The Still

Chapter 4

We perched on a bench in the chamberlain’s anteroom. He was engaged, his clerk told us, and would see us when he was able. I’d begun to drum the bench with impatient fingers, when Earl Cumber, my great-uncle, hobbled in, accompanied by his valet. “What are you boys doing here? Clerk, announce me.”

I gaped. “Uncle Cumber?” I made the bow of courtesy. “How did you get here so fast? Cumber Town is nearly to the Norland passes-”

He turned to his valet. “Hah. The boy teaches me the lay of my lands.” He favored me with a scowl. “We were en route to Council when word came of the misfortune.”

Paying me no further notice, Great-uncle Cumber tapped his staff on the flagstones. Within a moment, he was ushered in to Willem.

We waited.

After some moments the Earl left, and the Chamberlain’s door shut again. Over an hour passed, while we fidgeted like tykes at Ritehouse.

“Might as well give it up, Roddy. He won’t see us.”

Furious, I crossed to the Chamberlain’s private door, thrust it open without a knock.

Behind me, the scurrying clerk. “My lord! You can’t-”

I strode in. Willem of Alcazar sat at his carved desk, quill in hand. “What’s this?”

I said, “We’ve waited half the afternoon. I’m sure you weren’t told.” Coolly, I took my seat.

“I was-these accounts must be paid.”

“We won’t be long, will we, Rust?” I crossed my legs.

His expression tight, the Chamberlain waved away his clerk. The door slammed shut. “Very well. Proceed, my prince.”

“We were discussing the vault.”

His eyes met mine. “Can I offer you some wine? Cheese, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” I realized I was famished, and my stomach began to churn at his offer.

“Sorry if I seemed abrupt. It’s just that … a terrible day.”

I said nothing.

Willem took the bit in his teeth. “Rodrigo, I can’t get you into the vault. Only your mother had access.”

“By her key alone?”

“Please, Roddy, this is a very awkward matter. My duty is to the crown, and there’s no declared-”

I leaned forward. “It took two keys to open the vault, and you have one. Give it here.” I held out my hand.

His hand shot to his neck, returned almost instantly to the table. “What use would it be without the Queen’s key? Have you that?”

“In its time. I’ll start with yours.”

Willem offered a placating smile. “The Duke has pledged to guard the assets of the realm until there’s a proper accounting by the regent. Don’t make that face, my lord, you know you’re too young to rule.”

“Uncle Mar is not regent.”

“The Council will appoint him after the burial. It’s for the regent to give you the key, but certainly you should ask. You’ll find your uncle-”

I growled, “Are you his man or mine, Willem? You must choose.”

A time passed, while Willem’s thick fingers drummed on the massive desk. Then he sighed. “Young Rustin of Stryx, be so kind as to open the door and see my clerk isn’t crouching at the keyhole.”

Swiftly Rustin complied, flinging open the heavy door, peering both directions. “No one.”

The Chamberlain’s voice dropped. “I’m caught between two hooks, Roddy. May I call you that still, for the nonce? Yes, you’ll be King, if your mother’s wishes are followed.”

I shivered. He’d said it so baldly, it somehow made my peril more real.

“And I assure you, it’s my desire as well.” His tone turned pious. “Not that I, a mere clerk, have any say in the matter.”

“You’re of the Council.”

“Well, yes, but I’m one voice among seven, and not much heeded. It was your mother’s edict set me among the great nobles, on her Council of State.” He might be speaking truth, though I couldn’t know, never having been allowed to attend a Council meet. Mar, Grand-uncle Cumber, Lady Soushire and Lord Groenfil, Vessa as Speaker of the City, and Lord Warthen of the Sands were the other Council members. Imposing figures all.

“Go on.” I waved aside the distraction.

“Roddy, I have no dominion of my own, no benefice. I serve at the whim of the throne. If I go against you and you’re crowned, you won’t forget. But if I go against Margenthar and he’s regent-Roddy, he’s almost sure to be appointed, he’s made promises and has the pledges-why, he’ll throw me into the cells without a moment’s thought.”

He looked away. “I loved Elena. Would that I’d had noble blood and could have been her consort.” Abruptly he stood, went to the window. After a time, a melancholy sigh. “Ah, well. That water’s long since flowed to the sea.” He sat again. “I want you crowned king. Do you understand that? Had your mother had her wish”-his voice dropped to a whisper-“I could have been your father.”

“Well, then-”

“But I am a realist. Were you to walk in here with your mother’s key around your neck”-he peered at my open shirt, and it was all I could do to keep from glancing at Rustin-“still, I could not give you mine. Not unless I were sure you were crowned, and Margenthar’s power broken.”

