Cavian cast a woeful look over the chart of numbers he had been examining then sighed. “Very well.”
“Excellent,” Paradon stood, eager to escape the suffocating smell of old parchment and the sidelong glances thrown their way by studying squires. “Aren’t you tired of this place anyhow? You’ve been a knight for all of two months and you’re already back.”
“I actually enjoy not being ignorant,” said Cavian dryly.
“I feel that was aimed at me,” said Paradon.
“Suit yourself,” said Cavian.
They crossed the room, Paradon making a conscious effort to stand taller. Somehow being saddled with the title of the first-born Prince, soon to be King, was starting to affect everything about his day and life.
It took them some time to find the head mason, as Paradon had no idea where he might find the entrance to the passages. When he did find him, the man was washing his hands in a basin in the courtyard.
“Graso,” he called to the man.
Spinning, the man sank into a bow, nearly toppling in his alarm. “Your majesty!”
Behind Paradon, Cavian tutted quietly but the Prince ignored his friend. “Your men, how are they coming along with the passage?” Paradon asked, waving his hand lazily for the man to rise.
The man did so, wringing his hands once more. With the bandages removed to wash, Paradon could see a thin line of stitching over the palm of one hand. How had he gotten such an injury?
“The passages, Sire…the passages are near about complete within the walls,” the man smiled nervously.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Cavian demanded, stepping forward to Paradon’s side. The Prince hesitated, not sure if he should allow his friend to speak now or not. He was going to be the King in a few days, perhaps he was supposed to show his authority.
Graso looked between them, brows knitting together. “That they’re nearly done in the walls?” he asked.
Cavian shook his head. “What do you mean in the walls? Are these passages going to lead beyond the walls? Will they be a detriment to the security of the castle?”
“N-no, course not, eh…Sorry, who are you?” Graso asked.
“He is one of my most trusted knights, Sir Cavian Greyhead, Count of Lonnac,” Paradon said, holding up a hand to stop Cavian. “And I think he’s brought up a good point. How are you ensuring that these passages don’t compromise the safety of our castle?”
“They’re too small, too short, to allow for armies to use them in attack. The vibration of boots would bring down the walls within if they tried to bring in armored men,” Graso said dismissively. “Passages will just be good for a few people, a royal family, to escape if they needed.”
“I think we’d like to see these passages,” Cavian said. Paradon shot him a look that made the young knight’s cheeks burn red.
Graso’s brow furrowed still further. “Not much point in the royals having a secret passage if we let others know where they were, now, is there? Your Majesty, I would be glad to show you these passages on your own. Your father requested we not tell your knights where they are, and we would like to abide by his final requests.”
Cavian’s face darkened but Paradon nodded. “Very well.”
“Paradon, I don’t think–”
“Cavian, I can make this decision,” Paradon snapped.
Cavian recoiled slightly, throwing a mistrusting look at the mason. “Very well,” his tone was still formal but Paradon could hear the icy cold note that sharpened it now. “I will continue our research, your Majesty,” and he left, leaving Paradon’s insides writhing with guilt. Was there a way to be a King without losing his friends?
“So, you’d like to see the passages now?” asked Graso, clearly oblivious to the tension.
Paradon sighed, shaking his head. “No, not right now. If these are the last request of my father, I feel it’s only right to have Temrod with me, if not Athina.”
Graso looked uncomfortable but finally shrugged. “As you wish. I’d be happy to take you and your brother there whenever you decide it is time.”
Paradon nodded, only half-listening, then turned. He didn’t bother with a goodbye, striding back toward the double doors. His brother. He hadn’t spoken a word to Temrod since they had laid his father in the ground. His brother had, for days, weeks even, been closed off and silent. Perhaps he had seen their father aging and failing more than Paradon. No matter the reason, it was time to see him. Facing the throne without his brother would be impossible.
CHAPTER THREE
In the entry hall, he hesitated, eying the lines of doors. He hadn’t been to the knights’ tower in ages, not since he had helped his brother move all of his belongings there, opposed to the Royalty Wing after Temrod had been knighted. He had insisted that this was the best place for him to be; high in the tower where he could be one with the men he hoped to command on the battlefield.
Paradon gritted his teeth and finally pushed through the door on the right, into the circular chamber. Someone had hung black drapes over the new Alamore crest tapestry on the wall and black cords had been woven through the banisters leading up the circular stairwell. The knights in mourning for the King they had loved. His father had been one of the greatest Kings in history, he had worked so hard to ensure that Alamore was not only kept safe but able to retake some of the lands that Thornten had conquered over the generations.
He mounted the steps, taking them two at a time and eyeing the names on each door he passed. These were mostly the younger knights, those unmarried or a few who kept rooms here while their wives lived in town.
Near the top of the tower, he stopped at the door marked Sir Temrod, Prince of Alamore, and knocked. Moments passed slowly and he waited, wondering if he should knock again. Maybe Temrod was on a raiding party?
Then he heard a thud from within the room and straightened moments before the door was pulled wide. His brother stood there, eyes clouded with exhaustion, in a grey tunic with bronze stitching. He had tied a black cloth over his left arm and a black braid of horse’s hair had been attached to his sword’s hilt. He shook himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his right hand. “An unexpected arrival, I dare say.”
