— 14 —
Tobin returned to the throne room several times, but had no more ghostly visitations. He was still a child, and in the way of children, it was easy to put his fears aside once the moment passed. The ghosts or gods or Iya would tell him when it was time to step forward. For now, he was simply Tobin, beloved cousin of a young prince, nephew of a king he’d never met. The Companions were cheered wherever they went, and Korin was everyone’s darling.
Bard as Porion and Raven worked the boys, winter was a time of special pleasures. The theaters of Ero staged their most lavish productions in the dark months; true marvels featuring live animals, mechanical devices, and fireworks. The Golden Tree surpassed all the other houses with a lengthy play cast entirely with real centaurs from the Ashek Mountains, the first of their kind Tobin and Ki had seen.
The markets were fragrant with the scent of roasting chestnuts and mulled cider, and bright with fine woolen goods from the northlands beyond Mycena. Street vendors sold sweets made of honey and fresh snow that glistened like amber in the sunlight.
Chancellor Hylus was a kindly guardian and saw to it that Tobin had ample pocket money, far more than Orun had seen fit to give him. Still unused to having gold or anywhere to spend it, Tobin would have let the coins gather dust in his room if Korin hadn’t insisted on visits to his favorite tailors, swordsmiths, and other merchants. Encouraged, Tobin got rid of the faded black velvet hangings in his bedchamber, replacing them with his own, blue and white and silver.
He also visited the artisans in Goldsmith Street and began making sculptures and bits of jewelry again. One day he shyly took a brooch he was rather proud of to show to an Aurënfaie jeweler whose work he especially admired. It was a filigree piece cast in bronze and fashioned to look like bare, intertwined branches. He had even included a few tiny leaves and set it with a scattering of tiny white crystals. He’d been thinking of the night sky over Lhel’s clearing and the way the stars winked through the oak branches on winter nights.
Master Tyral was a thin, silver-haired man with pale grey eyes and a bright blue sen’gai. Tobin was fascinated by these exotic folk and could already recognize half a dozen different clans by their distinctive headcloths and manner in which they wrapped the long strips of wool or silk around their heads. Tyral and his workmen all wore theirs in a sort of squat turban wrapped low on their heads, the long ends hanging over their left shoulders.
Tyral greeted him warmly as always, and invited Tobin to lay out his work on a square of black velvet. Tobin unwrapped the bronze brooch and put it down.
“You made this?” Tyral murmured in his soft, lilting accent. “And this, as well, yes?” he asked, pointing to the gold horse charm Tobin wore around his neck. “May I see it?”
Tobin handed it to him, then fidgeted nervously as the man examined both pieces closely. Looking around at the beautiful necklaces and rings on display around the fine shop, he began to regret his audacity. He’d come to enjoy the praise of his friends for his work, but they weren’t artists. What would this master craftsman care for his clumsy attempts?
“Tell me about this brooch. How did you achieve such fine lines?” Tyral asked, looking up with an expression Tobin couldn’t immediately interpret.
Tobin haltingly explained how he’d sculpted each tiny branch in wax, then woven the warmed filaments together and packed them in wet sand to receive the molten metal. Before he’d finished, the ’faie chuckled and held up a hand.
“Indeed, you are the artist. Forgive my doubt, but I seldom see such skill in a Tírfaie of your age.”
“You think they’re good?”
The ’faie picked up the horse charm. “This is very nice. You wisely kept the lines simple, suggesting detail rather than cluttering the little body up with it. One can feel the beast’s vitality in the stretch of the neck and the way you’ve positioned the legs, as if it is running. Lesser artisans would leave the legs straight, like a cow’s. Yes, it is a fine little piece. But this one!” He picked up the brooch and cradled it in the hollow of his palm. “This shows more than skill. You were sad when you made this. Homesick, perhaps?”
Tobin nodded, speechless.
Tyral took Tobin’s right hand and examined the fingers and palm the same way he’d looked at the brooch. “You train to be a warrior, but you were born to be an artist, a maker of things. Do they train you for that as well, up there on the hill?”
“No, it’s just something I do. My mother made things, too.”
“She gave you a great gift, then, Prince Tobin. One perhaps you have not been taught to value as you should. The Lightbearer has put skill in these rough young hands of yours.” He sat back and sighed. “Your family is renowned for their prowess in battle, but I will tell you a true thing. With such hands as these, you will always be happier creating than you ever will be destroying. I am not flattering you or currying favor when I say that if you were a common boy rather than a prince, I would invite you to work here with me. I’ve never said that to any Tírfaie, either.”