Rustin. “Who guards the vault?”

“Don’t think of it, youngsire. They’d strike you dead.”

“Who?”

“Usually, two men from the household troop. But this morning Margenthar had them replaced by five from his own regiment.”

I said in awe, “So soon?”

For the first time the Chamberlain’s tone was gentle. “Roddy, your mother’s death was not … unforeseen.”

I swallowed. “Thank you, sir, for forthright speech.” I got to my feet. “Is there any way you could-I mean …” I blushed.

He waited, eyebrow raised.

“Funds. I mean, my usual stipend doesn’t seem enough.”

“Of course.” He went to a closet, slipped a chain from round his neck, unlocked the door. Inside, a chest. He smiled. “Petty cash.” He counted out twenty gold pieces, tinkled them into a small purse, handed it across.

A full year’s stipend. “Thank you.”

He closed the chest, replaced it in the closet, fished again for his chain. Something glinted, gold. Abruptly he turned his back to us, moved his bulk between me and the lock. When the closet was secure he thrust his hand in his garment

I fingered the purse. “Will Uncle Mar know of this?”

“Lord of Nature, please don’t tell him!” The Chamberlain smiled, weakly. “The accounts will be, um, smoothed.”

“Now, sir.” I leaned over his desk, my face close to his. “Will you vote in Council to crown me?”

“No. I cannot.” He raised his hands, as if to shrug. “I won’t sacrifice myself in a hopeless gesture.”

I hesitated. “Sir Willem, if I have three other votes, will you cast the fourth?”

“It depends on the circumstances, whether it’s sure-”

“Answer!” My tone snapped like a whip.

He looked away, waited, but eventually his gaze found its way back to mine. At last, “Prince Rodrigo, if thou hast three votes in Council, I will vote to crown thee King. I so swear.”

“Done.” I offered my hand, and he took it.

I strode to the outer door, followed the corridor to the nearest turn before I sagged against the wall.

Rustin threw his arm across my shoulder, squeezed.

I shrugged off his hand. “Don’t. We failed; all I got was coin and a useless promise.”

“Outside.”

We found a secluded spot, under the courtyard wall. He said, “Now you have coin, should we need to flee. And you know where Willem stands. Not only that: his key. Did you notice?”

“He keeps it round his neck, with his others.”

“And his promise is far more than you had before.”

“Bah.” I kicked at the earth. “Without the Still-”

“And of most import …” Rustin, eyes dancing, waited for my full attention. “He saw you act the King. That’s worth more than the rest put together.”

Uncle Mar summoned me as the sun set, before the Rite of Mourning. My inclination was to ignore his call, but Rustin persuaded me to respond. I found Mar in his opulent quarters on the first floor of the castle. The door was ajar: servitors and henchmen bustled about the outer halls.

“Ah, there you are. Giles, leave us while I have a word with my nephew.” In a few moments we were alone in the sumptuous anteroom to his sleeping chamber. It was a well-aired room, his favorite place of business. Handsome murals adorned the vaulted ceiling, and colorful tapestries softened the walls.

The Duke surveyed me affably. “This afternoon we got off on the wrong foot, lad. You must be reeling with shock. I could have been more gentle.”

“Thank you.” It was all I could do not to snarl.

“Would you forgive me?” He clapped my shoulder. “We’ll have to get along, you and I.”

I ached to throw off his hand. “Why, Uncle?”

A look of surprise. “Well, perhaps not me, you’re right. The Council’s made no appointment yet. But someone will be regent until you’re of age.”

“Why?”

“Think, Roddy. Tantroth prowls his frontier, and beyond Eiber lurks Hriskil and his Norlanders. Think you they’d linger a moment outside our borders, knowing a stripling held the throne?”

“Our guards are-”

“For that matter, do you imagine our yeomanry would rally to a standard set to earth by a beardless boy? No, we need the confidence of the common folk to defend the realm.” He paused for breath.

“Uncle, Mother is dead. I’m to be King.”

“Undoubtedly. We all want that. But, Roddy …” The Duke threw open a tall window, breathed deeply of the dusk. “Will you have a kingdom to rule, or no? Would you rather be a half king, an exile, like poor Freisart of Kant?”

“Is that a threat, sir?”

“Confound it, boy.” He strode across the chamber to shake me like a puppy. “Don’t fight us on this, we’re doing it for your own-”

“Us?”

“The Council. It’s arranged. Your poor mother’s been dying for years. We’ve talked-”

“Plotted behind her back!” I stood on tiptoe; we were nose to nose.

