smithy.

A troop of Llewelyn’s guard flashed past. Someone pointed: “There he is!” They reined in so abruptly that one mount reared, pawing the air. Rustin, vigilant, thrust himself in front of me.

The captain dismounted, hurried toward me, his hand well clear of his sword, and my tension eased. “My lord, you’re to return to the castle at once.”

So Mother had noticed my absence. Although Rustin had sent word that I was spending the night, actually it was I who was supposed to inform her. Well, she demanded I ask, not merely inform, but …

Above, the distant call of a trumpet. I ignored it, aware of the smith’s boy who’d come out from his bellows, of windows thrown open and faces peering from above. I strove for dignity. “We’ll be along presently. Leave us, now.”

Mother would be all the more furious if I spurned her summons, but she’d humiliated me in public. How could I submit, under the eyes of mere tradesmen?

“Sir, Llewelyn himself said I was to see you home, and Lord Rustin to the keep. I dare not disobey.”

“Llewelyn isn’t my master,” I said coolly. “We have business at the wineshop for an hour or so.” To Rustin, “It won’t hurt Mother to wait a few-”

“The Queen your mother is dying.!”

For a fleeting instant the street swam. Rustin touched my arm.

The guard stammered, “I wasn’t to tell you! She fell into sleep that will not wake. Your uncle Margenthar ordered you summoned at once.”

Again the mournful peal of trumpets from the high ramparts.

I shuddered. It was a dirge I’d last heard six years past, on my father’s death.

Mother was gone.

My voice was dull. “Had I not fought with you and stayed the night, I’d be at her bedside.”

Rustin snapped, “Captain, a horse for Rodrigo. We’ll return it later.”

I clutched his arm, wishing I didn’t feel a stupid young boy. “Rust, I’m frightened. Come with me.”

“All right. Two horses, then.”

The guard said, “Lord Rustin, your father wants you-”

“I must attend my lord the King. I’ll be home after.”

I gulped. My lord the King. What had befallen me? Dazed, I swung myself into the proffered saddle, spurred the perspiring bay into a canter toward the familiarity of the castle. Perhaps I could stay with Rustin a few days, during the rituals. But I also had need to guard Mother’s body, lest … I knew not what.

Ahead were the iron-belted doors of the keep. I veered to the Tradesmen’s Cut, to save time. Rust galloped behind. “Rodrigo!”

“King?” I repeated.

“Well, not yet.” His face was set. “Not crowned.”

“Will I be?” I clutched the pommel as if to keep from falling.

“Am I a Ritemaster?” Then Rustin’s eyes softened. “Now, your troubles begin.”

“Aye,” I said. Then, under my breath, “King.” I felt a chill, and there was no wind.