Tobin looked around at the workbenches, with their rouge stones, crucibles, and racks of scarred mallets, tiny hammers, dies, and files.
Tyral smiled sadly, reading the longing in his eyes. “We do not choose our births, do we? It would not be seemly for a prince of Skala to become a common craftsman. But you will find ways, I think. Come see me whenever you like and I will give you what help I can.”
The jeweler’s words stayed with Tobin for a long time afterward. It was true that he couldn’t sell his work like a common craftsman, but he could keep on as he had, making gifts. He made charms and cloak pins decorated with animal heads and gems for his friends. Nikides commissioned an emerald ring for his grandfather’s birthday and Hylus was so pleased with it he was never seen without it again. Word spread and soon commissions were coming in from other nobles, who brought him gold and gems to work with. Apparently, as Ki observed, Tobin could work for his own kind.
When Porion allowed them the occasional day off, Korin took the younger boys around to his new favorite haunts: taverns where pretty girls in low-cut bodices were quick to sit on the older boys’ laps and to pet and coo over the younger ones. Actress and actors welcomed them backstage at the finest theaters, and merchants in the richer districts always seemed to have some special items held back just for them.
Now and then—usually when Korin had been drinking, as Ki was quick to note—he even brought the younger ones along on his nocturnal rambles. This required giving Master Porion the slip, but that was part of the fun. On frosty moonlit nights they played catch-me through the crooked streets, then headed down to some of the meanest waterfront neighborhoods. Even in the dead of winter these streets stank of shit and dead dogs, and the wine in the filthy taverns was vile. Yet Korin seemed happier here than anywhere else, bawling drunkenly along with raw-throated minstrels or elbowing in beside sailors, dock-hands, and less savory fellows to watch a street fight or a bear baiting.
The older boys were already well-known in such places, and Korin was greeted as “young Lord No-Name” with knowing winks and nods. More than once the older boys left the others waiting on some cold unlit street corner while they had their whores against alley walls. Of all the older boys, only Lynx refused to join in these unsavory revels. Waiting in the cold with Tobin and the others, listening to the yelps and grunts that echoed out, he often looked downright ill. Barieus hovered near him, anxious to offer comfort, but Lynx took no notice.
“I don’t understand it!” Ki exclaimed in disgust as they rode home on their own one night. “Those lowborn sailors and whores would knife their own mothers for one night in a decent house, but these spoiled young blades roll downhill like horse turds into places even my brothers wouldn’t even set a toe in. They wallow in it like pigs and Korin is the worst of ’em. I’m sorry, Tobin, but it’s true and you know it. He’s our leader and he sets the tone. I wish Caliel would talk sense into him.” They both knew that wasn’t likely to happen.
It wasn’t all gutter crawling, though. Invitations arrived daily to parties, bonfires, and hunts. Creamy scrolls written in colored inks piled up like fallen leaves in the Companions’ mess. The Companions had always been much sought-after guests in the king’s absence, and were all the more so now that Korin was nearing marriageable age.
The prince was not one to turn down invitations. Fifteen, and already man-grown with a fine new beard on his chin, Korin drew admiring stares wherever he went. His hair hung in a mane of black ringlets around his shoulders, framing a square, handsome face and flashing dark eyes. He knew how to make women of any age melt with a smile or a kiss on the hand; girls gathered around him like cats to cream while their mothers hovered anxiously, hoping for some sign of favor.
Those with younger daughters began to cast their eyes in Tobin’s direction, as well, much to his friends’ envious amusement and Tobin’s secret dismay. He was rich, after all, and of the best family in Skala. Twelve was not too young to consider a contracted union. The shy glances of the girls and their mothers’ naked appraisal made Tobin cringe. Even if he had been who they imagined him to be, he doubted he’d have welcomed such predatory looks. After the obligatory greetings with their hosts of the evening, he quickly sought out a corner in which to hide.
Ki, on the other hand, took to the life like a duck to water. His good looks and easy, laughing manner attracted attentions he was more than happy to return. He even took to dancing.
The other Companions teased Tobin about his shyness, but it was Arengil who at last found a way to put him more at ease.
In mid-Dostin Caliel’s mother, the Duchess Althia, hosted a ball in honor of her son’s sixteenth birthday at her villa near the Old Palace. It was a grand affair. The hall was lit with hundreds of wax tapers, tables groaned with food of the best sort, and two bands of minstrels played by turns for the bejeweled gathering.
