The Whisperer

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Keep this with you,’ Pilo had said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘At first glance it looks like an ornament on a chain. But it’s actually a whistle.’

  Lute looked at Pilo quizzically. ‘Why do I need a whistle?’

  ‘I hope you don’t but humour me today and wear it, will you?’

  Lute had shaken his head at the secretive man but he’d been happy enough to wear the whistle that had been fashioned from silver in the shape of a horse’s head. It was beautiful and intricately crafted.

  ‘It feels old,’ he had commented as he stared at it on the silver chain around his neck.

  ‘I had it made many years ago. Now I’m giving it to you.’

  Lute had looked alarmed, reaching instantly to take it off. ‘Pilo, I can’t possibly take something so precious.’

  ‘You can because I want you to. This is a gift. I have no son to give it to.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In fact I have no family to bequeath anything to. It looks very fine against your doublet. I shall look upon it with pride as you wear it.’

  ‘But maybe you will get married some day. Mother often says she feels guilty that your palace role keeps you from a family life.’

  Pilo had blinked. ‘She shouldn’t. I am privileged to serve.’

  Lute had felt sure he’d missed something in their conversation; Pilo seemed cautious. He had frowned. ‘Well, thank you. I’m honoured by your gift.’

  Pilo had moved away. ‘Don’t blow it recklessly, by the way.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Let’s just say it’s precious. Don’t wear it out, eh?’

  No more was said about it until they sat together, horses side by side, watching the mist stirring and rolling, slowly revealing the moors that Lute would soon be riding across.

  ‘Should you ever need to summon me, highness, and I am not readily available or in sight, blow that horse’s head.’

  Lute grinned. ‘You’re certainly in a fanciful mood this morning. Why would you not be available? You’re always at my side.’

  Pilo shrugged. ‘Just a precaution, my Prince. Humour me. Agree to this plan.’

  ‘I agree,’ Lute replied, shaking his head. ‘Happy?’

  ‘Delirious,’ Pilo answered as he nodded towards the stables. ‘Here comes the Duke,’ he added with a grimace.

  ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

  ‘Liking has no relevance. All that matters is honour and trust.’

  ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘Not for a second,’ Pilo answered and led Lute’s horse towards the Duke’s approaching animal. ‘And neither should you,’ he murmured, glancing at Lute with a stern gaze. Then he looked over to the man approaching. ‘Greetings, Duke Janko,’ Pilo said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Like a babe. Good morning, young Lute. That’s a fine horse you have there.’

  ‘Morning, Uncle. Her name is Tirell.’

  ‘After the wood nymph, eh?’

  Lute nodded.

  ‘She’s a beauty, too,’ the Duke admitted.

  ‘Duke Janko,’ Pilo began, ‘I thought you might enjoy it if we took you over the moors toward Peckering. You may recall there’s a marvellous lookout at Billygoat Beacon and you can see how the city has developed.’

  ‘Excellent. But Pilo, I would prefer to ride with my nephew alone.’

  Lute sensed an instant tension crackling between the two men but their tone remained polite, words carefully chosen.

  ‘My orders are to stay alongside the Prince at all times, Duke Janko,’ Pilo replied carefully.

  ‘Even when he’s with the King or the Queen?’ Janko said, smiling, but Lute heard no humour in the Duke’s tone.

  ‘No, when the three royals are together, I—’

  Janko didn’t even wait for the man to finish. ‘Then it should not trouble you to leave the Prince alone with his uncle. We are family.’ He impaled Pilo with a cool stare. ‘Royal family,’ he added.

  Again Pilo did not answer immediately and seemed to feel no embarrassment at taking his time. ‘Is privacy essential, Duke Janko? Because I prefer to fulfil my sworn duty.’

  ‘As a matter of fact it is. What I have to say is not to be shared with a commoner.’

