There were a great many gifts this year, and one large pile sent by the people of the town. Most of them were from merchants and represented the sender: a fine pair of gloves from the glove maker, kegs of ale from the brewer, and so on. Tobin gave most of it a cursory glance, until Ki pulled a large scroll from the pile and handed it to him with a grin. Unrolling it, Tobin found a beautifully illuminated ballad about his father, banded along the top and margins with intricate colored scenes of battle. A smaller scrap of parchment had fallen out and on it Tobin found a brief but effusive note from Bisir, who was very happy in his new profession.
Tobin and the Companions stayed at the castle for a fortnight. Whenever they could slip away, he and Ki visited with Tharin’s aunt Lytia and Hakone. The old steward had declined over the summer and was growing more feebleminded. This time he could not be dissuaded from the notion that Tobin and Ki were the young Rhius and Tharin. It was rather unsettling.
Tobin was also entertained lavishly by the town’s principal guild masters. Most of these banquets were a bore. His hosts were invariably gracious and openhanded, but he sensed that much of it was done to curry his favor.
He much preferred visiting the men of the barracks. He’d never seen his father around actual troops, but he’d always been friendly with his guard and it didn’t occur to Tobin to act otherwise. Soon he knew most of the officers and sergeants by name and set up mock challenges between his guard and any swordsman the Atyion men wanted to put forward, even going a few rounds himself. He was disappointed when they let him win, but Tharin assured him later that it was done out of love and respect, rather than fear.
“You’re their lord, and you take the time to learn their names,” he told Tobin. “You can’t imagine how much that means to a man in the ranks.”
He also revisited his parents’ room several times, trying again to capture the long-lost echo of who they had been then, but he didn’t go near his mother’s wardrobe. The memory of his reflection in the mirror made him blush.
Instead, he and Ki came there late at night when everyone else was asleep, and sat at the wine table playing at bakshi. He summoned Brother, too, and let him stalk sullenly around in the shadows as they played. The ghost had shown no signs of wanting to hurt Ki again; Tobin could almost forgive him.
When the fortnight was over, Tobin was reluctant to leave; Atyion now felt almost as much like home as the keep. Perhaps it was the way everyone greeted him on the streets, always smiling, always friendly. In Ero he was the king’s nephew, Korin’s cousin, the odd little second heir. Just a placeholder, really. In Atyion he was someone’s son and the future hope of the people.
Ringtail escorted him to the front court when it was time to leave and sat yowling on the stairs as he rode away. Riding out through the cheering, banner-waving throngs that lined the streets, Tobin almost regretted his place in the Companions.
Chapter 30
They’d been back in Ero for only a few days when Korin surprised them all with news that would change the course of their lives.
It was a crisp, smoke-scented autumn morning and Ki was looking forward to the run, and to the dressing-down Korin and the others were likely to get. The older boys were later than usual, and Porion was already fuming. Korin and his set had escaped to the lower city the night before and come home stinking. Their drunken singing had woken Ki, so he wasn’t feeling much sympathy for them as they straggled out.
Alben and Quirion and their squires were the first to emerge. They were wine sick but one glance from Porion was enough to sober them up fast. The others soon followed in ones and twos, looking equally raddled except for Lynx, as usual.
“Where the hell is Korin?” Ki asked, as Lynx stepped into line beside him.
The other squire rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Orneus didn’t make it past the second tavern. I had to rent a horse to get him home.”
Tanil ran out, still wrapping his belt. “The prince is coming, and sends his apologies, Master Porion.”
“Oh, does he?” The arms master’s voice dropped dangerously and he gave them all a scathing look. “Is this a festival day, boys? Did I forget the date? A good day to sleep in, was it? Just for that, you can—Ah, Your Highness. So pleased you could join us, my prince. And you, too, Lord Caliel. I trust you both had a fine time of it last night?”
“Thank you, Master Porion, we did,” Korin replied, grinning.
