‘So, you’re spying on me?’ she asked, a combination of looking aghast and angry in her expression at the same time. She folded her arms.
‘Don’t be daft, Tess. That’s typical Tyren, making sure none of us trusts one another. Just remember what your creatures told you about me. If you trust them, then trust me. Come on. We have to plan your act. We’d better go see Madam Tyren about some clothes for you—she’s in charge of the show wardrobe.’
Tess softened and threw a worried glance at her friends.
‘They’ll be safe,’ he reassured, taking her elbow. ‘You’re right. No-one knows they’re here and they know how to hide should anyone stumble into the clearing. We can check up on them regularly.’
‘I do trust you, Griff. Just so long as you don’t try and talk me out of sleeping in the woods with them tonight.’ She glared at his look of surprise. ‘I’m like Elph,’ Tess assured him, ‘I don’t feel the cold.’
Janko’s welcome home banquet had been a lavish affair. Rodin had ordered the most impressive royal feast the palace had seen since Lute had been born, and the kitchens had worked themselves into a frenzy of activity to impress the returning hero.
The highlight of the dinner had been what was known in the region simply as ‘Serephon’. It came from the ancient language and meant ‘blessed creatures’ but was used to describe a complex dish that began with roasted ox. Within the carcass was a cooked deer, which was in turn stuffed with mutton that, when opened, revealed a goat that was stuffed with a small pig, and which ultimately revealed hares stuffed with tiny voles. It was a mighty achievement by Lambert, the head cook, that each of these animals were beautifully prepared and cooked to perfection within each other; each bringing different flavours of meats and herbs and, of course, being a spectacular centrepiece for the royal banquet table.
Lute hadn’t partaken of the Serephon but had nibbled on the simple roasted slices of meat that Pilo had cut from a haunch of cold beef and served with fruit chutneys, soft cheeses and thick hunks of warm bread smeared with butter. Lute had joined in the many toasts to the Duke and laughed politely at all his uncle’s jests when the guests—all important men and women of the realm—had somehow become a willing audience for Janko to regale with stories of his adventures. It was then that Lute noticed his mother was not at all as riveted as his father and everyone else seemed to be. Her attention was wandering and she looked unimpressed when Janko’s audience clapped or cheered.
Soon enough Pilo had leaned over his shoulder. ‘Time to go, your majesty.’
‘So soon?’ Lute asked, a plea in his voice.
‘You have to be up for the dawn ride, don’t forget, my Prince,’ Pilo said. Pilo always said just the right thing, thought Lute. He could have just said, ‘It’s time for bed’ and made Lute feel as though he were a mere child being taken from the grown-up part of the banquet. Instead Pilo made it appear as though it were Lute’s duty, as Crown Prince, to get his sleep.
‘Of course. I shall just wish my parents good evening.’
Pilo gave an almost imperceptible nod as Lute walked over to the three adult royals.
‘I must take my leave. Good night, Mother,’ he said, formally kissing her hand. ‘Father, sleep well,’ he said, bowing to the King. ‘Uncle Janko, see you in the morning.’
‘I’m looking forward to it, young Lute,’ Janko said softly over his shoulder. ‘I can’t persuade your father. Serious affairs of state apparently await, but I’m sure we shall have a lively time nonetheless.’
‘My mother would—’
‘Er, no, darling,’ Miralda said, smiling indulgently. Lute had never seen that expression before. It seemed forced, overly polite as she tinkled a soft laugh clearly for Janko’s benefit. ‘Both of you, and Pilo, can rise with the birds and enjoy the dawn.’
Lute saw Janko throw a look of sympathy at his mother. That expression seemed equally fake. ‘A queen must get her beauty sleep,’ he said.
‘Can I just thank Lambert?’ Lute murmured as they moved away from the chamber.
‘In case your mother forgets to, you mean?’ Pilo said, striding so quickly that Lute had to hurry to keep up.
‘She won’t forget,’ Lute assured.
‘That’s my point. I think you were wondering if there were any stickycakes going begging.’
Lute grinned. He’d been found out. ‘Well, you made me leave before they were served.’