“Nonsense! We’re the Council of State; could we risk going unprepared?”

“To thwart her wish?”

He bellowed, “To save your throne!” With an effort, he lowered his voice. “Roddy, always you unravel my temper. You lost your mother today; I must make allowances. But look you: I also lost my sister!” His eyes glistened.

I said nothing.

“Children we were together, Elena and I, so little time past. She was elder; the land would be hers to rule. I had no quarrel with that, and have none still. Our father Tryon’s old duchy, the City of Stryx, was mine after his death, and gladly the Queen and I shared a home. Even our old playmate Willem of Alcazar found refuge with us. We raised our families together; you and your brothers, my sons Bayard and Chayne, Willem’s Kronin. Can we not still live in peace?”

I hugged myself, in want of response.

“Please, Rodrigo. Let us sort this out together.” His hand came forth, entreating.

“Uncle, crown me now, and give me the Vessels with which to practice my Power. Then I’ll not fight your regency. You’ll lead our armies if we’re attacked, and I’ll strengthen us with the Still.”

Margenthar’s hands went to his hips, and he stood staring at me, biting his lip. Then, “I don’t see why not.”

My joy knew no bounds. “How soon-”

“I’ll need the Council’s approval, of course. And we certainly can’t stage a coronation on the heels of a funeral. A month or so, perhaps three. Time to invite foreign nobles, make a splendid affair of it.”

“The Vessels are mine. I want them now.”

“Do they not need the crown, to be potent?”

“You know that as well as I.” I watched his face for deception.

“If you can’t wield the Power, best the Vessels remain in safekeeping.”

“I’ll look after them. Uncle, don’t look so disgusted. Would you rather I went to Council and objected to having you as regent? Surely I have some friend in the meet.”

Mar gauged the shadows on the window ledge. “We’ll be late for the Rite, boy. You don’t want me as regent? Well, Soushire is eager for it, and she’s gathered two votes. Would you have Larissa speak for Caledon?”

“Lord, no!” The Lady of Soushire was obese, smelled of garlic, and boasted a foul temper.

“I admit, if you go to Council, you might shake one vote loose from me; I won’t tell you whose. I guarantee you, a Soushire regency will be the result.” He threw his cloak over his arm. “Come along, we’ll walk to the Rite together.”

“And the Vessels?”

“Are under guard.”

“On second thought, I rather admire the Lady of Soushire.”

“You’re so foolish as to do that? Well, on your own head be it.”

He’d called my bluff. I took breath to concede defeat.

He spoke first, and his tone was cross. “Very well, I’ll see you get your Vessels.” I did my best to hide my elation. “I’ll have to clear it with the Council, and that must wait until I’m regent. May Lord of Nature help you if they’re stolen.”

I nodded.

“Hurry now. Your mother waits; we must show her respect.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Elryc bounced on his feather mattress. “We won! We won!”

“Uncle Mar gets his regency, brother.”

“But you’ll have the crown and the Power. Can Uncle Mar hurt us, then?” He sniffled.

Rustin stirred from his cushion. “Elryc, stop that confounded prancing. My head aches.”

Elryc slowed, but did not stop. “Can he, Roddy?”

“Well … we’re safer.” I’d bearded the lion in-literally-his den. I smiled at the thought of it.

Rustin swarmed to his feet, caught Elryc’s wrist, flopped the boy onto his stomach, dropped alongside him, a firm grasp on his arm.

“Let go!” Elryc.

“I told you to be still, and you weren’t.” Rust’s eyes rose. “What worries me is-”

“Roddy, you’re King! Tell him to let me loose!”

“-the three months until coronation. Much could happen in-”

“Roddy!”

I growled, “Let go the Prince’s arm, Rust. That’s right. Now, sit on his back.” Elryc squawked. “And box his ears if he utters another sound. I never agreed to three months. I’ll talk to the Seven, and we’ll see.”

“Nearly all of them were at the Rite.”

“It wasn’t the moment.” Despite my best efforts to be a man, I’d wept like a child while the Ritemaster carried the flickering tapers three times round my mother’s draped form. To make things worse, Rustin had put his arm around me, in comfort, and seemed oblivious to my rage when I threw him off. Lord knew what the nobles must think of me, after I’d carried on, and suffered a boy’s embrace.

Rust asked, “When do the Seven meet?”

“Tomorrow, at the third hour.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure. In the great hall, I think.”

“Odd your uncle didn’t tell you.”

“Roddy?” Elryc. “Ow! Let me up, I’ll be quiet. Stop, Rust!”