  Lute took exception to this. ‘But Uncle Janko, Pilo is more than—’

  ‘Pilo is a servant, Lute,’ Janko said, firmly, not caring that he spoke so plainly before the person in question. ‘I know he’s important to you at this stage of your life but soon you will be fourteen—a young man. And all of the trappings of childhood, including this somewhat clingy manservant, will be removed. It has already been decided that Pilo will not be with you past the next winter.’ He ignored Lute’s look of surprise as he turned back to Pilo, whose expression gave nothing away. ‘Wait here. We shall be no more than one turn.’

  There were only twenty turns in a day, signalled by bells. That would have to be the longest time that Lute had been separated from Pilo since they had first been brought together by his mother. Lute looked at Pilo, whose hard, light-eyed gaze had now narrowed and was directed implacably at the Duke. He couldn’t tell what his champion was thinking but it was obvious none of it was kindly towards the Duke.

  ‘I shall be waiting, Duke Janko,’ Pilo said, his words falling like ice splinters.

  The Duke had already begun to turn his horse, deliberately showing disdain for the warning in Pilo’s voice. ‘Come, Lute. Show me what that filly can do.’

  Lute gave Pilo a worried backward glance and had just a second or so to see the reassuring nod from his friend before setting off at a trot, which quickly turned into a canter. Before they were even off the main grounds of the palace, they were galloping and Lute suddenly forgot the previous tension and lost himself in the exhilaration of the ride.

  They galloped all the way to Billygoat Beacon, finally slowing on the rise. Both Lute and Tirell were breathing hard by the time they reached the summit, at which they arrived long before Janko guided his horse to Lute’s side.

  ‘I had no chance against her,’ the Duke admitted, sucking in air but laughing at the same time. ‘She certainly takes after her fleet-footed nymph namesake.’

  Lute grinned. It felt good to see his uncle happy and he momentarily dismissed the memory of the earlier animosity between the Duke and Pilo as he enjoyed the sensation of being outdoors and carefree on horseback. He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing. ‘I suppose the city must look very different after so many years in the mountains,’ Lute said, trying for well-mannered conversation—as his parents would expect. ‘Floris has now connected several towns that were, only years ago, tiny little outposts. Fairlight, for instance, is now part of the city.’

  ‘Do you see this as your city, Lute?’

  He turned to look at his uncle, unsure of the intention of such a strange question. ‘Mine?’

  ‘Don’t be coy. Tell me, how does it feel when you look out across this growing city, this flourishing realm?’

  ‘I feel pride.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lute looked baffled but could tell his uncle demanded an answer. ‘Because we’re prosperous.’

  ‘What else?’

  Lute shrugged. He really didn’t know what else. ‘Well, I think it’s an elegant looking city. The—’

  ‘Tosh!’ Janko exclaimed. ‘That’s not what I mean.’ He backhanded Lute in the chest. ‘Here, boy, in here! What does your heart, your very soul, say to you?’

  Lute felt the pinpricks of suspicion return. Felt the carefree sensation of just moments ago vanish. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Janko, I don’t know what you mean. I’ve already told you that I am very proud of this city. That’s how my heart feels.’

  His uncle sighed. ‘I’ve fought for years to keep this city safe, to watch it flourish as it does now. These days Floris in particular but also Drestonia as a whole is a very prosperous realm. It would be considered a prize catch by any marauding army and it is why old Besler would love to annex it.�
��

  Lute couldn’t shake the tension but he tried again to be polite. ‘Well, that’s why my father loves and admires you.’

  ‘Because I keep his realm safe, do you mean?’

  ‘Because you are loyal to Drestonia and want peace for it as much as its people do.’

  ‘Ah, spoken like a true king, Lute.’

  ‘I am not a king.’

  ‘But you wish to be,’ Janko said and there was a cunning note in his tone now.

  ‘I am its Crown Prince,’ Lute said carefully, silently acknowledging the turn of the conversation, alarm bells clanging in his head.

  His uncle barked a harsh, brief laugh. ‘Indeed. Heir to the throne of Drestonia? Why, it has to be the most envied position in the whole of the Moragans.’

  ‘The Moragans is a group of nine kingdoms, Uncle Janko. We are but one of them,’ he replied with care.

