by Jaye McKenna
“Ah. Your brother is not his first choice, then.” Tristin realized then just how limited his knowledge of the royal families was. He wasn’t even certain how many brothers Mikhyal had. He would need to remedy that, he supposed, if he was to live here at the castle.
“No, he is not,” Mikhyal said grimly. “Shaine will not honor the treaty. Once, there would have been no question, but… ever since the accident, he’s changed, and not for the better.”
Tristin opened his mouth to ask a question, but snapped it shut again before anything could escape. Should he ask? Or would it be more polite not to? He nibbled at his lower lip, excruciatingly aware of the seconds passing while he dithered. Mikhyal must think him a perfect fool. His face burned at the thought.
“A year ago, Midsummer, it was,” Mikhyal said, saving him from having to make a decision. “Shaine had a riding accident. He was thrown from his horse and knocked unconscious. We feared he might never wake, but after nearly a week, he did. He was different, though. Before the accident, he and I were close. I’d been raised to take the throne, and when he was confirmed the heir eight years ago, he was terrified. He needed guidance, and my father was too angry and disappointed to provide it. I took it upon myself to mentor him, to prepare him to be the best king he could be.”
“You sound like a very good brother.”
“Ai, well, Shaine had no one else. Father had always been a bit cool to him. Up until the accident, Shaine was one of my closest friends. Afterward, he wanted nothing to do with me. Instead of being reluctant to take the throne, he became almost eager, as if he could hardly wait for Father’s death. And instead of turning to me for support and instruction as he used to, he turned to Wytch Master Anxin.”
“Was there nothing the healers could do?” Tristin asked.
“Nothing more than to explain that this sort of thing can happen after a severe head injury, and that there was nothing to be done. My father had other healers brought in, but they all said the same thing.” Mikhyal stared down at his hands.
“That must have been very difficult for you,” Tristin said softly.
“Quite. And I fear once we return home and my father makes his intentions clear, Shaine will not take the loss of his position well. A year ago, it would have been a relief to him, but now? He will be beside himself. I shudder to think what he might do.”
Tristin’s breath caught in his throat as the pieces came together, and he grasped the situation. “Your father means to name you his heir.” The words came out in a choked whisper, but Mikhyal didn’t seem to notice his growing discomfort.
“Ai, and I fear he also means to protect me to the point where he fears any risk to me at all. Which doesn’t bode well, if I am to be his military commander. I told you Vayne had said he could perform his transformation on me. I would gladly move forward with it, but my father is opposed. He means to declare me his heir tomorrow, at the betrothal ceremony, and once that’s done, I suspect he will not allow me out of his sight for fear of losing the only heir he trusts.”
Tristin dropped his gaze to his bowl, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Mikhyal might not have realized it yet, but alliance or no, once he was the heir, friendship with someone like Tristin would reflect badly on him.
The heir of Rhiva could hardly be consorting with the half-mad, bastard son of a traitor. Even if Mikhyal didn’t see him that way, the rest of the nobility would, and that was what mattered. Tristin might have grown up far from the intrigues of Ysdrach’s Court, but he’d heard enough whispered gossip in his early years to have grasped how important one’s breeding was to the nobility of Skanda. That attitude wasn’t about to change because of a few signatures on a treaty.
“That’s enough talk for now,” Mikhyal’s voice cut into his thoughts. “You need to finish your lunch, or Master Ilya will be after both of us.
“You s-sound like one of the h-healers.” Tristin kept his eyes on his bowl. “Perhaps you’ve missed your calling.”
Mikhyal laughed. “No, I don’t think so. Although I must admit my motives are not entirely altruistic.”
Tristin froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Oh?”
“I was promised a dance after the betrothal ceremony tomorrow. It’s in my best interests to make sure my dance partner is well enough to attend.”
“Ah.” Tristin’s face grew hot, and he kept his eyes fixed on his bowl and applied himself to his soup, which had suddenly lost all flavor.
An awkward silence followed. Tristin ate as quickly as he could, painfully aware of the heir’s scrutiny. When he’d finished his last bite, Mikhyal rose.