Pilo gave a soft sigh that said it was alright to go via the kitchens. Inside the cavernous wing at ground level of the palace there was a soft warm fug of food smells and people’s toil. A vast assortment of servants was fetching, carrying, cleaning, tidying.
Lambert spotted the young Prince and clapped his hands furiously to get everyone’s attention. The kitchen staff bowed, welcoming Lute.
‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your work, Master Lambert. I’ve just excused myself from the banquet but I wanted to quickly thank you and all the people in the kitchen for the magnificent meal that was served tonight.’
Lambert beamed, his face cherry-red from his hot exertions while his staff cheered and whistled their approval, not just of their chief’s cooking prowess but mostly for the Prince’s thoughtfulness at paying a visit.
‘Thank you, majesty. That’s most kind of you,’ Lambert said, his huge body skipping up on light feet to bow with an almost feminine grace. ‘But you leave before the sweet courses.’
‘I must, I’m afraid,’ Lute said, contriving an expression of deep disappointment. ‘Duty calls. I must be up before the lark tomorrow to ride with the Duke, and Pilo here thought it best if I withdrew now…er, before the final courses.’
‘Oh, but my prince, Sarah’s made stickycakes in your honour that are just dripping with honey from the royal hives. You can’t miss those,’ Lambert said, all his chins wobbling.
Lute shrugged, contriving misery, not daring to look at Pilo. ‘I’m sorry, Lambert.’
‘Well, majesty, we cannot ignore your duty, but do let me have a plate of them sent up to your chamber with some warmed sweetened milk.’
‘Sweet dreams indeed,’ Pilo said and Lute nudged him to remain silent.
‘That would be most acceptable, Master Lambert,’ Lute said. ‘Thank you.’
Later, dressed for bed but on his private balcony munching on the cakes sandwiched with thick cream and dripping butterscotch and honey, Lute opened his thoughts to Pilo.
‘My mother’s worried about something.’
‘Is she?’ Pilo replied, distracted, scanning the city, gently lit by twinkling torches.
‘Pilo, don’t play dumb. I know that you notice everything, even if you don’t want anyone to know that. What are you looking for out there?’
‘Nothing,’ Pilo replied, although his eyes never stopped searching.
‘So now you’re behaving strangely as well. And what’s all that about tasting my food. You’ve never done that before.’ He was onto his second cake.
‘It was an excuse. I was hungry.’
Lute made a scoffing sound. ‘Rubbish! You never eat. I think you exist on air.’
‘It’s simply something your parents would like to introduce.’
‘Food tasting?’ Lute asked, incredulously. ‘You jest.’
The man looked around and shook his head.
‘But why should you die of poison?’ he asked, reaching for another delectable cake.
‘Ah, and there’s the great divide between royals and servants.’
‘Pilo, stop. Be as direct as you normally are. What’s going on?’
‘Absolutely nothing that should concern you. We will now have food tasters for the King and heir. We’re just taking some new precautions.’
‘Against what?’
‘Treachery, the usual thing against royals.’
It reminded Lute of the soldier’s comment. ‘Who?’
‘You never know,’ Pilo answered. ‘As I said, just a few precautions.’
Lute was not satisfied with the a
nswer. He frowned in confusion, his cake half-eaten. ‘So why is my mother acting so strangely?’
‘I think you’ll have to ask her that. She may be thinking about a new gown for all you know.’
‘I’ll tell her you said that,’ Lute threatened. They both knew Queen Miralda, although renowned for her beauty, was far more likely to be thinking politics of the realm than shallow thoughts on fashion.
Pilo sighed. ‘Prince Lute. There is nothing for you to worry about.’
‘I’m not worried. You are. And my mother is. The King doesn’t seem at all bothered, simply pleased that his brother is returned. Why do I sense that no-one else close to him feels the same way?’ He swallowed the remains of his fourth cake.
‘Well, perhaps you should search your own heart, Prince Lute. I didn’t notice you leaping out of your skin to reacquaint yourself with the Duke this morning.’
