Still, seeing Tobin here brought back to Ki how strange the boy had seemed to him when they’d first met: the way Tobin talked to ghosts and witches and wizards as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and how he could read people’s faces like others read tracks or weather, without even knowing he was doing it. He’d changed some since Ki had known him, but Tobin still had the eyes of a man, and still made little distinction in his manner toward noble or servant, highborn or low. He treated them all well. Ki had grown accustomed to that, too, during the slow, easy years at the keep. Here among these young lords, it was quickly brought home to him how unusual that was, and in ways that Tobin just didn’t seem to understand.
But Ki understood, and so did the Companions—even the ones who were kind. Tobin hadn’t understood the shame Ki felt when a drunken prince had slapped him so carelessly with a sword and dubbed him “Sir,” bestowing on him a grass knight’s hollow title—with its boon of a warhorse and a yearly purse of money. For all the lessons and proper speech he’d learned from Arkoniel, everyone here knew who his father was and had seen how his “knighthood” had been earned.
No, Tobin couldn’t understand any of that, and Ki kept his promise to Tharin and didn’t tell him. Pride kept him from confiding even in Tharin, though they visited him as often as they could.
Still, it wasn’t all bad, he often reminded himself. Tobin was like a drink of sweet water in a swamp, and there were those who knew how to appreciate him. Korin did, when he was sober, and so did the better ones among the Companions: Caliel, Orneus, Nikides, and little Lutha. Their squires were courteous to Ki out of respect for that, and some of them accepted him as a friend.
On the other side of the fence were Squire Mago and his faction; it hadn’t taken Ki long to peg them as trouble. They spared no effort to remind him that he was a grass knight, and a poor man’s son. Whenever they could corner him out of earshot of the prince—at the stables, in the baths, or even when they were sparring in the sword circle—they hissed it at him like rock vipers: “Grass knight!”
To make matters worse, Moriel, the boy whose place Ki had taken, was fast friends with Mago and cousin to Quirion’s squire, Arius. Evidently Moriel’s appointment was to have been his way into the Companions.
There was something wrong there, Ki thought. Korin didn’t seem overly fond of some of his own Companions, even though they were touted by all as a closely bound elite, the future generals and councilors of a future king. It seemed to Ki that Korin would do well to rid himself of a good many of them when he was old enough to choose for himself.
None of that is my concern, he reminded himself. He was Tobin’s squire and in that he was content. Nothing the other squires could say to him would interfere with that.
Or so he thought.
By the end of Rhythin Ki was beginning to get his bearings at table. He could serve any type of dish through a twelve-course banquet without spilling a drop, knew all the right serving dishes, and was feeling rather proud of himself.
That night at mess it was only the Companions and Porion at table. Tobin was seated between the arms master and Zusthra. The older boy was still hard to read; he seemed sullen, but Porion treated him with high regard and Ki took that for a favorable sign.
Tobin seemed happy enough, if quiet. Korin was drinking and going on again about the latest report from Mycena. Apparently the king had routed a Plenimaran attack along some river and everyone was drinking to celebrate the victory, and growing more morose as they grew drunker, convinced the fighting would be over before they were allowed to go.
Ki went out for more platters, and by the time he came back Caliel and Korin were arguing about why hounds didn’t like Tobin and hawks did. Ki wished them luck with that one; even Arkoniel had had no answer for the dog question. They’d had to give Tobin’s gift hounds away, but he’d turned to out be a fine hand with falcons. Caliel spent a great deal of time with him, teaching Tobin how to use the hoods, jesses, and whistles. In return, Tobin had fashioned a beautiful ring for him from wax, in the shape of a hawk with outstretched wings, and had a goldsmith cast it. Caliel wore it proudly and was the envy of the Companions. Thanks to that, Tobin had switched from wood carvings to jewelry making and their room was littered with gobs of wax and sketches. Tobin already knew half the goldsmiths near the Palatine, and was making inroads among the gem carvers as that took his fancy. Korin dubbed him the Artist Prince.