“I’m sorry to have to leave you so soon, but my father is expecting me. We have much to discuss, and I think he wants to take advantage of the fact that here, we can speak freely without fear of being overheard.”
“Of course,” Tristin mumbled. “You mustn’t neglect your duties on my account.”
“I’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow afternoon, then.”
Tristin swallowed, not sure what to think of the fact that the prince still wanted to see him. “I… I… um…”
Mikhyal’s pale eyes widened a fraction, as if he’d only just realized something. “I’m sorry, Tristin, I didn’t mean to push. If you’re not comfortable going to the ceremony, I understand. It must be frightful, having to go among a crowd of people when you’ve been used to only your own company for so long.”
“Ah. Yes. I… that’s very true.” Tristin kept his eyes down, unable to look at the prince.
“Well, I did offer to come to you at Dragonwatch to claim my dance. I could come to you here just as easily.”
“No… it’s all right. I… I’ll be there. I… I’ve promised Jaire. He’ll be dreadfully disappointed if I don’t go.”
Mikhyal frowned, but said only, “If I can get away from my father, I’ll come by and see you later on. We can discuss it then.”
Tristin gave him a wordless nod, but he still couldn’t bring himself to meet Mikhyal’s eyes. Surely the prince was only being kind. He’d offered the dance, and he’d stick to his word, but it couldn’t possibly mean anything.
Since Mikhyal seemed unwilling to protect his own reputation, Tristin would have to do it for him. He would attend the ceremony as planned, but only long enough to watch Prince Jaire and Prince Vayne say their vows, and to swear his allegiance to his cousin. The moment the official business had been concluded, he’d take his leave. A celebratory feast would be held before the dancing, so there would be plenty of time to slip away.
Yes. That would be best. It might not be exactly what Tristin wanted, but he liked and respected Mikhyal far too much to want to cause the prince any difficulties. And that was all Tristin was ever likely to be to Mikhyal: a difficulty. As a traitor’s bastard, no matter what he did, he would always be viewed with suspicion. He’d never be anything more than Wytch King Garrik’s rather awkward relation.
* * *
All the way back to the guest wing, Mikhyal mulled over that conversation with Tristin, and wondered where he’d gone wrong. They’d been talking quite happily, but all of a sudden, Tristin had gone quiet, and when he did speak, it was in whispers, or short, stammered sentences. Mikhyal must have said something to make him uncomfortable.
He reviewed the conversation as he crossed the Grand Hall, barely noticing the bustle of the preparations for tomorrow’s ceremony and the dance that would follow.
Dance.
Everything had been fine until he’d mentioned the dance.
Mikhyal stopped dead in the hall. He’d thought Tristin was interested, but… could he be mistaken? Perhaps he’d read too much into Tristin’s shy, sweet smile. The uncertainty… the nervousness…
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Tristin had, after all, spent the last fifteen years in almost complete isolation. If he’d been locked away at seventeen, he’d never had a chance to interact with people as an adult before.
He’d thought he’d been flirting
with Tristin, but perhaps he’d only been making the poor man uncomfortable. Perhaps Tristin wasn’t being coy at all. Perhaps he was bewildered and embarrassed, and had no idea how to tell Mikhyal to get lost.
Oh, Mik, you blithering idiot…
A glance at the clock in the Grand Hall told him he didn’t have time to go back and apologize before he was due to meet his father for lunch. He’d just have to make time later.
He arrived in the guest suite to find Dirit lounging on the chandelier. “All is well, Your Royal Diligentness.” The little dragon leapt down from his high perch to land upon Mikhyal’s shoulder. Though Dirit rarely manifested physically, Mikhyal couldn’t help but flinch away to avoid being hit.
“I shall never tire of that game,” Dirit said, settling himself.
“How’s my father?” Mikhyal asked.
“He is quite safe, thanks to me.” Dirit puffed his little chest out. “Although I do think he might have stayed in bed a bit longer. He’s looking rather wilted, and he’s only been up for an hour or so.”
