Tresa set about wrapping my chest.
At last the fiery sting began to ease, and I could think of other things. “Why did the candles gutter?” Surreptitiously, I wiped my eyes.
Imbar’s voice was as silk. “Yes, Rae. We’d all like to know.”
The Earl shifted his weight “The Power of Cumber. Not all of us are blessed with faculties like your Still.”
I waited, but no more was forthcoming. “When the Power comes, you blow out candles?”
Raeth seemed discomfited. “When certain moods come upon me, candles gutter. I can’t predict it, and have little control.”
“What moods, Rae?” Imbar, again.
“It’s nothing we need discuss.” The Earl’s tone was waspish. “I’m sorry, truly I am. But who did it?”
I stared at my binding. “Surely, it was an accident. Someone’s utensil, held careless in the dark.”
Rust and Fostrow exchanged glances. The soldier asked, “Who was closest, when the light was lost?”
“Someone pushed me aside,” said Tresa.
I forced myself to think. “I was sitting next to the one with the buck teeth. Beyond him ... I don’t remember.”
“But we do, Imbar. Crinan, was it not?” The Earl raised an eyebrow.
“And Crinan is late of Margenthar’s court,” said Imbar. “But any of us might wish to earn favor with Duke Margenthar.”
“Or Tantroth.” Uncle Raeth sounded gloomy. “Too many choices. Without question by torture, there’s no way to tell.”
Rust stood over me, dagger still drawn. “Apply it, then!”
“How admirable, that you’d protect our prince. But I’d lose too many dinner partners.” Raeth’s tone was dry.
I put my head in my hands. “I hurt, and I’m tired. Let’s think on this of the morrow, before I leave.” I waved away Tresa’s supporting arm. “I’m well enough to walk.” My tone was brusque. “Thank you for your attentions.”
It was a dismissal. She colored. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Is there a couch I can sleep on?” Fostrow looked about.
I reddened, not wanting him to see me bed with Rustin. “The door bolts.”
“The door can be forced. Someone wants you dead.”
“There’s no need. Tell him, Rust.”
Rustin looked at the soldier, made a helpless gesture. “Our rooms connect. I’ll be near him tonight.”
When Fostrow left, mercifully silent, Rustin unsheathed his sword.
I shuddered. “Lie close.” I waited anxiously until he slid himself into bed. “Rust, why was I such a coward over the sewing?”
“You were afraid of the hurt.”
“I lowered myself in Earl Cumber’s eyes, when I needed his esteem.” I was silent awhile. “I won’t do it again.”
“I know.”
“No, hear me. I made a vow that I’d be coward no more. I meant it, as to large things. Death, and swords, and arrows.”
“A noble aim.”
“But isn’t it as necessary to conquer small fears as large? If I can face a sword, I can face a tailor’s needle.”
He chuckled. “Shall I call Tresa to resume her work?”
“Don’t mock me. I can’t let fear turn me aside again.”
“You ask much of yourself.”
“I must, if I would be King. And, Rust ... I would.”
We lay silent a long while. At length, his hand crept to my loincloth. Stirring, I thought briefly of Tresa, of Chela. Their time would come. For now, I must have my Power.
Chapter 25
IN THE MORN, TRESA knocked while rust and I were still abed. I hastily threw on a robe.
She asked, “Did you bleed in the night?”
“No.”
“What troubles me,” Rust said, “is who could have known the candles might gutter, and be prepared.”
“Oh, anyone. It’s a failing of Grandfather’s, and well known.” I waited, and she colored slightly. “I call it that, though he makes light of his Power. His, ah, moods are unpredictable.”
My tone was cross. “Why are your words so opaque? Speak plainly!”
“I—well, all right. Grandfather is a passionate man. When his passions are ... inflamed, the Power is likely to be present.”
I tasted the words. “‘Passions inflamed’? I don’t—Oh!” I felt myself blush furiously. “Lord of Nature!” With difficulty I met her eye. “You mean, he was ... but for whom?”
She made no reply.
“He was staring at me, while speaking of my father.”
“Yes.”