Caliel’s younger sister Mina cajoled Tobin into a dance, and he embarrassed himself as usual, tripping over his feet and hers. As soon as the song ended he excused himself and took cover in a corner. Ki came over to keep him company, but Tobin could tell from the way he followed the dancers with his eyes, tapping his feet and drumming his hands on his knees in time to the music that he’d rather be out dancing.
“Go on, I don’t mind,” Tobin grumbled, as several pretty girls wandered past, making eyes at them.
Ki gave him a guilty grin. “No, that’s all right.”
Chancellor Hylus was speaking with Nikides nearby. Spying Tobin there, they came over.
“I’ve just been having the most interesting conversation with my grandson,” Hylus told Tobin. “It seems you’ve been badly overlooked.”
Tobin looked up in surprise. Hylus was smiling and Nikides looked very pleased with himself. “How do you mean, my lord?”
“Nothing’s been done about your heraldry, my prince! I should have noticed myself, but it was Nikides.” He pointed to the main entrance of the hall, where the banners of all the noble guests were displayed. Korin’s red occupied the highest pole, with Tobin’s blue just below it.
“You’ve every right to display your father’s banner, of course,” Nikides told him, as if Tobin would know what he was talking about. “But as a prince of the blood, you should incorporate your mother’s, as well. In a case such as yours, they could be combined.”
“With your permission, my prince, I will send word to the college of heralds to begin on your new arms at once,” the old man offered.
Tobin shrugged. “Very well.”
Clearly delighted, the pair moved on, already discussing escutcheons and bars.
Ki shook his head. “Nik could do with a bit more dancing himself.”
The song ended and Arengil emerged from the press, looking very handsome and exotic. In addition to his green-and-yellow sen’gai, he wore a long white tunic of Aurënen make, and a thick golden torque and bracelets set with smooth round sapphires and crystals. Tobin had seen similar work in the shops of the Aurënfaie jewelers, but nothing so fine as these pieces.
“You’ve retreated earlier than usual,” Arengil noted, smiling as Tobin took his wrist to examine a bracelet more closely.
“This is beautiful!” Tobin exclaimed, wishing he had something to sketch out the intricate raised pattern work. “It’s old, isn’t it?”
“Never mind that now!” Arengil laughed, pulling his hand free. “Come on. Every girl in the room is waiting for you to ask her for a dance!”
Tobin folded his arms. “No they’re not. I’m like the bull with three legs. Did you see Quirion laughing at me? Bilairy’s balls, I wish Korin would just let me stay home!”
Una glided over, looking very pretty in blue satin with strands of pearls and lapis braided into her dark hair. She never flirted the way other girls did, but Tobin could tell she was enjoying the looks she drew tonight. Fluttering a jeweled fan under her chin in a very grown-up way, she bowed low to Tobin. “Hiding again, my prince?”
“I was just telling him that it’s his duty to ornament these gatherings,” Arengil remarked.
“An ornament. That’s just what I feel like,” Tobin muttered. “It’s so boring, all this talking and standing around!”
“You seemed to enjoy conversing with that elderly duke earlier,” Una observed.
Tobin shrugged. “He’s an artist. He admired a pendant I made for his granddaughter and invited me to see his work.”
“Watch that one,” Arengil warned, lowering his voice. “He invited someone we both know to see his ‘work,’ then tried to kiss him in the carriage.”
Una made a face. “But he’s old!”
Arengil snorted and tossed the long, fringed ends of his sen’gai back over his shoulder. “The old ones are the worst.” He looked around quickly, then confided, “I’ve heard a thing or two about Lord Orun. You must have been glad to be rid of him.”
Ki screwed his face up in disgust. “Old Slack Guts? I’d have put a knife in him! By the Four, Tobin, tell me he never—”
“No!” Tobin replied, shuddering at the thought. “He was bad enough without that.”
“And he’s gone, so forget him. Come on, Prince Tobin. Dance with me!” Una urged gaily, holding out a hand to him. “I don’t care if you step on my toes.”
Tobin shrank back. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough of being laughed at for tonight.” He hadn’t meant it to come out so gruffly, and he felt bad, seeing the laughter die in her eyes.
“It’s true,” said Ki, not noticing. “He’s like an ox on ice.”
“Really?” Arengil made a show of looking Tobin over. “You should be a natural, the way you fight and sit a horse.” Tobin shook his head but the older boy wouldn’t be put off. “You’ve got the balance and rhythm and that’s all you really need to dance. Come on, I want to try something.”