Rustin cuffed him again, inquired of me by a raised eyebrow. I nodded. Released, Elryc curled in a corner of his bed, knees drawn tight, his mien sullen.

We sat in silence, until I drew a sharp breath. “Rust … How is Uncle Mar to give me the Vessels, if we have the key to the vault?”

“He doesn’t know you have it.”

“He certainly knows he doesn’t have it.”

Rust pondered. “They’d have searched the Queen’s chamber.”

I nodded. “Hester told them nothing, I’m sure of it. A team of horses couldn’t draw tidings from her when she’s in a mood to be obstinate.”

“Which means he knew he couldn’t keep his promise to you.”

I stood. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Elryc.

“The strongroom, of course.”

“At this hour?” He yawned. “Why?”

“I want …” I wasn’t sure what.

Rust said, “It’s unwise. They ought not see you’re interested-”

“Come.” I was out the door, and Rust had little choice but to follow.

“What about me?” Elryc’s wail pursued us.

“To your bed, brat!” We raced down the stairs.

The strongroom was reached through winding passageways from the kitchens and winery. Perhaps the builders thought such design would make the chambers less tempting to invaders, but the builders were tasting earth these many generations, and couldn’t be asked.

Rust and I wandered casually into the kitchen, as was our custom, and Rustin helped himself to an apple from the cold bins. Out to the hall, with no one in sight. We raced giggling down the stairs, through the tunnels.

When I was a toddler my father scared me with old tales of brave men imprisoned in the cellars, but now I knew better. We rushed past the chamber that held our casks of aging wine, supposedly a torture room in the days of my great-grandfather Varon of the Steppe. We turned past the armory, silent at this hour of night, found the double doors of the passageway leading to the strongcellar. From the far end, a murmur of low voices.

I slowed, tiptoed my way along the musty corridor lit at either side by a smoking torch. Something chill ran down my back; I’d been here before, but only by day. Though day and night were indistinguishable in the dank cellars, somehow one knew the hour.

“It’s around the corner.” My whisper echoed.

“What do we do?”

Stroll into the anteroom of the vault, as if we boys always skulked the cellars at night? Creep along, cheek pressed to the wall, and peer carefully round the corner? That didn’t suit my royal station.

“This is my castle. I want a look at the chamber door.” Boldly, I strode like a prince to the intersecting corridor, stopped just short of the corner. With an apologetic shrug I dropped to my knees, then my stomach, inched forward until my forehead was at the turn. I peered out.

A handful of guards. Two dozed outside the closed wrought-iron gate some paces from the vault, while the others inside played at dice. A peaceful scene.

A hot breath on the back of my neck. I jerked, sucked in air.

“Quiet, dunce.” Rustin pressed his palm into my back, his face just above mine as he knelt at my side. “Where are the locks?”

“Past the gate, see the two square holes?” The vault’s thick bronze door was pierced by handholes at either end. The locks themselves were recessed an arm’s length within the door; it was said a false key triggered a blade that slashed down, severing the offender’s hand. When I’d asked Mother, she merely smiled, and said it would have to wait until I was older.

“We’ve seen it. Now what?”

I was wondering the same myself. I studied the guards, and the anteroom. The vault could be reached only through the corridor we’d just traversed. The doors behind us at the far end of the corridor were left open for convenience, but in an emergency they could be sealed from within.

Within that vault lay my crown, and my Power. The crown was little good without the ceremony of coronation; Mother had made sure I understood at least that much. One couldn’t gain the Still of Caledon, even in a state of sexual innocence, merely by propping a gold diadem on one’s head. The Rites must be followed, but if they were, and the crown was possessed, even a usurper might wield the Power.

A strong force could seize the anteroom. Swords or spears would quell the outside guards; arrows would slaughter those behind the gate.

But there’d still be the great bronze door, and it wanted two keys. Softly, we crept away.

At the safety of the winery, Rustin said only, “We can’t storm the vault, Roddy.”

I nodded and, despite myself, yawned.

“Yes, it’s late.” He clapped my arm. “I’d best be home.”

“Stay, Rust!” It was a plea, without thought.

“I’ll be back on the morrow.” Despite my entreaties, he left for the stable.

When I woke, I found Elryc had crawled into my bed during the night. I left him asleep, and descended bleary and tousled to the kitchen. Cook broke three eggs into a butter-rinsed skillet, and served them with a slab of goat cheese and a hunk of steaming bread torn from a loaf just out of the oven. I sat next to Kerwyn, the stablehand, and took a huge bite.

