He repeated the movement. Once it was completed perfectly a half dozen times, he reined Bluesteel back to a walk. The stallion reared in protest, hooves pawing the air in an excess of high spirits. Edouard laughed as Bluesteel returned to earth with bone-jarring suddenness, and leapt sideways, narrowly missing another horse. Someone shouted and, still laughing, he made a halfhearted attempt to control his horse. More shouts followed him as Bluesteel's antics disrupted the practice arena.
Edouard could not help grinning at his horse's high spirits. He reined the stallion back and then touched his sides with the spurs. Bluesteel reared and then leapt vertically heels flashing out in a stunning capriole. It was a movement Edouard had been practicing, though it was hardly practical for the battlefield where you could never know who was behind you. Still, he was pleased with Bluesteel's strength and obedience. He let the horse have his head for a moment, laughing and sitting tight to ride the stallion's joyful bucks and leaps. Sieur Gerald's voice joined the others raised in complaint.
He was about to curb the stallion when a new voice cut across the others.
"Edouard!"
He had not noticed his father's arrival. And of course he would arrive too late to witness Bluesteel's stunning work, seeing only a lack of discipline. Reluctantly, Edouard reined the stallion to a walk and made his way towards the arena's edge where his father was standing.
Arms folded, Prince Rupert awaited him.
"Good morning, Father." He tried to be pleasant, but the words came out guarded and barely civil. His father was staring at him with that look. A mixture of who and what the hell are you, and what did I do to deserve this. With one hand, Edouard scraped hair away from his face and wished he had searched harder for matching armor.
"What are you wearing? You look like an ill-paid mercenary." His father snapped, then reached to pat the stallion's shoulder. "At least Bluesteel looks well."
"He is well. A bit too well, he needs a gallop."
Prince Rupert gave a tight smile. "He was a little high-spirited at the end, but before that he was working well. I've never seen him perform better."
Surprised by the compliment, Edouard almost smiled back. He reached to pat the stallion's neck. "He is superb. There is no better horse in Valderon."
His father did not question this extravagant claim. "You've certainly done well to school him from a green colt to this. It is not easy to master a horse of such spirit."
Another compliment, Edouard took a moment to choose a reply. "Sieur Antonio deserves credit. I could not have done it without him."
"I am sure Antonio would be happy to allow you a measure of the credit. Bluesteel is your horse. It's not as though anyone else has ever ridden him."
"No," Edouard said. Somehow, it was even worse when his father tried to be nice. He wondered what he wanted.
As the silence lengthened, Prince Rupert glanced around the training grounds and changed the subject. "Is Charles riding this morning?"
Edouard could not help himself. "No, I think he is getting a manicure, seeing his tailor, or something."
"I hardly think I need to remind you that Charles has different responsibilities."
"Hardly, Charles reminds me often enough of the incalculable difference between first and second sons."
"That is not what I meant. Charles works hard, just as you do. It does you no credit to belittle his efforts, particularly when you have so recently achieved such dazzling success."
Edouard bent his head, and wished that just once a reference to his dazzling success might be a positive one. "I just meant that I am unlikely to forget he has precedence."
Prince Rupert returned his gaze to the battered cuirass. "Nor is anyone else when you present yourself in such a manner. You are a knight now, Edouard, and winner of the King's Championship. The men, the squires and the other knights, they all watch you now."
"Then let them judge me for what I am, not what I wear. They will not mistake me." He knew this was true, if unacceptably arrogant and quite beside the point, but somehow everything came out wrong around his father.
"You misunderstand."
"No, I understand completely. If they want magnificence, let them look to Charles, for they won't see him sweating in the dust of the tourney field."
"That's enough, Edouard." Frowning, his father changed the subject. "I've had word that the Marechal St Andre will be arriving tomorrow. Maybe you will present yourself better when he is here."
"St Andre is coming to Chamfort?"
"Yes."
"But I did not know."
"Is there some reason you should know before I do?"
"No." He held back a dozen questions, but there was one he had to ask. "Why is he coming?"
"He comes on the King's business. It need not concern you, unless there is something you would have us discuss?"
Edouard shrugged. There was something that would undoubtedly be discussed. Something he should have told his father. He had said nothing of his plans to join St Andre; afraid his father would refuse him. A glance to his father's face made him wonder if somehow he had heard.
"You have been home for a week now. It is past time we discussed your plans."
The words sounded ominous. "You summoned me home," he said defensively. "I presume you had a reason."
"Obviously it was not for the pleasure of your company." Prince Rupert snapped. He took a long-suffering breath. "We must talk. I have time now."
"I have three more horses to work. That will take me till after noon." He did not want to tell his father his plans, or explain why he had kept silent so long.
"When I will have no time." His father spoke with soft clarity. "Leave the horses to Master Antonio and the grooms."
"The horses are not easy. The grooms will not manage them, and it is arranged that I will ride them."
"So?"
"It will disrupt Sieur Antonio's arrangements. The Master of Horse will not be pleased. It is disrespectful, and you always say…"
"Edouard, I am sure Master Antonio can accommodate a minor change of plan, irreplaceable as you doubtless are. I will speak to him, if you prefer."