  ‘But your kingdom is the largest. Yours is the most powerful—it has the river network and its fine harbour. It has mineral wealth and fine black agricultural soil. Drestonia grows everything it eats and its surplus it sells to the rest of the realms it dominates. Please don’t pretend to me that you consider it one of the pack.’

  Lute bristled. ‘I don’t pretend anything. I am the son of the King and Queen, nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘The only son of King Rodin.’

  ‘I can’t help that,’ Lute said, tiring of the banter and its curious undertone, and the need to remain polite. He wished Pilo were here to guide him. ‘Uncle Janko, why are you reminding me of something so obvious? I have known the crown was mine since I was old enough to understand words.’

  Janko’s expression lost all pretence at politeness. The man who looked so similar to the King suddenly became the lizard-like predator the Queen feared. His lips pulled back in a sneer and his voice seemed to drop a few notes into a growl. ‘Because, young Lute, I’ve no intention of allowing you that crown for I don’t believe you are the true heir.’

  And he reached for Tirell’s reins.

  8

  Miralda gestured that the servants should leave and the palace aides silently left the salon where the King and Queen had been taking their morning porridge. It was not long past first light, with the sun lifting itself to brighten the dark sky with slashes of pink cutting across the inkiness. Mists rolled away from the palace towards the hills.

  ‘Are you feeling well, Rodin? You’ve hardly said a word. In fact you’ve been downright broody,’ she said. ‘Is it the early hour?’

  ‘Mmmm?’ Rodin seemed distracted, looking around from where he’d been staring.

  She repeated her enquiry.

  The King sighed. ‘Forgive me. I’m puzzled, that’s all. Last night I received a message from Captain Drew. I thought he was misinformed but it seems he’s right: Floris appears to be surrounded by soldiers.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Miralda said, pushing away her bowl. ‘What do you mean?’

  Rodin shrugged. ‘Exactly what I say. All the town gates were secured by the home guard at my behest last night but fringing the capital are the soldiers of the legion. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Upon whose orders?’ And then she answered her own question. ‘Janko? Janko’s done this?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Rodin seemed as incredulous as she did. He didn’t sound frightened, however. ‘He wouldn’t though, Miralda. Think about it. This is my brother. The brother who has been fighting for our freedom and peace for probably the past dozen years. It is because of Janko and the army he commands so rigorously that we enjoy such prosperity now. This couldn’t be his doing. He is lauded, loved. He is a duke. He is my brother,’ Rodin repeated, almost to himself, and Miralda heard the tone of desperation he tried to mask.

  ‘It’s not enough, Rodin.’ She stood, wringing her hands, but in anger, not fear. She was no longer prepared to be gracious towards Janko. ‘It’s obviously never been enough. Janko wants the crown. Don’t you see? He’s always wanted it. Up until now he’s been patient, perhaps fighting his own inclination to go against his brother. But he knows you’re getting on in years and unless he makes his move soon, Lute will become King. I tried to warn you but you never took me seriously.’ Miralda heard her own rage rising, trying to escape. She reined it in, determined to keep her composure. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, I came down here to talk to him this morning. I couldn’t find him when I learned about it in the early hours, but naturally I thought this was some sort of mistake. I’m even beginning to think this might be Janko’s idea of fun, part of the festivities, you know. Perhaps he plans a parade of the army so the people can thank them.’

  ‘You’re clutching at straws, Rodin. Does fringing an entire city sound friendly to you?’

  Rodin closed his eyes, shook his head.

  ‘The fact that you ordered all the city gates closed suggests to me that you don’t feel fully sure of your brother’s intentions. What about the drawbridge?’ she asked, standing to move to the balcony to check for herself.

  ‘I’ve ordered it to be raised. It should occur any moment. No-one’s getting into the castle, I promise.’

  And then Miralda felt her blood turn to ice. ‘Lute! Rodin, he’s gone out riding with Janko.’

  In his shock Lute found himself doing what Pilo often did, which was to hold a silence until it felt awkward for the other person, except he wasn’t doing it deliberately as Pilo might. He was doing it entirely unintentionally, with his mouth gaping as he tried to make sense of what the Duke had just revealed.

  ‘What makes you say such a thing?’ he finally asked.