Mother was wise, but in some things she plainly erred. My brothers and I were royalty, not mere nobility, and a certain distance from the house servants was suitable. How could commoners respect me if we rubbed shoulders at a kitchen table amid the droning flies? But ever since I’d been freed from Hester’s care I’d been consigned to this kitchen, except for dinner.

I loped up the narrow steps to the third floor, wherein lay the nursery. Out of courtesy, I knocked, waited for Hester’s grunt of admission.

“Hello, Pytor.” I felt a pang of remorse. My towheaded brother’s eyes were red from weeping, his voice muffled.

“Roddy.” He abandoned Hester, threw his puny arms around my neck. I picked him up, rocked him gently.

“He lay awake until the moon was high,” said the old Nurse. “Neither song nor sweets could bring him peace.”

Pytor was but eight, and now had none but an ill-tempered crone to look after him. I resolved to be kinder than in the past. “Will you walk with me today, to the burial?”

“May I?” For once, the whine was gone from my brother’s voice.

“You on one side, Elryc on the other.”

“I get your hand.”

I tousled Pytor’s locks. “Whichever you want.” Hester grunted her approval. “He needs that.” She glanced at my apparel. “You won’t wear those rags to your mother’s rest.”

I looked down at my jerkin and breeks. “And why not?”

“They’re torn, they’re stained with raspberry jam, they’re a size too small.”

“I can look after-”

She snorted. “When pigs fly. I’ll find something suitable.”

I let it be, secretly relieved. Let her act the servant that she was; how else was a king’s mind to be on affairs of state?

The gentry, the nobility, and the royalty of the surrounding boroughs of Stryx had gathered for the procession and burial. Uncle Mar had sent couriers with Mother’s last breath. It was fitting, else many could not have arrived in time. Especially in summer, funerals must be held quickly, and one grew used to dropping the day’s tasks to answer a distant summons.

I walked in the front row, Pytor’s hand in mine, alongside to Uncle Mar. To my disgust, Elryc was nowhere to be seen. No matter how upset he was, missing the burial was a vile act he’d regret the rest of his life. One I’d make him regret.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!”

“Sorry, Pytor.” I loosened my grip.

Behind us, within the second rank, walked Llewelyn and Joenne. I was amazed that Rustin chose to be absent. When I’d paid my respects, Llewelyn inclined his head with a stony stare that forbade any inquiry.

I tried to suppress my hurt. Rust and I could have quietly weighed our plans during the long, slow processional, though Uncle Mar wouldn’t have been pleased to see him at my side in the front rank.

The windswept hill was strewn with faded markers. The realm of Caledon had been knit for many generations before Varon of the Steppe seized it, and rulers with names ancient beyond ken were here laid to rest. From hand to hand, crown to crown, the Still had been passed.

Pytor sobbed into my waist while the words of descent were chanted, and the ropes slowly loosed. Old Hester worked her way past nobles and gentry, rested her twisted fingers on his shoulder.

Slowly, the coffin settled into the grave. Despite myself, I shivered. “See, Pytor? They’ve brought marigolds, her favorites. Send one to her, with me.”

Unable to speak, he nodded, pressed tight against me while I made my way to the floral urns, picked out two stems to pluck. I gave him one, knelt in the damp earth beside the pit. “Throw yours in first, then I.”

“Together.” His voice was a quavering reed.

I held his hand and my flower, guided his forward. “Now.” We dropped the blossoms on the casket. Uncle Mar waited, his eyebrow raised.

I nodded. Uncle Mar took the spade, poured a shovelful of earth onto the lowered coffin. I restrained a wild urge to leap in and brush it off. When he handed me the spade I’d have thrust it away, but that all eyes were on me.

For an endless moment I stood motionless atop the pit. Then I dug into the earth, hurled a huge spadeful into the grave. Mar reached to take the shovel. Ignoring him, I ground the blade into the dirt, tore out another clod, flung it onto my mother.

“Rodrigo.” Mar’s hand grasped at the haft. I shoved him in the chest with the flat of my palm, nearly sent him sprawling. I slashed at the ground, hurling chunks of dirt and stone into the pit.

Murmurs of disbelief; voices calling. Pytor tugged frantically at my sleeve. I shrugged him off, dug anew.

A gnarled, wrinkled hand on my neck. Sharp-nailed fingers pulled my face against a black garment, a familiar hand rubbed the small of my back. “There, boy. It’s done.” Insistent fingers pried the spade from my grip. “Leave him! Think ye that I know not still the soothing of him?”

“Hester, let me-”

“Not yet.” Firmly, she held me close, while around us the assembly dispersed.