Ki’s gut tightened; not even Korin spoke back to Porion. He braced for the inevitable, but instead Porion merely ordered a doubling of the usual run.
As they set off Ki could see Korin still grinning.
“What’s up with him I wonder?” Tobin muttered.
Zusthra jogged past to catch up with the prince. “He has a secret to share,” he murmured, looking smug.
Korin waited until they were at breakfast. “I’ve got good news!” he cried, throwing an arm over Tobin’s shoulders. “I want you to be the first to hear it.” He paused, savoring the moment, then announced, “Lady Aliya carries my child. I’m to have an heir, boys!”
Ki and Tobin gaped at each other a moment, then joined in the cheering.
“I told you he’d manage it!” Zusthra cackled, pounding Caliel on the back. “We’re free! They can’t keep us from battle, now he’s got an heir!”
Zusthra had good reason to crow, Ki knew. He was the oldest of them, with a thick red beard on his chin. He would have been off to the wars with his father years ago if not for his place in the Companions.
Everyone was shouting war cries and yelling. Porion sat by for a few minutes, then banged on the table with his spoon for their attention.
“Does your father know, Prince Korin?”
“No, and I mean to tell him myself tonight, so not a word.”
“As you wish, my prince.” He scowled around at the others, who were still cheering and congratulating each other. “I wouldn’t go putting on your armor just yet. The truce is still on, you know.”
As soon as Porion released them at midday Tobin and Ki ran all the way to the house to tell Tharin. He was in the back courtyard with Koni, examining a horse.
“Slipped away from your duties, have you?” he said, frowning.
“Just for a minute,” Tobin promised, then quickly gave him the news.
Tharin let out a low whistle and shook his head. “So Korin finally got his way, did he?”
“The truce can’t last forever!” Ki crowed. “They never do. Are Tobin and I old enough yet to go?”
Tharin scratched under his beard. “If Korin goes, then you all will.”
“I guess we can put up with Aliya as consort, if that’s the case,” Ki said, laughing. “In fact, this could be the best thing to happen. I’ll bet you once they’ve been under the same canopy for a few months, he’ll be glad enough to go off to war, just to get away from that sharp tongue of hers.”
None of them noticed Moriel lurking by the door or saw when he hurried away.
Niryn’s rooms were near the king’s wing of the New Palace. No one thought it odd that the king’s equerry called there so frequently.
Niryn was taking a solitary breakfast in his courtyard when Moriel was ushered in.
“My Lord Niryn, I happened to be near the Companions’ mess just now and overheard something that might be of interest to you.”
“Did you? Let’s have it.”
“Prince Korin just announced that Lady Aliya carries his child! No one else is to know until the prince tells his father.”
“And when does he plan to do that?”
“Tonight, he said.”
“I suppose the prince and his friends are quite pleased?”
Mingled spite and envy twisted up the corner of the boy’s mouth. “Oh yes, they’re all cheering because they think they can go off to war now.”
“It was good of you to inform me, Sir Moriel. You have my continuing—appreciation.” Niryn gave the boy a knowing smile as he bowed. Moriel knew better than to expect anything as cr
ass as gold to pass between them now. A gift would arrive later. Some nameless benefactor would clear his bills with the tailors or wine merchants. And, of course, he would remain in the king’s good favor. Moriel had understood the arrangement from the beginning and had since outstripped all the wizard’s expectations. Jealousy and malice were the ideal alloys in boys like Moriel; they hardened his soft, craven nature to usefulness, like tin in bronze.
“How do you think His Majesty will take the news?” Moriel asked.
“We shall see. Go back and tell the king I have something of great importance to discuss with him. I’ll come within the hour. And Moriel? Say nothing of this.”
Moriel looked offended. “I wouldn’t think of it, my lord!”
Jealousy, malice, and ego, Niryn amended as he went back to his breakfast. And a traitor’s heart. How long would this one remain tractable before overreaching himself?