  ‘Let me tell you a story,’ the Duke continued, as though their ride out was still friendly and there was no tension between them. ‘Before you came along there was King Rodin, Queen Miralda and there was me, the loyal brother. Your mother remained barren for so many years that it was quietly understood, though rarely spoken about, that an heir was not likely to come along.’

  Lute felt a fresh chill creep through him as his uncle continued.

  ‘Some well-meaning people whispered to my brother that he should take a new wife, that he owed it to the Drestonian realm to produce sons—at least one heir. He wouldn’t hear of such a betrayal to Miralda.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, surely?’ Lute offered, glancing around, wondering how he might escape this threatening situation he found himself in.

  ‘Oh, those of a romantic inclination would think so. But politically no, Lute. It was not a good thing to be so blinded by an attachment to someone that he put the good of the realm at risk. It’s a sign of weakness.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Lute exploded. ‘Let me go.’ He nudged at Tirell’s ribs. But the Duke was ready for him and pulled at the reins he held.

  His uncle shook his head. ‘I want you to listen to my tale before I permit you to leave.’

  Not really sure of where he found the courage to sound so regal, Lute sat straighter in his saddle and set his jaw defiantly. ‘Permit? I am Crown Prince. You permit me nothing.’

  Janko only smiled. ‘Ah, and here we have it. I wondered when it would surface…when the arrogance of status would emerge to show its true colours. Now I know you’re not your father’s son! He would never demonstrate such open superiority. Curiously, I admire it!’ He grinned at Lute’s struggles.

  ‘I demand that you let me go.’ Lute twisted in the saddle but Janko’s grip on the reins didn’t falter.

  Janko laughed openly now. ‘Calm down. A crown prince should have composure at all times. Never show your fear, Lute. I’m sure your champion, the suspicious Pilo, has mentioned this.’ Lute’s anger flared to rage and it brought him the moment of icy calm he needed. He stopped struggling. ‘Good. That’s a nice trinket you’re clutching so tightly, Lute. I noticed it earlier. It’s very fine craftsmanship. May I see?’

  Lute felt he had no choice. He squirmed, purse-lipped as his uncle studied Pilo’s recent gift.

  ‘It’
s exquisite. What is it?’

  ‘Simply what you see,’ he answered coldly. ‘A finely crafted head of a horse.’

  ‘But it is hollow.’

  Lute shrugged. He was not going to tell Janko what it was if he couldn’t work it out.

  ‘This is not Florian work and your father would not purchase anything from a silversmith outside of Floris.’

  ‘Pilo gave it to me.’

  ‘Pilo. Ah, there’s that annoying name again. He’s awfully close to you isn’t he?’

  ‘He has been given his orders by the King. I have no say in his duties.’

  ‘You obviously care for one another.’

  ‘We are close friends.’

  ‘Well, Lute. He’s not here now, with his grave face and searching gazes. It’s just you and me…perhaps a few others,’ he said, gesturing behind.

  Lute turned and was astonished to see three soldiers, two on horseback, another crouched, the reins of his horse wrapped around his fingers.

  ‘Why are these men here?’

  ‘Keeping watch over me,’ Janko said, too innocently for Lute’s liking. The chill he’d felt earlier was hardening, turning his blood to ice it seemed. He was frightened now, and the fear overwhelmed his fury. This whole situation felt suddenly dangerous. He was outnumbered and outmuscled. He took a silent steadying breath to clear his mind; looked back at the Duke, trying to keep his face expressionless. Pilo would demand that he not show fear.

  ‘Shall I finish telling you my story?’ the Duke asked calmly.

  Lute needed time to think. Pilo was too far away to help. He’d have to fend for himself. He nodded, unable to say anything as the sense of peril escalated in his mind. Let the man talk whilst he figured out what to do.

  ‘Good. So now where were we?’ Janko pondered, looking to the sky and squinting. ‘Ah yes, Rodin refused to take another wife. Instead he made a bargain—not with his people, they were none the wiser—but with one person.’

  ‘A bargain? For what?’

  ‘The crown of course.’