Finally, mortified, I pulled my nose from her garment, blinked in the sudden light. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She shrugged. “You did as you must. Take my arm. If I fall it’s the end of me.” Gingerly, we made our way through the rock-strewn field.

She freed me at the safety of the path. I looked about; nearly all had gone ahead. “Where’s Pytor?”

“Run back on his own, I expect. He never would abide my pace.”

A figure detached itself from the bystanders, approached casually. “Rodrigo-” The groomsman, Kerwyn. He inserted himself between me and the Nurse, dropped his voice to a whisper. “Elryc sent me. Danger.”

“Tell my gutless brother he can-what?”

“Danger.” His words were almost soundless. “He said to meet him where you met him and Rustin last, and to bring Pytor.”

“What’s happened?”

“I don’t know. Elryc’s a strange child, and I’d have paid no heed but for the odd look he bore. Griswold said-well, no matter. You’d best find out what he wants.”

I swallowed. Rust would know what to do, but where was he? “If this is a trick, some peasant jest, I’ll cut out your heart!” Without waiting for answer, I started down the trail.

Hester caught at my arm. “You’re off? To where?”

“Later, Nurse.” I loped down the hill.

She called after. “Tell Pytor there’s no use to hide from me; I’ll only switch him the worse!”

I left the trail to pick my way to the rear wall, and the servants’ entrance. Brushing past startled washmaids, beyond the kitchen and the guards’ barracks, along the stairs to the courtyard, I flew up the steps to the ramparts, ran past the ceremonial guard, made for the tower in which we three had conferred.

The tower stairs were steep, and I paused for breath halfway. If Elryc had mounted some prank, by the Lord of Nature, I’d have his ears. My pace more sober, I climbed the last steps, squeezed past the stack of barrels, strode out onto the deck.

Elryc was nowhere in sight. Imps take the boy. Brother or not, I’d-

“Roddy!” A hoarse murmur.

I whirled. “Where are you? End your games!”

“Here.” A whisper.

I peered through the tower door. At first, in the dim light, I saw nothing. Then, behind the row of barrels, a figure. I bounded over the pile of staves, grasped Elryc’s shirt, hauled him to his feet. “What are you playing at?”

“Where’s Pytor? Did they follow you?”

“Leave him. Speak, ungrateful son of a buried Queen!” I shook him so his teeth rattled.

“Stop it, you ass!” He tore loose. He peered down the circular flights to the entry door. “Someone may hear us. Listen for steps.” He perched on a barrel. “This morning, I was asleep in your bed.”

“Like a log. You-”

“They knocked, but I didn’t want anyone to know I’d needed company last night, so I lay quiet in my cave.”

“Under my quilt. Get on with it; I’ve a Council meet to attend.”

“They walked in without leave, can you imagine? ‘He’s not here,’ one said. ‘Obvious enough,’ growled the other.”

“So, servants came looking for me. Uncle Mar probably wanted-”

“Shut up, you big lout! Will you never listen?”

I filed his insolence in my list of revenges, lapsed into grudging silence. “Finish.”

“The raspy voice said, ‘He wasn’t in his own room, wasn’t at breakfast; where the devil could he have gone?’ I lay very still. ‘Don’t blame me,’ the other said. ‘It was your idea to wait until day. You be the one to tell the Duke we didn’t grab the little ones.’”

I stared dumbly at the rampart deck.

“The first voice answered, ‘No, we’d best find them before we report. You know his lordship’s moods.’ When I was sure they were gone, I sneaked to the stables, gave Kerwyn a message for you. Then I hid. I’ve had no food since yesterday. Did you bring a bite? Anything?”

I was as one drugged. What was this about?

“Roddy, don’t you see? We were to be seized, Pytor and I!”

“But Pytor trotted right past Uncle Mar to climb the hill with me. Mar didn’t lift a finger. You’re making a-”

“Imbecile! Think you Uncle Mar would take a child, in front of all his guests?”

“Mind your tongue.” My voice was cold. “Even from you, I won’t-”

“Fool! Dunce! Dimwit! Why didn’t you bring Pytor?” Elryc danced with frustration. “Care you as little for him as for me? Why didn’t you protect him!”

I slammed my brother against the stone, knocking the breath from him. “Never call me such names; I’m King! Pytor ran off before Kerwyn brought me your cursed message.”

Elryc wheezed, his face purple. “Not King yet. Won’t be, unless you rouse yourself.” He gasped for air. “You won’t even let us help you!” His shoulders shook. “Go seek your throne! I’ll worry for Pytor.”

