by DAVID B. COE
The smile lingered on Tavis’s face a few seconds longer, before fading like the last light of day. “How’s your arum?”
It took a moment. “It’s fine. I’d almost forgotten about it.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Xaver racked his brain for something to say, but nothing came to him.
“I saw Brienne,” the young lord said, making Xaver shudder a second time. “I was in the Sanctuary of Bian on Pitch Night and she came to me.” He swallowed, and Xaver thought he saw a tear in the corner of Tavis’s eye. “She said I didn’t kill her, Xaver. She even showed me an image of the man who did.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve believed you were innocent for a long time.”
“I wasn’t certain until I saw her. I wanted to be, but I kept thinking about what I did to you.”
Xaver didn’t want to talk about this at all. He had been telling the truth a moment before. He had managed to forget about it. But speaking of it was rekindling his anger and making his chest ache again. It almost seemed that his forearm was beginning to throb once more.
“So what will you do now?” he asked. “Are you going to live in Glyndwr until her murderer is found?”
“That would mean living there forever. I have to go after him, Xaver. I have to find him.”
“You’re not serious.”
“No one else will. No one in Kentigern believes he exists, and I wouldn’t ask anyone in Curgh to do it for me. Besides, I’m the only person who knows what he looks like.”
“He’s an assassin, Tavis. Even assuming that you can find him, he’ll kill you the first chance he gets. And if he doesn’t, one of Kentigern’s assassins might. Kearney can’t protect you if you leave Glyndwr.”
“What’s my choice, Xaver? Living the rest of my life among people who think I’m a murderer, in exile from my family and the court of my ancestors?” He shook his head. “I’d rather be dead. At least this way I’ll be doing something.” He smiled, perhaps the first true smile Xaver had seen from him since they left their home to come to Kentigern. “I’m a Curgh, Stinger. Could you imagine my father living his life under another man’s protection? Could you imagine him living in the highlands, forty leagues from Curgh?”
Xaver had to grin as well. The fact was, he couldn’t imagine either Javan or Tavis doing anything but what his friend had in mind.
“You should at least take someone with you,” he said. “You can’t expect to do all this alone.”
“I don’t. I think Grinsa will be with me.”
“The gleaner?”
“Yes. I don’t understand all that he’s told me, but it seems that our lives are linked in some way. He’s had visions of this. He says it’s why he freed me from Aindreas’s dungeon.”
“So you trust him.”
“I suppose I do. He saved my life, at considerable risk to his own. I don’t have many people I can trust. There’s my parents, you and your father, Fotir, and the gleaner. None of the rest of you can come with me, and I don’t want to go after the assassin alone.”
“For what it’s worth,” Xaver said, “Fotir trusts him, too. He told your father that he couldn’t have chosen a better guardian for you.”
“I think that may be true.”
It seemed to Xaver that there was more to this than what Tavis was telling him, and he thought about pursuing the matter. Perhaps two turns ago he would have. But something in the young lord’s manner stopped him. For the first time, Xaver felt far younger than his friend. Perhaps it was the scars on his face, or the scars Xaver couldn’t see. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t help thinking that Tavis had earned the right to keep some things to himself.
“I haven’t told anyone else what I intend to do,” Tavis said. “Not even Grinsa, though I think he knows what I have in mind.”
Xaver nodded. “I understand. I won’t mention it until you’ve had a chance to speak with your mother and father.”
His friend smiled again, though the look in his eyes remained grave. “No, Stinger. You don’t understand. I’m not going to tell my parents, at least not for now. My father would think me a fool, and my mother would worry about me day and night.”
“Actually, I think you’re wrong about them. You said it yourself: your father would never sit idly in another man’s castle while the assassin who had ruined his life walked the Forelands, a free man. And though your mother might worry, she’d also understand. She doesn’t want you to be known as a murderer for the rest of your life any more than you do.”