Mikhyal was about to knock on the door of his father’s bed chamber when it opened to reveal Wytch King Drannik. The king looked very pale.
“Should you be up?” Mikhyal asked. “The healers said—”
“To the Dragon Mother’s coldest hell with the healers,” Drannik growled. “Garrik is joining us for lunch in an hour, and I’ll not have him seeing me still abed like an invalid. Bad enough they all had to see it this morning.”
“But the treaty is signed,” Mikhyal reminded him.
“Ai, it is, and it will be made public tomorrow. Garrik plans to make the announcement before the betrothal. I will certainly sleep easier tonight knowing that my allies know who is to rule Rhiva after me. They will fight for your right to the throne, should the need arise, Mikhyal. They have all sworn it.”
“Ai, and now your work here is done and you can rest.” Mikhyal eyed his father critically. “Will you at least allow me to help you to a chair?”
“Looking particularly haggard, am I?” Drannik laughed, but it was a very tired sound. He didn’t protest when Mikhyal helped him back into his bed chamber and settled him in the armchair next to the bed.
“If you overdo it now, you could set yourself back. Ambris did warn you about that. Several times.” Mikhyal pulled a blanket off the bed and was about to drape it over his father’s legs, but Drannik pushed it away.
“Stop your fussing, Mikhyal. I may still be a bit tired, but I’m not nearly as infirm as everyone seems to think. And I will be attending the betrothal ceremony tomorrow.”
Mikhyal knew better than to argue, so, using his most diplomatic tone, he said, “That’s two attempts on your life.”
“Are we certain they were attempts on my life and not yours?” Drannik countered. “If the bandit attack was arranged — and the presence of the Wytch Sword suggests it was — then either one of us could have been the target. As for the other night, the room was dim, and the two of us look so much alike… it could well have been you they were after.”
“I think we should operate under the assumption that they sought to eliminate you, Father. The Council has far more to gain from your death than mine.”
“Yesterday, you might have been correct,” Drannik conceded. “But as of this morning, you are my heir, and once word of that gets out, you and I will both be targets.”
Mikhyal hesitated for just a moment. He hated to use the situation to press his case, but then again… “Which is why I think we should go ahead with the transformation Vayne offered to perform.”
“An excellent idea!” Dirit chirped in his ear. “Think what fun we could have frolicking in the sky with Prince Tristin of the New Flower Bed!”
Oblivious to Dirit, Drannik gave him a long, appraising look. Mikhyal held his breath. Had this second attack been enough to change his father’s mind? “The gift of the Dragon Mother would certainly give you a way to defend yourself from attack,” the Wytch King said thoughtfully.
“And a weapon the Council will be ignorant of until I use it,” Mikhyal said. “The element of surprise may work in our favor.”
“Ai. I’ve been speaking with Prince Vayne. He’s assured me several times that the transformation is completely safe, though I still have some misgivings about that. Given the circumstances, however, I think the benefits outweigh the risks. You have my permission to proceed.”
“Excellent,” Mikhyal said with a nod. He’d intended to proceed with or without his father’s approval, but moving forward with Drannik’s blessing would certainly be less trouble. “I’ll make arrangements with Prince Vayne immediately.”
“Oh, how very exciting!” Dirit leapt from his shoulder and skipped across the Wytch King’s bed.
Drannik waved his hand dismissively. “There is no urgency. We still have battle plans to discuss, and even if we did not, Ilya won’t allow me to leave until he’s satisfied that I’m fully recovered.”
“He would be remiss in his duties to let you go before you’re ready, Father. As far as your health goes, I trust Ilya and his healers to know what’s best.”
“Ai, but Ilya doesn’t have to contend with the thought of Shaine and Anxin running roughshod over the people of Rhiva in our absence, does he?”
Mikhyal started to respond, but was interrupted by a commotion in the suite’s main room.
“The changing of the guard?” Drannik asked, raising an eyebrow. “They’re usually so quiet, I don’t hear them.”