Ki was pleasantly lost in these happy thoughts as he balanced two half-empty sauce basins back to the kitchen. He was nearly to the sideboard when Mago and Arius cornered him. He glanced around quickly but Barieus was nowhere in sight. The cooks and scullions were busy with their own work.
“No, it’s just we three,” said Arius, guessing his thought. He jostled Ki on one side and Mago did the same on the other until they had him backed into a corner. Ki barely managed to get the sauce basins down onto a table before they spilled.
“Well done, grass knight,” snickered Arius.
Ki sighed and waited for them to back off now that they’d had their fun. But they didn’t.
“Well done, for a horse thief’s son,” sneered Mago, not even bothering to lower his voice.
Ki felt his face go hot. “My father’s no thief.”
“He’s not?” Mago made round eyes of surprise at him. “Well, then you’re the cuckold’s bastard I took you for all along. Old Larenth has been stealing my uncle’s horses for years and everyone knows it. He’d have hanged your brother Alon if he hadn’t run away to the war before the bailiff caught him.”
Ki faced him down, holding his clenched fists against his thighs. “He’s no thief! And neither is my father.”
“Then he’s not your father,” said Arius, pretending to reason with him. “Come on now, which side of the blanket were you born on, Sir Kirothius? Or do you even know?”
It doesn’t matter. Ki clenched his fists so tightly he felt the nails bite into his palms. Only honor matters. Don’t dishonor Tobin by losing your temper.
“What’s a prince doing with a grass knight like you for a squire, I wonder?” said Mago.
Arius leaned in closer. “Well, you know what they say about him—”
Ki could hardly believe his ears. Were they daring to insult Tobin now? Both boys turned and were gone before he could gather his wits to respond.
“Ki, don’t stand there dreaming. Fetch in the damson tart!” snapped Chylnir, who’d just come in.
Honor. Ki summoned Tharin’s voice in his mind as he hoisted the heavy pastry dish. Whatever a squire does reflects on the lord he serves. Keep that thought first in your heart, no matter what, and you’ll always do what’s proper.
Thinking of Tharin calmed him. By the time he reached the dining room, he could wish Mago and Arius dead without so much as frowning in their direction.
Instead, he brought all his anger and resentment to the training fields the next morning and every day after. Whenever he could, he paired off with his enemies for swordplay or wrestling, and let his body speak for him. The other boys were good fighters, too, and he didn’t always best them, but they soon learned to avoid him when they could.
He and Tobin were hailed as equals of all but the oldest boys, and Ki wasn’t sure they couldn’t have taken some of them on, but Porion wouldn’t allow it. Crowds gathered to watch the new prince fight. Some of the squires and other blades, including Lutha, began to adopt plainer garb on the training field, though nothing so worn as Tobin’s old jerkin. Ki had even sided with Molay and Lord Orun on this issue, trying to talk Tobin into adopting better garb to suit his station, but he wouldn’t be moved. He’d wear any finery they wanted to feasts and around the city, but remained stubborn on that point, even when he overheard some of the onlookers joking that they couldn’t tell him from Ki in a match. In fact, it seemed to please him.
It was only much later that Ki realized that Tobin understood and resented the petty meanness directed at them as well as Ki did, and chose his
own ways of fighting back.
Chapter 44
Autumn came on in a series of terrible thunderstorms that swept in off the sea. Lightning flashed down, striking buildings and sometimes even people. Rain ran in torrents from rooftops and through the streets, washing the year’s refuse down to the sea.
The foul weather kept the Companions indoors for days. They practiced at swords in the feasting hall and played wild games of chase through the corridors, much to the despair of those nobles unfortunate enough to encounter them. Several ended up in the fish pools.
Korin held court in his great hall, surrounded by jugglers and minstrels. He brought in troupes of actors and badgered the heralds for news every few hours. And he drank.
Ki and Tobin were sweating through another round of dancing lessons when a page wearing the yellow livery of Lord Orun beneath his dripping cloak appeared and approached Prince Korin.