Desperate to change the subject, I tried to stand too fast, and gasped as something pulled at my side.
“Move slowly! Here, let me adjust the bindings.”
“Rust will do it.”
“But I’m versed—”
I snapped, “It’s not for you to help. You’re only a woman.”
Rust said swiftly, “I’ll apologize on his behalf, since he hasn’t the wit to know he’s offensive.”
“Rust!”
“You, be quiet. Accept my regrets, my lady.” He bowed. “Prince Rodrigo is valiant and at times even kind, but he was raised in a stable, free of manners.”
It brought a smile to her lips, though mine were set in a snarl. “Don’t make him angry,” she said. “His chest will throb. I take no offense, Rodrigo.”
“None was meant.” My words came grudgingly.
“May I see you this afternoon?” She stood.
“If you wish.” I was carefully indifferent.
“Perhaps, then.” A quick curtsy, and she was gone.
Rust dropped onto the bed, took my mouth in his hand, squeezed until I gawped like a fish and could say naught. His voice low but steady, he said many things, that after a time made me squirm in discomfort. Only when my eyes began to glisten did his tirade wind to a halt. He patted my cheek absently, went downstairs while I sorted myself out. In the hall, Fostrow said nothing. I hoped he hadn’t heard.
At noon Rustin appeared, with the Earl and two servants.
“May we come in?” Uncle Raeth swept past, without waiting for an answer. “How do you feel, Rodrigo?”
“Sore. But we must leave, lest they make another attempt on my life.”
“Sadly, I must agree. Oh, we can guard you, but for politics’ sake I must have you gone. In the meanwhile ...” His face brightened. “I brought a meal for the two of you.” He gestured to the footmen. “And my own, if I might join you.”
I had little choice. “As you wish, Uncle.”
“Mushroom soup to start, trout almandine, and greens. Wine and bread, of course, and a few pastries for dessert. I thought it best you dine lightly. You’ll forgive the omission of a few courses?”
In moments Uncle Raeth’s portable meal was set up and ready. He and Rust gathered round the bed, and we set to.
For a while, as we ate, the Earl made small talk. At length, his eyes fixed on mine. “So, youngsire, what would you do, as King?”
A jest formed on my lips, died stillborn. “First, restore the realm. It’s outrageous that Tantroth holds Stryx unchecked, even for a day.”
“How would you dislodge him?”
“I’d raise a force.”
“Paying them how?”
“Were Uncle Mar loyal, from the treasury.”
“And if it’s barred to you?”
“Taxes.”
Uncle frowned. “And after you’ve driven out the invader?”
“I haven’t thought that far.” He raised an eyebrow, and even Rust rolled his eyes. “Well, would you have me lie? Mother died suddenly, and since then I’ve had to flee Stryx, find Hester, ride to a forsaken patch of weeds, fight fires, and argue myself into your castle. When was I to plan my realm?” My cheeks had color, from the force of my assertion.
“See, Rustin, how he protests. Well, young Prince, I’ll give you time. Think, and tell me what you’d do, crowned and safe in Stryx.”
I sought some grandiose
plan that would please him, but could find none. “I don’t know, my lord. Once, I thought the crown meant freedom to do as I wanted. Now I see it isn’t so. And besides ...” I bit it off, but was forced by his silence to continue. “I no longer trust my impulses. I’ve been wrong too often.”
He raised an eyebrow.
An unexpected urgency hurried my words. “I know this costs me your support, but I value the True, and will not speak falsely. I’ve learned that in some things I’m ignorant, and”—I swallowed a lump—“I may never have wisdom. I have too strong a temper, too little control of my tongue. Mother failed to teach me better. Perhaps she should have sent me more often to the Chamberlain.”
Silence permeated our chamber. My voice was husky. “I’ll do my best, but I admit that so far, my best hasn’t been much. At least I’ll have Rustin to help, until I irk him beyond his bearing.”
The Earl studied me without expression for a long while. Abruptly he rose. “Good day.” He hurried to the door.
I buried my face in my hands. “What have I done?”