Lute felt he had finally got to the bottom of what was troubling the normally unflappable Pilo. ‘I hardly know him,’ Lute said, defensive now but aware that his guide and mentor was the least chatty person in the palace and rarely wasted words. Everything Pilo said to him was usually for the benefit of teaching him and Lute sensed this occasion was no different. Pilo was being oblique, deliberately avoiding coming out and saying what was on his mind but clearly urging Lute to work it out for himself.
Pilo turned from the cityscape at last and fixed Lute with a keen stare. ‘But you don’t like him.’
Lute shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that.’ He couldn’t hold Pilo’s gaze and knew, by looking away, that he revealed his true thoughts to his companion.
‘You don’t have to,’ the man said gently. ‘But then, neither do I,’ he added.
Lute looked up, surprised by the admission. ‘Can he sense my reluctance?’
Pilo thought about this. ‘Possibly. But he doesn’t know you nearly as well as I do and you’ve conducted yourself impeccably this evening. Your parents will be proud. Have you finished? Any more and you’d surely burst.’
‘Actually there is something I wanted to discuss with you.’ He considered a fifth cake but decided four was enough.
‘Oh?’
‘I overheard some soldiers talking in the bailey as the Duke’s party was arriving. It was probably nothing—in fact, I likely misunderstood—’
‘Don’t justify it, Prince Lute, just tell me,’ Pilo suggested, closing the first of the doors to the balcony and checking the locks repeatedly.
‘I just caught a snatch of conversation—a comment, really…’
Pilo turned. His close-cropped beard twitched as his mouth narrowed with irritation. ‘Spit it out.’
Lute yawned helplessly. He was tired after his early adventure in the streets of Floris and now tonight’s big feast. ‘One of them said something about knowing that Janko disliked his brother.’
‘Is that so?’ Pilo didn’t seem surprised.
‘Yes, but watching my father and the Duke tonight you’d think they were the closest of friends.’
‘You would, wouldn’t you,’ Pilo said, his tone loaded with scepticism.
Lute regarded Pilo. ‘You don’t trust him.’
‘It’s not my place to trust anyone, Prince Lute. I am your guardian. And I would run a sword through anyone—Duke or otherwise—who might wish you harm. Hopefully he will hate the claustrophobic atmosphere of city life and he’ll be gone as fast as he’s arrived.’
Lute nodded. ‘Let’s hope so, because he makes my mother act very strangely and I think my father feels obliged to overcompensate.’
‘King Rodin loves his brother. And we should not forget that Duke Janko is loyal to the realm. Without him we might well be bowing to a different king,’ Pilo said sagely.
‘And now you admire him,’ Lute said dismissively.
‘I admire what he’s achieved for Drestonia. I’m not so sure what he plans to achieve on this visit.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing specific. It’s my job to be suspicious of everyone…otherwise what’s the point in giving me the role of your champion?’
Lute gave his companion a look of disdain. ‘And now you’re just playing with words and talking around the issue. Tomorrow I’m riding with him. Should I fear that?’
‘I will be there. You have nothing to fear.’
‘Cake?’ Lute offered, changing the subject now that he knew Pilo was not going to enlighten him any further this evening.
Pilo shook his head as he ushered Lute back into his sleeping chamber.
‘How can you resist them?’ Lute groaned.
‘Food doesn’t interest me.’
‘But these are stickycakes, Pilo. Not just food. This is the food of the gods!’
A rare and brief smile creased Pilo’s face, gone almost as soon as it arrived.
‘What does interest you, anyway?’ Lute asked, licking honey from his fingers.
‘Plenty.’
‘Such as?’ Lute responded, vaguely irritated that he was being urged inside and to bed. He was sure Pilo was not as anxious about the late hour as much as his security.
‘Such as riding, swordsmanship, the safety of the Crown Prince.’
‘My parents know almost nothing about you, do they?’
Pilo shook his head as he encouraged Lute even closer to the bedside.
‘Why is that?’
‘Do you remember how old you were when I joined the elite staff?’
‘Several years back.’
‘And you were so withdrawn you hardly spoke. Now we can’t make you stop speaking. There was another occasion when you were silent and constantly nervous, I’m told. It was when you were three.’
Lute buttoned his nightshirt. ‘What’s your point? I’m growing up now. I feel more confident. Surely that’s normal?’