Dazed, I sat on a barrel. What would Uncle Mar want with Pytor and Elryc? Why not me? I was his danger. He could have taken me in the privacy of his chambers. “Elryc, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Here, sit with me.”

Sobbing, reluctant at first, he let me comfort him.

“You’re sure you got it right? They said, ‘Grab the little ones’?”

He nodded.

I struggled to pull myself together. “Wait here while I find Pytor, and send for Rustin.” I strode to the steps. “I’ll bring you apples.”

“Anything.” His voice was small. I started down the winding steps at a moderate pace, found myself leaping the last few treads. I dashed along the rampart, raced around the corner to the courtyard steps, cannoned into an armored figure, and sprawled with him in the dust.

“Clumsy buffoon!” The guard snatched up his scattered gear. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Then he caught a look at my face, and his jaw dropped.

I staggered to my feet, my ribs afire. “Forgive me, Lanford. I was in a hurry.” Clutching my side, I staggered off.

Fool. Ass. Imbecile. If my little brother Pytor was in danger, I deserved every name I’d been called, and more. I loped up the steps, through the great oaken doors to the donjon. Three flights to the nursery; I took them as fast as I could.

It was vacant.

The first room I’d try would be Elryc’s, then my own. Pytor would be in one of his usual hiding-I hurtled down the steps.

“Aiee!” I averted a collision with the climbing figure, but slipped and rolled down half a flight, bumping ribs and buttocks on each cold stone step. From above Nurse Hester watched, incredulous.

“That’s how you mourn your mother, eh? Galloping about the palace like a maddened-”

“Where’s Pytor?”

“He’s where Pytor goes when he would not be found. Why the sudden interest? For a year you’ve consigned him to-”

“Have you seen him since the hill?”

“Think you my legs take me faster than yours? I’m just returned. Why do you search for your brother?”

“Hester …” I hobbled up the steps. “Put aside our rancor for the moment.” I put my lips close to her ear. “Pytor’s in peril. When he returns, hide him, and send for me at once.” I turned to go. Her hand lashed out, grabbed my ear, twisted. I yelped, clawing at her iron grip.

“Not so fast, Prince of Caledon.”

“Let go my-”

“What about my boy? Peril? How?” Her eyes held a glint I’d never seen.

“Keep your voice dow-hargh!” My neck was cocked at an impossible angle. “Please, Nurse.” My words tumbled, lest she wrench off my ear. “Elryc says Uncle Mar sent soldiers to take him and Pytor. I don’t know what it means.”

Her grip unlocked, and I was freed. She growled, “Where? And is Elryc safe?”

“He’s in hiding. I was supposed to bring Pytor, but by the time I heard-”

“He’d already run down the hill. It’s not your fault, Roddy.” Her wrinkled hand flicked out to pat my throbbing ear. “We’ll find him. You check the grounds; I’ll search the castle.”

“Three stories, and cellars? That’s beyond you.”

“I’m slow, but not crippled.” She sighed. “Still, you might be faster, once you get the knack of stairways. I’ll watch the nursery, your room and Elryc’s, and the Queen’s chambers. No one’s thought to bar me from them.” She sniffed. “My lady’s been gone only a day.”

“Right.” I took her hand, squeezed it to cement the truce, limped off with what dignity I could muster.

I prowled wine cellars and holds, kitchen and storerooms, all the places a small boy might dawdle, all the places I’d known as a child, a few seasons past.

No Pytor.

In the courtyard I spotted Genard, the stableboy. Not much older than Elryc, he sprouted new inches like a weed gone wild. I fished out a coin. “You. Run down the hill to Llewelyn’s keep. Ask for Rustin, tell him to come at once; I need him.”

He eyed the copper dolefully. “Aye, but it’s an hour’s climb back up-”

“Or I could have Griswold lash your rump; it’s all the same to me. Oh, don’t pout like that.” I sighed. “Here.” I handed him a second copper, and a third.

Genard’s face brightened; he flicked a knuckle to his forehead. “Thank ye, youngsi-m’lord.”

When he dashed off I roamed casually through stables, smithy, orchards, the myriad of alcoves and lean-tos outlying any castle fort, but secure within its thick walls. Most folk let me pass unmolested, but a few were bold enough to offer kind words to a disconsolate heir wandering the grounds to no apparent purpose.

Hours passed, and I grew weary. My ribs ached from my tumble, and repeated tours up three flights of stairs to see if Hester had found my brother didn’t help. Impatient, but glad of the rest, I sat on a ledge overlooking the courtyard to await Rustin. Even if he’d been at some chore when my message arrived, he’d have had time to be done and answer my call.

