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.
Chapter 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.
So
lari 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 Tamir 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 f
orward, 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.”
Hidden Warrior Page 19