Pilo pointed to a basin of still warm water and Lute dutifully washed his face and hands. As he handed Lute a linen to dry off with, Pilo continued. ‘My point, Prince Lute, is that on each occasion when you have become curiously introverted, the Duke has been present in Floris.’
Lute stared at his manservant, baffled. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m not sure I’m saying anything in particular, my Prince. I’m simply trying to explain why your mother may be edgy. She connects the Duke with unease for you.’
‘Well, I’m fine,’ Lute said clambering into his huge bed. ‘No-one should worry.’
‘Excellent,’ Pilo said brightly, although Lute was not convinced that this wasn’t all part of Pilo’s usual demeanour. The man was like the almost-extinct califa: able to change colours to suit his surrounds, mood and—in Pilo’s case—particularly who he was talking to. Lute was sure no-one knew the true Pilo. The man had little patience for fools and little interest in the majority of people in the palace. Pilo seemed unimpressed by just about everyone, although Lute sensed that he very much liked and was fiercely loyal to the King and Queen. And yet, Lute knew Pilo could be highly amusing on occasions, courtesy of his pithy, dry wit. Above all, Pilo made Lute feel safe. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why he should ever feel threatened in his own home but distant memories told him he had been scared at times. Though not since Pilo’s arrival in his life.
‘I shall be in the adjoining chamber, as usual,’ Pilo said.
‘Do you sleep, Pilo?’
‘Never,’ the servant replied, ‘so call me any time, no matter how trivial your want may be.’
‘Why is Dragon here?’ Lute asked, yawning, glancing down at the enormous mastiff, the largest of the royal dogs.
‘Dragon does exactly as he pleases—you know that,’ Pilo answered, stroking the dog’s enormous head.
‘You’re fibbing again. You’ve got him here on guard, haven’t you?’
Pilo gave the Prince a withering look. ‘I think you’re more tired than we thought. Dragon hates most people, as you well know, and he prefers to be here with us than around the Duke, who is, after all, a stranger to him. I presume you don’t plan
to send him away?’
Lute shook his head. ‘No, I like Dragon here, but I still think you made him come. It’s all part of your strange behaviour tonight.’ He yawned widely again. ‘You are coming riding tomorrow, aren’t you?’
‘I shall be around,’ Pilo replied. ‘Sleep well, my Prince.’ He glanced down at Dragon, giving him a stern look and it seemed the dog understood precisely what was required of him.
The banquet was over, formal farewells had been dealt with and the musicians and performers were packing up at the end of the Great Hall. Miralda had excused herself, leaving the two royal brothers to sip a nightcap by the glowing embers of the fire. Two of Rodin’s dogs were at the hearth; his guards close enough in the chamber to intimidate any visitors but not near enough to hear the conversation between the King and Duke.
No-one could hear them. No-one except Pilo, who had only been prepared to leave the sleeping Prince because he trusted Rodin’s most feared mastiff to set up a terrible noise should it hear anything unfamiliar or untoward. Dragon was a fierce guard dog and, for some reason Pilo could never fathom, was just as happy to take commands from him as he was from his real master. Pilo had never taken advantage of this until tonight, but the mastiff had dutifully come when he called, trailed him to the Prince’s suite and, even more amazingly, remained where he had been quietly ordered to stay. It bought Pilo the time he wanted to steal downstairs and eavesdrop on the royal brothers. This was not something he felt happy about doing, but for all the Queen’s deep distress over Lute’s vulnerability where the Duke was concerned, the King seemed equally comfortable. Pilo needed to see for himself and the best way to catch the Duke in an unguarded moment was to spy on him.
‘Thank you for today, Rodin,’ said Janko, wearily raising a goblet.
Rodin smiled. ‘Don’t mention it, brother. Truly, I wish I could show our appreciation for your heroism more keenly. You know there’s to be a statue sculpted in your honour—are you up to posing for it?’
‘Of course,’ Janko said, waving a hand as though it was of no importance.
‘What are your plans? Do you want to return to your estate in the country for a while? It’s been years since you’ve been home to Longley—although you know you’re welcome to stay in the palace as long as you like.’
The Whisperer Page 6