His father had that look now. The one you didn't argue with.
"That will not be necessary, Father."
"Then, Edouard, you had better take Bluesteel round the meadows to cool off. I will see you at the stables when you are done." Prince Rupert turned on his heel, ensuring his words were the last spoken.
He cooled Bluesteel off and returned to the stable yard. Rico arrived with buckets of water to wash the stallion down. Edouard gave the reins to the boy and shed the wretched armor, throwing it onto the grass. Then he untacked and washed the stallion himself. Taking care to dodge teeth, hooves and cow kicks. Rico laughed at the stallion's antics.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his father arrive, along with Sieur Michel, one of his father's oldest and closest friends. He had been away from Chamfort for weeks, and Edouard was glad to see him back. Perhaps his father's mood would improve with Michel's return. Finished with the stallion, he gave Rico instructions and walked to join the two men.
Michel was speaking softly. As Edouard approached, he looked up and smiled in welcome. "Edouard, I hear of nothing but your success. You must tell me the story later."
Edouard smiled as Michel came to throw an arm round his shoulders. For a moment he hoped that Michel might be joining them. Things went better with his father with Michel around.
But releasing him, Michel turned back to his father, serious now. "I have news from Etrives you should hear."
Prince Rupert nodded. "I am seeing Charles at noon, join us." After a moment, he turned back. "Edouard, shall we walk in the gardens?"
They walked away from the stables, following an avenue of elm trees. The silence stretched as they reached the gardens and turned to follow the path that wound down through the terraces.
"So, Edouard."
"Father, you wanted to speak to me?"
The Pri
nce took a sharp breath. "You have been back for a week. It is past time we discussed your plans." After a pause, he continued. "I'm aware that you have made a name for yourself beyond Chamfort. That things have changed." After a further silence, he asked sharply, "Do you understand?"
"Of course I understand."
"Then you will favor me with your thoughts, and plans, if you have them."
"Why do you ask now?"
"I thought there was perhaps something you would like to discuss with me, before the Marechal St Andre arrives tomorrow?"
With a sinking feeling, Edouard kicked at the gravel and said nothing.
"Or perhaps you think you can leave Chamfort without informing me of your plans. And without my permission?"
"I can't see why you would care."
"Don't be a fool. Of course I care." His father caught him by the arm, jerking him to a halt. "A storm is brewing and Chamfort will be caught at the heart of it. We can't afford to draw Ferdinand's attention. We can't afford any more mistakes."
"Then you should be pleased that I want to leave."
"This is not the time to attempt wit, Edouard." Prince Rupert turned to walk on. After a moment, he followed, reluctantly.
"I would know nothing of your plans, but for the rumors. It seems the court gossip knows them well enough. I am your father, and you have humiliated me before Ferdinand and his court."
"No."
"The rumor is incorrect? You do not intend to abandon Chamfort and pledge service to the King's first general?"
"It is not decided."
"You're damned right it's not," his father said. "Explain yourself."
"St Andre has made me an offer, and of course I am tempted and flattered. At least he values my abilities." He could not help adding the last words.
Prince Rupert ignored them. "And you did not think it something you should discuss with me?"
"Why would I, my plans are not important to Chamfort."
"Don't take that tone with me, Edouard. This is not about you, or me, it is about the safety and survival of our family. You know I wish and hope for Arnaud's recovery as much as you do. But I cannot ignore what is plainly known, not if I am to protect my own."
"Charles does not need your protection. Ferdinand will name him heir, and he will do nothing to jeopardize that."
"Saints of mercy, Edouard, to make such a suggestion is treason and, from a son of mine, dangerous beyond belief. It is also unforgivably naïve. And, lest you forget, I stand next in the line of succession." His father's voice was cold and contemptuous now, a bad sign. "Think what that means, Edouard."
"I know what it means."
"Do you? The succession is not only about me, or Charles. Do you think men sit waiting to see the outcome? Well, understand they do not. As you have, they make plans, they have hopes and ambitions." Prince Rupert stated the words softly, clearly. "Already they look to Chamfort. You are a fool if you cannot see the danger we face. And worse than a fool if you will pretend your actions have no consequence in this."
He wondered how many times his father could call him a fool in one breath. "But surely it is still better if I am away from Chamfort?" It was what he truly believed, and it seemed to give his father pause.
"Think of the implications if you leave Chamfort, Edouard."
"What implications?"
"There are many, but to state the obvious, Charles is not married, as yet he has no son."
He considered this, and realized what his father meant. "I don't want the damned throne."
"I know that, even Charles knows it. But you have royal blood. No one else would truly believe it or care." He hesitated. "Not even St Andre."
"What are you saying?"
"I am saying that an alliance with the most powerful of the King's generals is not wise at this time."
"Ferdinand trusts St Andre."
"Perhaps." There was doubt in his father's voice. "But how long will that trust last if you are at St Andre's side?"
He shrugged unhappy at where this thought lead. "If that is true why would St Andre risk it?"
"I believe that is my point."