Tavis gazed off to the side, as if considering this. “You may be right,” he said after some time. “Perhaps I will tell them eventually. But not yet, not until I’ve spoken with Grinsa.”
“And Kearney. You have to tell him.”
The young lord nodded. “I know.”
They lapsed into silence, both of them gazing around the ward, as if unwilling to look at each other. After several moments of this, Xaver made up his mind to leave his friend, at least for the day. Before he could say his goodbyes, however, the young lord surprised him.
“I’m going to miss you, Xaver. I already have. I know I never told you this back when we … before we left Curgh, but you’ve been a good friend. Better than I had any right to expect.”
He shook his head. “Tavis—”
“Let me finish. You’ve been far more than a liege man to me, though there have been too many times when I’ve treated you like a common servant.” He paused, taking a long breath. “But I think the time has come for me to release you from your oath.”
“We’ve already talked about this.”
“Yes, I know. But everything is different now. I’m not in line to be king anymore, or even duke. I’m no longer a lord of Curgh. A man in my position doesn’t need a liege man. And a man in your position shouldn’t be tied to a disgraced noble.”
Xaver knew he was right. He could hardly serve as Tavis’s liege man with the young lord living in Glyndwr or traveling the Forelands in search of Brienne’s killer. But while much had changed since the last time Tavis offered to release him from his oath, Xaver’s feelings about this had not. If anything, he felt less inclined to accept the offer this time than he had after the incident at Curgh. In spite of the humiliation and suffering Tavis had endured since then, or perhaps because of them, the young lord seemed more worthy of his service now than ever before. Standing with him in the middle of Kentigern Castle, Xaver saw little of the spoiled child who only two turns before drank himself into a stupor and came at him with a dagger. He did see a darkness in Tavis that frightened him, but he also saw a maturity that he had long hoped for, but had never truly expected. At last, this was the man he wanted to serve.
“I’ve told you before, Tavis, I don’t want to be released from my oath.”
“Don’t be a fool, Stinger. You can’t serve me anymore. Let me release you, and you’ll finally be done with all this.”
“Are you going to find the man who murdered Brienne?”
His friend faltered for a moment, then nodded.
“And once you do, you’ll be returning to Curgh, won’t you?”
“I might.”
“So you’ll need a liege man then.”
“That could be years from now, Xaver.”
“Then grant me leave to serve the House of Curgh in your absence, in whatever way your father and I deem appropriate. And when you return, I’ll still be there to fulfill my oath.”
The young lord weighed this briefly. “I guess I could do that.”
“It would be easier. We wouldn’t have to involve our fathers at all.”
Tavis smiled. “A good point.”
It almost seemed that the duke had been waiting for that moment to approach them, for suddenly he was there, his expression grim. Xaver would have liked to leave, having been witness to more than his share of difficult conversations between these two. But there was nowhere for him to go.
“Kearney and I are on our way out of the city,
” the duke said to his son. “We’ve done all we can for today, and we have a lot to talk about.”
Tavis nodded, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “What should I do?”
“Come with us, of course.” Javan glanced at Xaver. “You, too, Master MarCullet. This concerns you and your father as well.”
“Yes, my lord. Are we done here, Lord Tavis?”
His friend grinned. “So it would seem.”
The three of them started toward the nearest gate, to be joined a few moments later by Shonah, Xaver’s father, Grinsa, and the duke of Glyndwr and his advisors. Together they left the castle, descended the winding road to the city, and passed through the north gate into the Kentigern countryside. The armies of Glyndwr and Curgh had already started to make camp, and the smells of roasting meat drifted with the light wind, making Xaver’s stomach growl. He could hardly remember the last time he had eaten a decent meal.
“I had started to wonder if I would ever leave that city,” Javan said, drawing a smile from the duchess.