“I’ve wanted to meet with you,” Paradon said quietly. His brother’s face held so many more features of their mother; the thin lines, high cheekbones, strong jaw hidden beneath his beard.
“Very well, come in,” Temrod, waved his arm to the room, stepping out of the door and Paradon entered. The room was neat, tidy, but he saw an empty brown bottle stashed beside the pokers and more black drapes hanging along the walls. The fire was lit despite the spring warmth and the shutters closed against the welcoming glow of the sun. “What brings me the honor of my own brother’s company?” Temrod asked, striding to a low hutch. He opened it and Paradon heard the clinking of glass as Temrod rummaged through.
“Did you know that our father was commissioning passages built for the royals to escape?” asked Paradon.
Temrod frowned and looked up at him for a moment. “Might have mentioned it some time ago. I don’t truly recall for sure,” he raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you came to me for? Or was there something more?”
Paradon shrugged. “I feel we haven’t spent time together since our father passed.”
“No?” Temrod asked, bored. “I guess we haven’t, though we haven’t spent much in the way of time together since our father gave Athina away at her wedding.” He straightened, a clear bottle of red liquid in one hand and two elegant glasses in the other.
“I’m sorry, Temrod,” Paradon’s face reddened and he looked away from his brother, at the fire in the hearth. “I haven’t been trying to avoid you.”
“No, I know,” Temrod said, pouring the bottle’s contents into the two glasses. “I thought for a while that you were, but then it dawned on me…” he reached out with his hand, offering one of the glasses to Paradon, who took in, the strong smell of wine burning his nostrils, “I’ve been
avoiding you.”
Paradon frowned, watching his brother. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
Temrod dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh, taking a long pull on his wine before his dark eyes narrowed. “You know our father has been guiding you for years on how to take care of Alamore, how to rule it right?”
Paradon snorted. “Of course he has been. I’m the oldest child, it’s my duty to take care of this country now and he knew it was inevitable.”
“Yes, but you spend so much time with the pieces he taught you that you never listened to the things he didn’t teach,” Temrod pulled his gaze from Paradon’s, scowling into his glass.
This was making no sense. Paradon shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, before we were born, our father was a warrior, not a politician. He knew that he needed to retake Alamore from Thornten. He understood what it would take to make us the greatest place power. He lost sight of that though when you were born.”
Paradon heard the accusation in his brother’s tone and stiffened. “So are you implying you want to lead my armies into war right after they’ve lost their King? I don’t see that’s a very agreeable tactic, Temrod. Our rivals to the East, Thornten, haven’t caused issues in some time. Their King is old, their only heir a girl. Now is a time for us to take care of the country after that many years of war.”
Temrod waved his glass-free hand. “We’ve spent twenty-six years in recovery, Paradon. And I am not saying you should take your armies anywhere. I think that you’re better with the leading of policies than the wielding of a weapon.”
“Then what is it you’re implying?” Paradon demanded. He set aside his untouched wine. For some reason, his brother’s words were making him uneasy.
Temrod pushed himself to his feet, striding to stand before his brother. He had his jaw set, his knuckles white as he gripped the glass. For a moment, Paradon was forcibly reminded of their childhood, of the boy Temrod’s temper tantrums when Paradon wasn’t in the mood to play or practice with him. But this was the man Temrod and he was eye to eye with Paradon in height now. “You are not going to be what this country needs, Paradon. You are a politician but what Alamore needs in this time is another warrior, like our father was.”
“We don’t need blood to stain my crown,” Paradon snapped. “I’m not going to order–”
“You don’t need to order anything,” Temrod’s voice was rising, excited and furious all at once, “You don’t have to do anything! What I am saying, Paradon, is that this is not your time. This is not the time for a King Paradon! This is the time for a warrior to take the throne again. What I’m saying is that you should continue to push for the better of the country but as my advisor. You’re not fit for the throne, you don’t care for power and ruling. You know it as well as I do,” his voice dropped and Paradon’s hair stood on the back of his neck. He could feel the truth stalking closer to him, wolf-like, from his brother’s lips. “This is the time when we need a warrior in the throne, like me.”
Anger, hurt, betrayal. They fought for words as Paradon stood staring, open-mouthed, at his brother. A choking noise escaped his throat and he took a step back, shaking his head. It was as if he were meeting a stranger opposed to his own flesh and blood. “You can’t be serious!”
“You know I’m serious and, deep down, you know I’m right!” Temrod was advancing. He let the glass fall from his hand. The wine sprayed up, over their boots, the rug, red droplets like blood staining the ground. Temrod seemed not to notice, reaching out. “I don’t want to work against you, brother,” his eyes softened, and he froze, staring imploringly into Paradon’s eyes. “I want only what is best for Alamore and for us. You can take care of the Kingdom, the country, you can still be with your friends and avoid bloodshed. You would be a King without the weight of the title and the judgment of a country watching you. That would be on me.”
“Then why not just rule the armies and I would continue as King?” demanded Paradon.