"That is ridiculous. I won't defend St Andre to you." Why must his father twist and spoil everything? He took a breath, and made an effort to speak calmly. "As for the other, perhaps I should have spoken to you, but I knew you would object and that it would be because of Charles. I do not want to be always in my brother's shadow, you must understand that?"
"And if we accept that one day your brother will be King, will a place in his shadow be good enough for you then?" The words and sarcasm were brutal.
After a moment, he grinned. Just as when he fought, he did not hesitate to return the blow. "When Charles is King I will stand in his shadow, and I will serve him. If he will have me."
He had managed to silence his father. But at a cost. No one brought up the past, and of all subjects, the rift between his father and the King was most taboo.
It was a moment before his father answered. "I am glad to see you understand the situation so well." His voice was soft and flat now. A very bad sign. "I will have your commitment to Chamfort, and your oath on it." He allowed no pause for comment or discussion. "You may continue your association with the Marechal St Andre, but you will make no commitment to him. You will remain at Chamfort; whatever plans you had, you will pursue them no further. You will speak to me before you undertake any commission for St Andre, and you will undertake nothing which may harm Chamfort or your brother."
"You allow me nothing," he said, his hands bunched to fists.
"I give you your duty and ask for a son's obedience. You have brought us to this, Edouard, so do not bleat to me of unfairness. You will put your family first."
"I have done nothing to harm the family or Chamfort."
"I pray that you are right, but we will see what news St Andre brings."
"What do you mean?"
His father hesitated, but only for a moment. "I fear that your victory, and the manner of it, will prompt some retaliation. Ferdinand does not like to be crossed."
Edouard stood silent, shocked by this accusation.
"You will do nothing further that may harm your family. Is that so much to ask?" His father waited for a moment. "Then you will give me your word."
"You have my word." The words stuck in his throat, and he had to force himself to finish. "I will undertake nothing without your permission."
"That will do well enough for now, thank you, Edouard."
He had managed only a couple of strides when his father called him back.
"Edouard."
He turned and came to a halt, keeping distance between them. It meant his father had to raise his voice.
"There is one more thing. I have heard talk about your behavior at court, there are rumors of a liaison." He paused. "The rumors speak of an affair flaunted openly to the detriment of the lady concerned. I do not like what I hear. If I find there is any truth in it, I will see you birched for such behavior."
For a moment, he stared his father down. Then he spun away, fighting the fury that washed over him. A few strides ahead, a branch swept low to the path. His fist smacked wood hard enough to break the skin across his knuckles. But he felt nothing.
Chapter 13
Charles Vallentin, Duke de Chamfort, tried to avoid catching his sister's eye as he smiled politely at the gray-haired man bowing obsequiously before him. Thankfully, Eloise, smiling too, kept her gaze averted as the representative of the Vintners Guild from the King's city of Fourges took his long-drawn-out leave.
"Thank you for seeing me, your highness–"
This was too much. Charles stopped smiling. Before he could speak, the man hurried to correct himself.
"Forgive me, your grace, I meant no offence."
"Of course not." He watched with relief as the man, still bowing, was escorted away. Charles sighed. "Why do they have to come now?"
"Don't be cross. They come because they are curious, and to bring
you gifts in the hope that you will remember them." Eloise was humoring him, using the voice she used when the twins were being difficult. He forced a smile, trying to take it in good part. She took his arm. Together they walked across the marble floors of the formal reception room and out into the vast space of the hall with its marble pillars. He came to a halt at the bottom of the wide, sweeping staircase. Seeing his face, she said more seriously, "They are beneath the King's notice and harmless enough."
Charles knew this was not altogether true, and worse, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was take every opportunity to make it clear that Chamfort did not court this attention. He turned to his sister, finding a smile because it was not her fault, and he did not want to worry her. "You're right, of course. Thanks, Elle, and thanks for helping me with these wretched audiences. I don't know what I would do without you." He leant down to kiss her cheek.
"You need a wife," she teased.
"Yes, well, that is another problem I don't have time for today."
Still holding his arm, she tilted her head to stare up at him. "You look tired. It's a lovely day, and I'm going to walk in the gardens, will you join me for a while?"
"I would love to, Elle, but I have so much to do. I have already wasted the morning on these fawning, endless petitioners."
"Very well, but you haven't forgotten we're all going riding this afternoon?"
"Of course not. I've been looking forward to it." He smiled. "Really, I have, it's days since I spent any time with the twins."
"And Edouard."
"I guess I can put up with him for a couple of hours."
"Charles!"
He raised a hand in defeat. "All right, Elle, I'll be nice, just for you."
She frowned at him. "No calling him that awful name, or mentioning his affairs…"
"Affairs? Is there more than one? No one told me."
"Charles, I mean it."
"Of course, anything for you, Elle." He smiled again, wondering what he would do without her. Knowing he would never manage the flood of petitioners, the invitations and less than subtle approaches from mothers with marriageable daughters. His sister kept them at bay for now and, when necessary, Eloise was the perfect escort. He watched her cross the hall, beautiful and graceful in pale blue, glossy dark curls reaching to her waist. In the doorway, she turned.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 13