Shadows lengthened. Where in the demons’ vale was Rust? I knew I ought to confront Uncle Mar, but first Rustin and I should-

I leaped to my feet cursing. The Council meet.

I dashed up the front steps into the frescoed hall, made for the vaulted meeting room to the rear, where armed sentinels stood post.

A graying guard thrust himself between me and the door, halberd poised across his chest.

“Out of my way. Are the Seven still within?” I squinted. “Who are you?”

“Fostrow, my lord. No one may pass. Council is at session.”

“That’s why I’ve come. Let me through.”

A second guardsman stepped forth. “It’s forbidden, Prince Rodrigo.”

I felt myself grow red. “It’s my Council now! Stand aside!”

“No one may enter.” His mates took stations on each side of me, uncomfortably close.

I stamped my foot. “Whose men are you? You’re not of the household.”

One said proudly, “I’m Baron Stire, of the Duke’s troop, from Castle Verein.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Soldiers of Verein are forbidden the city, by long-standing treaty.”

He shrugged. “We go where my lord the Duke sends us.”

Infuriated, I pushed past. “Take your hands off-let me go!”

I found myself pinned to the opposite wall by half a dozen strong arms. One hand gripped a dagger.

I snarled, “Pierce me, would you? They’d hang the lot of you! Faugh!”

“Easy, lads.” The guard Fostrow. To me, “No one spoke of killing-”

“Why the knife, churl? To mince your dinner?” My voice grew even louder. “I won’t have it! Send for the Duke! Let me loose!”

The blade slipped into its scabbard, but despite my struggles I was firmly held. In a moment I would begin to cry, and in their sight that was intolerable. I shouted, “Margenthar! Duke of Stryx!”

Hands reached for my mouth, but I evaded them. “Treason! False Council! Disloyal villains, come forth from your nest and face your King! Margenthar!”

The doors were hurled open. Uncle Mar stood framed in the entry. “What lunacy is this?”

I struggled, nearly maddened with frustration. “I WON’T BE HELD!”

He snapped his fingers. “Let him loose.” The hands fell away. “Whatever is the matter with you, lad?”

“Nothing.” I wiped my face, brushing aside a perfidious tear. “These treacherous louts stopped me from joining you.” I crossed to the entry, but Uncle Mar himself barred my way. Peering past, I saw old Earl Cumber, his rheumy eyes blinking, seated among the other councilors.

“Council meets unobserved. Such is the law.”

“The Queen attended.”

“Of course.”

“Then shall I.”

“No.” Mar turned away.

“I’m heir!”

“I’m appointed regent and attend in your place.” I tried to shoulder past; he thrust me back.

“When will I be crowned?”

“If you’d leave us to our meet I could tell you. Roddy, what’s come over you? Look at yourself: sweaty, your hair awry, hollering like a field hand’s whore! And you would instruct Council to make you King? Brush the dust from your clothes, and go to your chamber!”

Had I my blade I’d have slashed his throat. I said, “What mischief do you work? Why are your troops-”

“Business you’re not man enough to attempt.” His contempt was unsheathed.

Not man enough? My voice betrayed my rage. “Where’s Pytor?”

“Unharmed. Where is Elryc?”

“How should I know? Try his room.” I made sure my face showed nothing. “Let me talk to Pytor.”

“Of course. As soon as the rituals are done.”

“Where is he, damn you?”

Mar’s eyes were drawn daggers. “Sent to Verein. We decided it was best he be raised quietly, away from commotion.”

“You imprisoned a-a little boy?”

“Nonsense. He’s free as you or I. The funeral has only upset him; he needs a time away-”

“He needs Hester!”

“We have our nurse, who’s raised my sons. Your Hester’s too old and feeble.”

“She is not!” How did I come to be defending Mother’s vengeful crone? “She’s all he has!”

“No longer. Elryc too will find a home with us.”

“How dare you take the princes of Caledon!”

“Enough.” He addressed Fostrow. “Don’t harm him, but keep him out of earshot; I won’t have the meet disrupted. Roddy, you’re overwrought. Go to the well, rinse your head in cold water, sit until you calm yourself.”

“If I ride to Verein, will they let me in?”

“You’re not to leave the castle grounds. I’ve informed the guard.”

“I am King!”

“You are heir. The crown comes when you’re of age. No, hear me out! Elena let you run wild like a peasant’s runt, but I won’t have it. You’ll find your own discipline, boy, or by Lord of Nature you’ll know mine! Baron Stire, take him out!’

Stern fingers closed round my arm. Uncle Mar strode into Council without a backward glance.