“What man would truly take orders from the Prince when there is a King?” Temrod scoffed. “You know as well as I that generals go to the King. Even if you said that I was in charge of all the armies of the land, it would never be good enough for the generals. And if one day, you had a son, then they would go to him and I, again, would be just a general. Think about it, when that crown touches your head, you will be shackled here. No more riding out to train horses without telling the world where you have gone, no more drinking in the taverns in town or making trouble with the younger knights. Once you are a King you’ll have to become a man and you’ll have to get used to this place forever. There will be no other choices, no stepping away from the people to be free when you are King.”
Paradon wheeled away from his brother. He felt as though he were suffocating. Before he knew what he was doing, he had yanked open the door and started down the stairs.
“Paradon!” his brother’s cry behind him rang down the tower but he ignored it. At the bottom of the stairs, he broke into a run. He wasn’t sure where he was going only that he couldn’t stay in this tower. The entire castle had changed around him. In the words of his brother, his home had become his prison.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cavian stood in the doorway, brow furrowed and a grim look on his face when Paradon woke the next day, early morning light reflecting on his golden hair.
“What, exactly, are you doing?” asked Cavian.
Paradon groaned, sitting up, a splitting pain racing along his hairline. Paper fell away from his face and he blinked, looking around the room. After his discussion with Temrod the night before, his feet had carried him back to the Hall of Records, to the furthest corner, hidden at an almost forgotten table. Someone had left books and parchment scrolls lying unorganized cross its surface and shame rushed into Paradon’s stomach – hot and riling – at the sight of the wrinkled and cracking pages he had used as a pillow.
“Are you going to explain what is going on? What happened?” Cavian asked, sinking into the chair across from Paradon. He picked up one of the parchments, squinting at the faded ink text. “And what exactly are these?”
“Not sure, they were already here,” he ran a hand over his face. “I needed to get away from everything. I guess I lost track of time.”
“You must have,” Cavian said, setting aside the parchment and grabbing another, his brow furrowing. “You missed the first night of the Feast of Crowning.”
The color washed from Paradon’s face and he clapped his hand to his forehead. “No! I completely forgot that was starting. How many people arrived? Were they furious?”
“No, not furious, and thankfully not many yet. Just the Earl of Finnwick and an emissary for the Lord of Lonric saying he won’t arrive until today,” the furrow in his brow deepened and he glanced up from the parchment. “You weren’t reading any of this?”
“Was the Earl upset? What did people say?” Paradon asked, ignoring his friend’s question.
“He was disappointed, but I said you were in the Final Farewell for a final night of mourning, without any witnesses,” Cavian finally set down the parchment, his hand reaching out cautiously for another. “But I promised him you would meet him for breakfast this morning. Which means you should probably put on something that you weren’t wearing all day yesterday and,” his eyes flitted up to Paradon’s hair and he shook his head, “find a comb.”
“Not very respectful of your Prince,” Paradon said jestingly, running his hand over his hair in an attempt to flatten it.
“Not very self-respecting of my future King to be asleep in a chair,” said Cavian, grinning.
Paradon’s stomach knotted at Cavian’s words. They brought back everything of the day before, the reason he had fled to this hidden place, away from the world. For a wild moment, he considered telling the young knight everything, telling him how Temrod had told him to step down…how, until the early hours of the morning, he had truly considered it. Considered letting his brother take everything
. Even as the thought crossed his mind, it again tempted him. It would be so easy, so much better, to leave it all to Temrod. But, no. It was his, Paradon’s, responsibility. He wouldn’t be the first King in Alamore history to shrug aside the country in order to pursue the life of freedom. He couldn’t…could he?
“Is everything okay?”
“What? Oh, yes, fine,” Paradon shook himself and pushed himself to his feet. Cavian was watching him closely, eyes concerned.
“Are you sure?” asked Cavian. He had already picked up another scroll.
“Yes,” Paradon said, forcing a stronger note into his voice. “But I should be in the dinner hall if I’m to dine with the Earl of Finnwick. Will you be joining?”
Cavian shook his head, already scanning the parchment before him with a look of confusion. “No…I want to look these over. They seem…but could be nothing. You’re sure you weren’t reading these? What’s Right of Blood?”
“How would I know? Me? Reading history that smells of dust and mold? Hardly,” said Paradon and he managed a harsh fake laugh, gripping his younger friend’s shoulder before spinning and striding out of the Hall of Records. He needed to get away from Cavian otherwise he would tell him everything and his knight would think him scared or, worse yet, a weak Prince who was too spoiled with freedom to handle the weight of responsibility.
But he couldn’t help it, he thought bitterly as he mounted the stairs that led toward his chambers. He couldn’t help it that he wasn’t the warrior that Temrod was, or the responsible quiet air of Cavian. It wasn’t like him. He had been born to lead a country, had always known this was coming and now it was here, pressing down and neither could understand. If Temrod felt this, he was certain, he would never ask for the crown.
As the heir to Alamore, his father had always led him to lead one day in return and the time had come. He would have to learn or…or he could let his brother. He could slip into the shadows, leave the castle, and never be heard of again.
The Falcon and The Stag Page 2