No matter, he thought, sucking the custard from a pastry horn. There are always plenty more of that ilk to be had.
In fact, Niryn had learned of the pregnancy a few days earlier, as he’d known about the others. Prince Korin had kept his spies busy the past year or so, throwing bastards around the city like a farmer strewing barley seed. But this time it wasn’t just another kitchen maid or harbor slut, girls one could simply exterminate like troublesome vermin. No, this one had nearly gotten past him. His spy among the Dalnan priests—now deceased—had informed him too late of certain divinations performed for the girl, divinations that set the royal hallmark on the child’s paternity. Aliya’s mother, a woman as ambitious as she was powerful, had already been told and was eagerly anticipating the formal announcement that would graft her line to the throne.
Closeted with Erius in the king’s private study, Niryn spoke carefully, never taking his eyes from the king’s face. Erius took the news with disarming calm.
“Lady Aliya, you say? Now which one is she?”
“The eldest daughter of Duchess Virysia.”
The king’s face, usually so easily read, betrayed little. “Ah yes, that auburn-haired beauty who’s always on his knee.”
“Yes, my king. She’s one of several lovers your son has enjoyed in recent months. As you know, he has been ah—laboring mightily, as the poets put it, to produce an heir so that you will let him go off to battle.”
Erius laughed outright at this. “By the Flame, he’s as stubborn as I am! Are you certain the child is his?”
“I’ve looked into the matter carefully, Majesty. The child is his, though a bastard. But even if you forbid the match, the endorsements Prince Korin has already given have done their damage. The child could make claim to the throne on the strength of them.”
Niryn watched hopefully for a flicker of anger, but instead Erius slapped his knees and laughed. “They’ll make handsome babes between them, and the family’s highborn. How far along is she?”
“I believe the child will be born in the month of Shemin, my king.”
“If—” Erius began, then pressed a finger to his lips to ward off the bad luck. “Well, the girl is strong and fair … We’ll hope for the best. Shemin, you say?” He counted on his fingers and chuckled. “If they marry at once, we can pretend it was a hasty birth. That’s as good as on the right side of the blanket.”
“There is one other thing, my king.”
“Yes?”
“Well, there’s the matter of the girl’s mother. She is a known Illioran sympathizer.”
Erius brushed the issue aside. “I suspect she’ll be praying at a different altar, now that she’s to be the grandmother of the future king or queen, eh?”
“No doubt you’re right, my king,” Niryn replied, forcing a smile, for it was the truth. “There is just one hindrance. Your son, my king, he’s not yet blooded. To my knowledge, no ruler of Skala has married before they’ve proven themselves in battle.”
“By the Four, you’re right there! Well, the lad’s timing is damn poor. I don’t mean to attack Benshâl just to suit him.”
“I believe some of the ancient queens faced that same dilemma. But there are always bandits or pirates to be dealt with. I’m certain the Companions would not complain of such a foe. With their youth, it’s an honorable enough beginning.”
“My grandmother did just the same to marry.” Erius sighed and ran a hand over his silver-streaked beard. “But the chick isn’t hatched yet. If Korin was killed now, and the child …” Again he stopped and made a warding sign.
“Like it or not, Majesty, you must let the boy claim his place as a warrior or the armies will not accept him when, Sakor forfend, the time comes for him to claim the crown. You have only to ask, Majesty, and I will do all in my power to protect your son.”
To his surprise Erius did not bridle at the suggestion. “This magic of yours? What would it be?”
“There’s no dishonor in it, I assure you. How can there be, any more than to wear armor? A simple amulet would suffice, such as Queen Klie wore in the ballads.”
“Very well. I’ll have General Rheynaris find a suitable covey for my son to hunt.” Erius smiled, looking as if a burden had been taken from his shoulders. “Thank you, my friend, for your good counsel. But not a word to anyone. I want to tell Korin myself. Can you imagine the look on his face?” The king looked boyish himself at the thought. He stood and clapped the wizard on the shoulder. “If I could have only one minister at court, I’d have to keep you. You’ve been invaluable, as ever.”