Xaver looked back over his shoulder at the castle, remembering how it looked when he first laid eyes upon it more than a turn ago. The fortress didn’t look as formidable as it had that day. The tor seemed lower, the walls more vulnerable. Still, he felt a chill go through his body. He wasn’t awed by the place anymore, but it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his days. A part of him hoped that he would never have to pass through its gates again.
The two dukes led their parties to Kearney’s tent in the midst of the Glyndwr army. There was no discussion of why, but it seemed clear to Xaver that they did so for Tavis’s benefit. As long as he was with the Curgh army, he was considered to be under his father’s protection and not Kearney’s. As they walked among the soldiers of Glyndwr, however, Xaver wondered if his friend was any safer with Kearney than with Javan. Glyndwr’s men stared at the young lord with such venom and loathing that it made Xaver’s stomach churn. They had made up their minds about him. Tavis was right: he was better off chasing Brienne’s assassin through the Forelands than trying to make a life for himself in the highlands.
The men were cooking venison and fowl provided by Aindreas’s kitchenmaster. No doubt Kentigern had been loath to extend any offer of hospitality to either duke, and certainly Javan would have refused him if he had. But after Glyndwr and Curgh helped save the castle, Aindreas had little choice but to give them something. Under the circumstances, providing meat, bread, and ale for the two armies was the least he could do.
For a time, Tavis, Xaver, and the rest ate wordlessly, savoring their meal. Xaver was simply too hungry to speak and he guessed that Fotir and the duke felt much the same way. But he also knew that all of them were reluctant to begin this discussion.
“Has either of you given more thought to what I said earlier today?” Grinsa finally asked, eyeing Javan and then Kearney. It was strange that this Qirsi should have felt so comfortable taking charge of their conversations, as he had that day in the castle and again just now. He was a Revel gleaner, nothing more. Yet dukes, ministers, and warriors appeared more than willing to defer to him in these matters, and Xaver could see why. Unlike so many of the Qirsi Xaver had seen over the years, this man had the build of a warrior and carried himself with the confidence of a king. His voice was deep and powerful. Unlike most of the sorcerer race, who seemed to be diminished by the magic they wielded, Grinsa’s presence was enhanced by it. With his bone white hair and pale yellow eyes, he might have been the most formidable man Xaver had ever met.
“I certainly have,” Xaver’s father said, chewing a piece of bread. “It seems to me that the Rules of Ascension demand that a king be chosen by all the houses of Eibithar. Sure the king comes from one of the majors, but the dukes of all twelve houses have a say in this. One house shouldn’t have the power to overturn the will of the rest, particularly when it would also mean ignoring the Order of Ascension.”
Grinsa nodded, his eyes fixed on the flames of the cooking fire. “Usually I’d agree with you. But these are extraordinary times. If the houses follow the traditional order, and give the crown to Javan, it could mean civil war.”
“And what happens the next time we have to choose a king? What’s to stop another duke from threatening war because he doesn’t like the man in line for the throne?”
“He has a point,” Fotir said quietly. “The rules depend upon the consent of all the houses. If we allow one house to withhold consent this time, and thus alter the Order of Ascension, we weaken the entire foundation of the kingdom.”
“Wouldn’t a war weaken it more?”
“Maybe not,” Hagan said. “If the other houses stand together against Aindreas, it may end up strengthening us. In the past, challenges to the rules have led to civil wars, but only because the challenges have come from more than one of the majors. Aindreas is alone this time.”
“How do you know?” Grinsa asked. “Word of Brienne’s death is still spreading through the land. And Tavis is still being blamed. Hearing of her murder and the evidence against Lord Curgh’s son, other dukes may join Aindreas’s cause.”
“Aren’t they just as likely to view Glyndwr’s ascension with suspicion?” Kearney’s first minister asked. “Particularly when they learn that the duke has granted asylum to Lord Tavis?”
“Not if Aindreas agrees to it. In that case, both Curgh and Kentigern will have been passed over in favor of Glyndwr.”