Rust sat beside me, stroked me gently. “I don’t know, my prince. Whatever it brings, I fault you not.”
For some hours Earl Cumber made himself unavailable. Rust went to see Chela.
Having little better to do, I gave myself over to fantasies that I’d achieved the crown, and set about my rule. Where before in my dreams I forced my cousins to heel, made them pay me exaggerated gestures of respect, I thought now of what I’d do, day to day, on the throne of Caledon.
My travel had taught me that the realm was not well knit. Our roads were atrocious, especially in the back country. I’d do well to repair them. I wasn’t quite sure of the mechanism that governed their payment, and amused myself inventing new ones. Perhaps that was just as well; whatever system was in place seemed not to work.
The simplest way was to force the Lord who held the place under my liege to pay for the roads’ upkeep, but it occurred to me that some, at least, might raise objection to a new and considerable expense. How much did it cost to repair a road? I made a note to ask Rust.
In midafternoon Tresa knocked at my room.
Unbidden, she threw open my windows. “It’s stuffy in here. You’ll get a headache, or worse.”
“I had none.” My voice was some smidgeon less than cold.
“Close them; it matters not.” Her manner matched mine. “Grandfather wants me to examine your cut.”
“No!” I couldn’t let her handle me unclothed.
“As you wish, then.” That small curtsy, a gesture more of dismissal than subservience. “If there’s no other service ...” She glanced at the door.
“Oh, stay awhile if you’d like. Rustin’s gone.”
“A charming invitation, my lord Prince.” Her tone was cold. “Yet I fear I must go.”
“How direct you’ve become, my lady.”
She hesitated. “I would leave, as my lord seems blind to the need of courtesy.”
It was what Rustin told me, oft enough. I sighed. “I’ve offended you.”
“Not at—”
“I always do.” It didn’t seem sufficient. “It’s a clumsiness I have.”
“I’ve noticed.” Her words struck like a glove on the face.
For a moment fury flamed, but, manfully, I swallowed it. “I’ve had my way a great deal, you see. Until recently.” Carefully, I stood. “If I’m to be King, I’ll have to learn better.”
“I agree, my lord. If I may bid you farewell ...”
“But I apologized! Didn’t you hear?”
She paused at the door. “It was no apology, Prince Rodrigo. Merely an explanation. Good day.” And she was gone.
“Foolish, ignorant woman!” I spoke to the empty doorway.
Fostrow looked in, came to pull up a chair. “It was no apology, sire. You might like to know.”
“Keep your opinions to yourself!”
He scratched his head. “If you were my son,” he said solemnly, “I’d thrash you. I thought you’d like to know that too.” He set aside his chair, wandered to the window, looked out with hands folded behind him.
I fumed, knotting the covers in my hands. They all took advantage of me. Tresa vented her spleen; Fostrow took unwarranted liberties. His son? Bah. Were I King, I might hang him for such insolence.
After a time Rustin returned from town. “Chela looks to recover,” he said. “How go things here?”
“No surprises,” said Fostrow. “Rodrigo is his usual self.”
When he left, I called for parchment, wrote out two notes, laboriously copied them over until I was satisfied. To please Rust, I showed him them before sending Genard with the first.
He folded the scroll, handed it back. “Flowery and pretty, but far better to have no need.”
“I know.” My tone was humble. “I’ll really try, Rust.” I glanced outside, at the advancing day. “Send Genard to gather the horses, and tell Hester. We must be gone. I’ll say goodbye to Uncle Raeth.”
“What of his support you seek?”
“It’s lost, I assume. I’ve begged enough.”
Holding my side, Rustin hovering, I negotiated the two flights to the walled veranda wherein my uncle tended his flowers.
Garden blooms attracted me not at all, but I was so glad to be in sunlight I examined each blossom as if it held significance for me.
“They droop, now that autumn is on us.” The Earl, behind us, his hands and arms brown from the earth.
I turned, made the bow of courtesy.
“Ah, Rustin, he’s healing. We’re overjoyed, of course.” His pinched face gave no support to his words. “Mar’s courier made fast his journey home, I’m sure, with news of your presence.”