“No,” Mikhyal said, heart sinking as he recognized his brother’s voice barking orders. “It sounds as if Shaine has arrived. What in Aio’s name is he doing here?”
Drannik’s mouth tightened in disapproval. “That boy had orders to remain at the summer palace.” He started to get to his feet, but Mikhyal set a firm hand on his father’s shoulder.
“No, you rest. You’re looking a bit pale. I’ll deal with him.” Mikhyal turned and left before his father could protest, closing the door quietly behind him.
Shaine was standing in the middle of the suite giving orders to the servants. Garrik’s guardsmen were nowhere to be seen. The suite was now guarded by men wearing Rhiva’s colors.
“Shaine,” Mikhyal said smoothly. “How good to see you.”
Shaine turned to give his brother a cold smile. “I’m surprised to see you on your feet, Mikhyal. Last I heard, you were gravely ill. Father said something about awakening Wytch power?”
Mikhyal hesitated. Should he tell Shaine the truth? No… Drannik would want nothing revealed to the Wytch Council, and if Shaine knew about the Wytch Sword, he would certainly tell Anxin. “Father was mistaken,” Mikhyal said. “I have exactly as much Wytch power as I did when you saw me last. None.”
A fleeting expression of disappointment crossed his brother’s face. “Well,” Shaine said, pulling off his riding gloves and tossing them carelessly on the table, “as soon as I’m settled, you can tell me what’s been happening.”
“What are you doing here? Father left you in charge of things at the summer palace.”
“Ai, but with both of you having arrived here on dragonback, you’ve no safe way of returning home. I put together an escort, and here we are. I’m sure you and Father will be much more comfortable knowing you’re guarded by men loyal to Rhiva.”
Mikhyal glanced at the guardsmen. Two were positioned at the main door of the suite, and two had taken up posts near the bed chambers. He didn’t recognize any of them, which was odd, as Mikhyal made it a point to personally interview every single guardsman who was stationed at the palace.
“Who are these men?” Mikhyal demanded. “These are not the men I assigned to the King’s Guard. And where is Captain Rhu? I must speak with her immediately.”
“I had your captain arrested on charges of negligence and suspicion of treason,” Shaine said flatly. “She and the rest of the King’s Guard are being held in the dungeon pending further investigation into the attack on the royal caravan.”
“On whose authority?” Mikhyal asked in a low voice. “Rhu and the King’s Guard saved us. We were ambushed and outnumbered.”
“You were saved by someone weaving the mythe,” Shaine corrected him. “If it wasn’t your Wytch power, as Father thought, then I’ve no idea what it was, but mysterious use of a power that dangerous needs to be reported to the Wytch Council and investigated immediately. Have no fear. Anxin will inform the Council as soon as I’ve spoken to him, and they will deal with it. Really, Mikhyal, I’m surprised Father trusts your judgment on military matters, when you’ve obviously no idea. Now, where is Father? I must speak with him.”
Mikhyal clenched his jaw, struggling to hide his dismay and his anger. “He’s in his room, resting.”
“Resting?”
“He was attacked two nights ago.”
“Attacked?” Shaine’s hard, green eyes narrowed. “By whom? Why was I not told? I am his heir — I should have been informed the moment I arrived!”
Mikhyal considered his response carefully; the last thing he wanted was Shaine interrogating poor Tristin. “We haven’t managed to determine that just yet, but Garrik’s Captain Jorin is conducting an investigation.”
“I shall need to speak with him immediately.”
“Everything is under control, Shaine. I trust Garrik’s captain to do his job.”
“You don’t think Garrik was behind it, do you?” Shaine asked.
“Aio’s teeth, no!” Mikhyal exclaimed.
Shaine’s eyes narrowed again as he studied his brother. “You seem very certain of that.”
“I am as certain as I can be,” Mikhyal temporized, realizing that even though it wouldn’t matter after tomorrow, he still couldn’t breathe a word of the Northern Alliance or his own change in fortune to his brother. Not in front of guardsmen he neither knew nor trusted. “Father was very good friends with Wytch King Dane when he was alive, and—”