Niryn pressed his hand to his heart. “May I always be so worthy of your trust, my king.”
As he walked back to his own rooms, Niryn sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Illior, but it was mere habit. In truth, it had been a very long time since he’d cared what the gods thought.
Chapter 31
Before Korin could break the news to his father a terse summons arrived, ordering the prince and Master Porion to the New Palace. The rest of the Companions were useless once he was gone. Raven tried in vain to engage them with descriptions of the twenty-third battle of Kouros, but the boys swiveled like weathercocks at every noise from the corridor. Giving up in disgust, he dismissed them.
They loitered around the mess for the rest of the afternoon; anxious not to miss any summons. The mood was tense; if the king had been happy about the news, what was all the waiting about?
Ki made a halfhearted attempt at knucklebones with Barieus and Lynx, but no one could concentrate.
“He’s done it now,” Tanil fretted, pacing the rushes flat by the door. “I tried to tell him to be more careful, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“He didn’t want to be careful and neither did she,” Caliel grumbled, stretched out on a bench by the hearth and staring morosely up at the ceiling.
“Will the king blame Porion?” asked Lutha.
“Or us?” said Quirion. “Maybe he thinks the Companions should have kept a better eye on him. What do you think, Tobin?”
“How should I know?” Tobin shrugged, whittling a bit of kindling to slivers.
Ki cast a concerned glance at his friend. Ever since the incident at the execution, something had changed in the king’s demeanor toward Tobin.
“I say it’s good news for us, no matter what happens,” Zusthra declared. “Korin will have his heir—”
“That’s for his father to say,” Nikides cut in. “The child’s a bastard, remember?”
“I can think of at least two queens born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Caliel countered.
“Yes, but those were the children of queens,” Nikides reminded him.
“So what?” snapped Urmanis. “Bilairy’s balls, do you always have to be such a know-it-all?”
Nikides colored and shut up.
“No, Nik’s right,” said Caliel. “Go on, explain it to him, if he’s too thick to see it.”
“A woman always knows the child is hers, so a queen can’t be cuckolded,” Nikides told Urmanis. “Even if she doesn’t know which lover was the father, as happened with Klie.
But Korin has only Aliya’s word, and the drysians’, that her child is his. Really, it would be safer not to claim it and get Korin married off properly.”
“But he could still be cuckolded, even by a rightful consort,” Ki pointed out.
Before they could debate that point, the sound of approaching footsteps brought them all to attention.
It wasn’t Korin, or Porion, however, but Moriel. They’d seen little of the Toad since the incident with Tobin and the girls. Perhaps he’d gotten wind of how Tobin’s friends planned to get even with him for his treachery.
He didn’t look very happy to be here now. “The king wants all of you to dine with him at the palace. You’re to come back with me now.”
“What’s going on with Korin?” demanded Caliel.
Moriel made him a slight” bow. “I’m only the messenger, my lord.”
Ki guessed from the Toad’s sour expression that he knew more than he was saying. “Must be good news for us!” he whispered, nudging Tobin as they went out. “If the king was angry at us for letting Korin run wild, Toad wouldn’t be looking like he’s got a belly cramp.”
There were hundreds of corridors and passages threading the New Palace courts together, a labyrinth for any who didn’t live there. Most of the Companions had only been as far as the public wing, in its own right a maze of grand audience and ministerial chambers, armories, treasury rooms, and public gardens, temples, and fountain courts.
Moriel knew his way and led them to a small dining chamber in the king’s wing. Tall windows edged in patterns of colored glass overlooked a garden with golden fountains and tall, vine-covered walls. Braziers burned by the long dining table, where a cold supper had been laid ready. Bowing, Moriel withdrew.
The boys stood about uncertainly, not daring to touch the food without the king’s leave. Erius came in at last, accompanied by Korin, Porion, and Raven. All of them looked very solemn.
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