I asked, “And you’ve sent along your own word?”
“Not yet. What would you advise?”
“That you help me. Can I have horses, and men-at-arms?”
“To go against our colleague Margenthar? To tackle Eiber’s mighty army before the walls of Stryx?”
“To be a magnet, to which others might adhere, that I might have my throne.”
“He flies to the heart of the matter, eh, Rustin? Tell me, Roddy of Caledon, why should I help you?”
“The throne is rightfully mine. Mother—”
“No, no. You’re telling me why you want the crown. Tell me why I should want you to have it.”
“Does justice not move you?”
“Not a whit, lad.”
I looked for aid to Rustin, but he’d stepped back to let us have at it.
I took a deep breath. “What would move you, Uncle?”
“Mundane matters. Remission of taxes for ten years, for a start.”
“Is there more?”
He threw up his hands. “Aiyee, how can I support you unless you act like a king? You’re supposed to go choleric with rage at the very notion.”
“Inwardly, I seethe. What else do you demand?”
“Nothing that would trouble you.” His manner was offhand. “A few parcels of land in dispute with the Warthen. A barony for my friend Imbar, that sort of thing.”
I tried not to let my lip curl. “Imbar is but a commoner, and a servant at that.”
“That’s why it wants the King to ennoble him,” Raeth said agreeably. “Else, no need to ask.”
Rustin cleared his throat. “The Prince will think on it.”
I shook my head apologetically. “No need, Rust. May we sit, Uncle? I tire.”
The Earl snapped his fingers, and servants materialized. “Chairs, at once, and hot chocolate. Pastries too, while you’re at it.”
In a few moments we were seated. I leaned forward. “As to the borderlands you covet from the Warthen, don’t be too greedy in their choosing, and you may have them. I’ll reimburse him somehow.
“The taxes I won’t remit. It’s not that I don’t cherish your counsel and assistance”—I bowed, and he back—“but I can’t very well tax the rest of the realm and exempt you. Folk would be ou
traged, and I’d end up collecting nothing. On the other hand, I could assist you in building the new roads we’ll require, where others might have to provide for themselves.”
“A pity, young Rodrigo. Were it not for such harsh edicts I might have supported your—”
“The barony flies against decency and convention, but you may have it, the day after I’m crowned. That’s my concession, Lord Cumber. Were I you I’d prize it, for what other contender would consider such a thing? Lord Mar?”
The Earl’s sardonic manner faltered. “He speaks like ... a king, does he not, Rustin? How odd. I thought him a mere boy.”
I blurted, “I am a boy, and want so to be a man. Will you not help me, instead of casting follies in my path?”
His face grew stiff. “I must go. Affairs bid our attention.” He got swiftly to his feet, strode away.
Dismayed, I watched him depart, thinking I’d lost all. But at the entranceway he paused, bowed formally. “My lord Rodrigo. Until tonight.”
“We must leave, Uncle.”
“Tarry until morn. You’ll be well protected.” He disappeared.
Rustin bent over, kissed me once on each cheek. “How can you act such a fool, and be so magnificent scant hours after?” His eyes glistened. He walked away to examine vines hung artfully from a trellis.
I idled away the final hours of the afternoon, playing chess with Elryc, chatting with Fostrow as an added gesture of amends. He’d said nothing of the note I handed him.
Rustin was absent through the long evening. When the sky darkened I was concerned. When I got ready for bed, Fostrow sitting quietly in the corner, I was most anxious, lest some ill had befallen him.
Rust’s knock came at last, as the candle dripped past the tenth hour. I threw open the door. “Why do you go off without telling us? Where have you—”
“Enough.” He brushed past.
“We’ve been all day without word—”
He spun, his eyes blazing. “Will you be silent? I don’t answer to you!”
I couldn’t help a sneer. “Was she so good you had to run back to her?”
He took my shoulders, backed me to the wall. I winced as the jar pervaded my knitting wound. “Where I’ve been is my business. Ask not.”
“Why do you anger so?”
The Still Page 35