The Qirsi woman looked down at her hands, which she was rubbing together as if the night were cold. “And what if something happens to him? Thorald won’t have a viable heir for another generation, Galdasten for three. This could all come up again before long.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me.”
They all turned to Kearney, who had kept his silence until then.
“I find it a bit curious that those of us who have the most at stake in this are the ones saying the least.”
Javan grinned. “I noticed that, too.”
“Few people in the kingdom would believe it,” Kearney said, “but I meant it when I said today that I don’t want to be king. It would mean leaving my home and my people.” He lowered his gaze. “It would mean giving up much in my life that I treasure. That said,” he went on, looking at the duke of Curgh once more, “my sacrifice would be nothing next to yours. This is not my decision to make.” He paused, looking briefly at Tavis. “I should also tell you, though, that if you decide to take the throne, I can’t stand with you in any conflict with Kentigern. Were I to do so, I would be placing everyone in my court at risk, including your son. Especially your son. I’ve pledged myself to his protection and won’t do anything to undermine that pledge.”
“Well, that’s convenient!” Hagan said, wearing a harsh grin. “You say that you don’t want to be king, but then you turn around and say that if the duke doesn’t cede the crown to you, you’ll do nothing to stop Kentigern from plunging the land into war.”
Glyndwr’s swordmaster bristled. “He said nothing of the sort!”
Xaver’s father started to stand, but Javan gripped his shoulder, stopping him. “That’s enough, Hagan,” he said in a low voice. “Kearney’s right. His promise of asylum to Tavis takes precedence over everything else. You don’t really think I’d want it any other way, do you?”
Hagan shook his head, though he still glared at Gershon Trasker.
“I won’t lie to any of you,” Javan continued. “I do want to be king. I’ve wanted it all my life. It’s been over sixty years since Skeris the Fourth died. And before he took the throne it had been nearly a century since a man of Curgh wore Eibithar’s crown. Who knows when our house will have another opportunity like this one? I regret the tragedies that have placed the House of Curgh in this position, but I’d be a fool not to take advantage of them. At least I would be under different circumstances.” He looked at the duchess, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “More than anything, I wanted you to be my queen. I hope you can forgive me for this.”
&nbs
p; Shonah gave a small breathless laugh, her pale green eyes sparkling like gems in the firelight. “There’s nothing to forgive, my love. You’re doing the right thing, not that I expected anything less.”
“Are you sure of this, my lord?” Hagan asked. “As you say, you’ve wanted to be king all your life.”
“Yes, I know. But my ambitions are of little consequence next to the well-being of this kingdom.” He stood, facing Kearney, who climbed to his feet as well. “Lord Kearney of Glyndwr, I, Javan of Curgh, swear this oath to you now, that I will renounce my claim to the throne in favor of your ascension, provided Aindreas of Kentigern does the same.”
“Lord Javan of Curgh,” the duke answered, “I, Kearney of Glyndwr, hear your oath, and swear to you that I will accept the call to ascend when it is issued by the twelve houses of Eibithar.” He bowed, then met Javan’s gaze once more. “I will never forget what you do here tonight, Javan, nor will I allow the rest of Eibithar to forget. You would have been a noble and worthy king. I only hope that I prove myself deserving of the honor you do me here.”
“I believe you will,” Javan said. “And I’ll gladly pledge my sword and my house to your service.”
Watching the two men embrace, Xaver felt his heart expand with pride at what his duke had done. He thought this must have been what it was like to watch Audun take the throne as Eibithar’s first king. He glanced at his father, who still gazed at Javan.
“He would have been a fine king,” the swordmaster whispered. “A rival to old Skeris himself.”
The two dukes bade each other good night a short while later, the company from Curgh, including Xaver, standing and stretching their legs before starting back toward the Curgh encampment.
Tavis walked with them part of the way, to the edge of Glyndwr’s camp, before embracing his mother and father.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Xaver heard the young lord say as Javan gripped his shoulders. “I’ve cost us the crown.”