“Cousin!” Korin called to Tobin. “Your guardian requests our company this afternoon. I suppose we must go. You too, Caliel. I’m sure Orun can make room for you.”
“Damn,” sighed Ki.
“You’ll have a better time here than I will there,” groused Tobin. “What does he want with me now? I was just there three nights ago.”
Other messengers appeared through the dreary afternoon, calling more of the boys away. Chancellor Hylus called for his grandson, Nikides, who took Ruan with him. Lutha was ill with a fever and Barieus was tending him. Faced with Mago and few allies, Ki decided to make himself scarce until Tobin came back.
He went back to their room and cast about for something to do, but Molay had put everything in order. Even Tobin’s carving bench was tidy for a change. Deciding to chance a ride in spite of the weather, Ki threw on old shoes and a thick cloak and set off for the stables.
“Shall I send for your horse, Sir Ki?” Baldus called after him.
“No,” Ki replied, glad of the excuse for a walk after being shut up inside for so long.
The rain had slackened but a strong wind whipped his cloak around his legs as he left the shelter of the palace gardens. His shoes were soon soaked through, but he didn’t care. The pummeling of the wind and the cold, sharp smell of the sea made his blood race and his heart feel lighter. He turned his face up and let the wind scour it. There was plenty of daylight left; perhaps he could get Tharin to go for a ride by the shore.
The stables were deserted except for a few grooms and ostlers. They knew him and bowed as he walked through the sour darkness of the mews. A hundred glossy rumps faced him on either side; Dragon and Gosi’s stalls were about halfway down on the left side.
He hadn’t gone very far when he realized that he wasn’t alone after all.
Turning, he found Mago and Arius almost on his heels. The sound of the storm must have covered them as they followed him from the palace. That, and his own inattention, he thought with sinking heart. There wasn’t a groom in sight now. These two probably had the sense to bribe them to stay away.
“Why, fancy meeting you here, grass knight,” Mago exclaimed brightly. “And how might you be this fine afternoon?”
“Well enough, but for the company,” Ki retorted. They wouldn’t let him pass; that much was clear. There was a door at the far end of the stable, but it meant turning tail and running, and he’d be damned if he’d do that. He’d rather take a beating. Then again, surely even they wouldn’t be that foolish.
“I wouldn’t think you’d be so particular about what company you keep,” Arius said, toying with a heavy ring on his hand. “Stuck in that rat trap old keep of the duke’s with a demon and Tharin’s draggle-tailed peasant soldiers? And I’m curious …” Arius went on twisting the ring around and around. “Perhaps you can tell me, since you lived there. Is it true what they say about Tharin and Lord Rhius? With you being his son’s squire and all, I thought maybe you’d know.”
The blood began to pound in Ki’s ears. He had no idea what Arius was talking about, but the way he said it was insult enough.
“Maybe it runs in the family, like the madness,” Mago put in with a poisonous smile. “Do you and Tobin do it, too?”
Ki began to suspect what Mago was hinting at and went cold with anger. Not at the implied act itself, but at the thought of these spotty-faced bastards dragging two such men down with their filthy leering tones, and Tobin with them.
“You take that back,” he growled, advancing on Mago.
“Why should I? You share a bed, don’t you? We all saw it the night we went to the old throne room.”
“Everyone does where I’m from,” Ki said.
“Well, we all know where you’re from, don’t we, grass knight?” said Arius.
“Two in a bed,” Mago taunted. “Lord Orun told me that Tharin used to take it up the ass. Do you? Or is it Tob—”
Ki punched Mago without even deciding to do it. He just didn’t want to hear those words, and, in the instant that his fist connected with the older squire’s nose, it felt good. Mago went down cursing and landed on his back in the wet muck of a stall, blood spurting from his nose. Arius got Ki by the arm and yelled for help, but Ki threw him off and walked away.
His elation was short-lived. By the time he was out the door at the far end of the stable he knew he’d made a serious error and started running, knowing there was only one place to go. No one followed.
I failed him! he raged at himself as the enormity of the situation crashed in on him. He’d failed Tobin and Tharin. And himself. In the next instant he lashed out at his tormenters. Korin was right; they were all rotting here. Foul mouthed, soft-handed, backbiting little sneak bitches like Mago wouldn’t last a day among real warriors. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d dishonored Tobin. And now there’d be worse to come.
The clouds opened, the rain lashed down, and Ki ran.
Tobin hated the visits to Lord Orun’s house. The rooms were too warm, the food too sweet, and the attendants—a pack of droopy, bare-chested youths—overly attentive. Orun always insisted that Tobin sit next to him and share his dish. The sight of those greasy, wrinkled fingers did little for his appetite.
It was even worse today. Tobin’s head had been hurting since he woke up that morning, and he’d had a dull pain in his side that was making him tired and out of sorts. He’d hoped to sleep that afternoon, until the summons came and spoiled his plans.
Orun always insisted on inviting Moriel, as well. Though Tobin still resented this, he had to admit that the pale boy did do his best to be pleasant when they were thrown together here. Then again, almost anyone would seem pleasant company at Orun’s table.
There were thirty nobles at the table today, and the king’s wizard, Niryn, occupied the place of honor on Tobin’s left. Between courses he entertained the company with silly tricks and illusions, like making a stuffed capon dance, or floating sauceboats around like ships in the harbor. Looking down the table, Tobin caught Korin and Caliel rolling their eyes.
He sat back with a sigh. Niryn’s magic was even more pointless than Arkoniel’s.
Ki managed to keep himself under control as Ulies let him in and led him to the hall. Tharin sat by the fire in his shirtsleeves. Koni and some of the other men were with him, gambling and repairing bits of tack by the hearth. They called out their usual greetings to Ki, but Tharin frowned as soon as he saw him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Can we speak alone?”
Tharin nodded and took him to his room. Shutting the door, he turned and asked, “What happened?”
Ki had rehearsed half a dozen explanations on the way here but now his tongue seemed to have glued itself to the roof of his mouth. There was no fire and the room was cold. Shivering miserably, he listened to the sound of his sodden cloak dripping on the floor as he searched for the words.
Tharin sat down in the chair next to his bed and motioned for Ki to come to him. “Come on, now. Tell me about it.”
Ki let his cloak fall and knelt at Tharin’s feet. “I’ve d
ishonored Tobin and myself,” he managed at last, fighting back tears of shame. “I struck another squire. At the stables. Just now.”
Tharin’s pale eyes fixed on him in a most unnerving way. “Which one?”
“Mago.”
“Why?”
“He’s been saying things to me.”
“Insults?”
“Yes.”
“Were there witnesses?”
“Just Arius.”
Tharin let out a snort of disgust. “The arrogant little fool. Well, out with it. What did he say that you couldn’t walk away from?”
Ki bristled. “I did walk away from a lot! Ever since we came here they’ve called me grass knight and bastard and a horse thief’s son. And I walked away every time. But this time they got me alone in the stables and they—They—” He cringed inwardly at the thought of repeating what they’d said about Tharin. “They insulted Tobin. And Duke Rhius. And you. They said filthy lies and I lost my temper and punched Mago. Then I ran here.” He hung his head, wishing he could die and be done with it. “What am I going to do, Tharin?”
“You’re going to take your punishment tomorrow like any other squire. But right now I want to hear what they said that made you angry enough to do such a thing. And why being called those other things didn’t. Let’s start with that, shall we?”
Tharin pulled Ki up by the shoulders and sat him on the bed, then poured him a small cup of wine. Ki downed it and shivered as it burned his belly. “I don’t know. Maybe because I knew most of what he said about my kin and me is true. I am a grass knight, but Tobin doesn’t care and neither do you or Porion, so I don’t mind it so much. And I know I’m no bastard. And that about my father? I don’t know. Maybe he is a horse thief, but Tobin doesn’t care about that, either, so long as I’m not one…. And I’m not! So I can stand any of that.”
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