Ignoring Tobin’s protests, he led them to an unoccupied chamber down the corridor. The walls were decorated with battle trophies. Arengil took down two swords and tossed one to Tobin.
“Come on, my prince, partner me.” Arengil struck a defensive stance, as if they were going to practice.
“Here? There’s too much furniture in the way.”
The ’faie raised a challenging eyebrow. “Frightened, are we?”
Scowling, Tobin took his place facing him. “Are you saying I should attack my dancing partner with a sword? Because I might be able to manage that.”
“No, but it is similar. If I do this—” Arengil took a quick step forward, and Tobin fell back, braced to parry. “Right, you do that. And if you want to make me retreat?”
Tobin pushed the Aurënfaie’s blade with his own and made a quick feint. Arengil fell back a step. “Keep pressing. What next?”
Tobin made a quick succession of mock attacks, driving Arengil back across the room.
“Now let me drive you.” Slowly and deliberately, Arengil moved him backward. Reaching the place where they’d started, he lowered his weapon and bowed. “Thank you for the dance, my prince.”
Tobin rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s brilliant!” Una exclaimed. “That’s all dancing is, Tobin. The lady responds to the step her partner takes. It’s just like sword fighting.”
Arengil tossed the sword to Ki and struck a dancing pose. Right hand raised, left at the small of his back, he shot Tobin another challenging look.
Feeling very silly, Tobin hesitantly took his place facing in the opposite direction and placed his right palm against Arengil’s.
“Good. Now, if I do this—” Arengil took a small step forward and pressed his hand against Tobin’s. “What must you do?”
Tobin took a step forward, then another and they circled one another. Arengil turned sharply on his heel and changed hands. Tobin followed awkwardly.
“You, too!” Una took Ki’s hand. A far more willing pupil, he wrapped an arm around her waist and spun her around, laughing.
Distracted, Tobin tripped over Arengil’s foot. The older boy caught him around the waist to steady him, and whispered, “Don’t worry. She won’t let Ki steal her away.” Giving Tobin a wink, he propelled him backward for a few steps. “I’m on the offensive now, pushing you. Unless you mean to fight me or fall over, you must allow yourself to be driven. Now let’s try this.”
He faced Tobin and raised both hands. Reluctantly, he did the same and stepped back on his left foot as Arengil stepped forward on his right.
And on it went, as they transformed one dance step after another into a battle drill. It was grim work, but Tobin did begin to see the patterns.
Ki and Una were making better progress. He whirled her around the room, whistling a country jig.
“But this isn’t really dancing. It’s too simple,” Tobin complained. He jerked a thumb at the others spinning past. “You have to add in all those jumps and twists and things.”
“Those are just the flourishes,” Arengil assured him. “As long as you remember the order of the steps and keep to the beat, it’s all just fancy advance and retreat.”
“That reminds me,” Una called, escaping Ki’s embrace to fan herself. “Can you teach me to fight by pretending we’re dancing?” She paused, and Tobin saw her smile falter again. “You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?”
Glad of any excuse to escape the dancing lesson, Tobin grabbed up the discarded swords and handed one to her. Una’s skirts swirled around her as she took her stance and saluted him. When Tobin answered, she turned slightly and fell into a reasonably good defensive stance.
Arengil raised an eyebrow. “You want to learn swordplay?”
“I’ve warrior blood in my veins, the same as you!” she retorted.
Several revelers passed the doorway just then. “What’s this, a duel?” a man asked, grinning at the sight of Una with a sword.
“Just playing, Lord Evin,” she said, waving the blade clumsily about.
“Mind you don’t hurt her, boys,” the man warned, and disappeared after his companions. Una raised the blade again, steady this time.
“Do you think this is wise?” Arengil whispered. “It’s bad enough if word gets back to your father that you were alone in here with three boys. If he thought—”
“Evin won’t say anything.”
“But someone else might. It’s hard to keep a secret anywhere on the Palatine. The servants carry on like a flock of crows.”
“Then we’ll have to go somewhere they won’t see,” she said. “Meet me on Tobin’s balcony tomorrow afternoon after your lessons.”
“The balcony?” Ki scoffed. “There’s only about a thousand windows facing over it around the gardens.”
“You’ll see,” Una teased, and was gone with a last challenging look over her shoulder.
“Girls with swords?” Arengil shook his head. “She’s going to get us all in trouble. In Aurënen, women keep to womanly things.”
“In Skala warfare is a womanly thing,” Tobin shot back, then hastily amended, “Or it used to be.”
All the same, he found this new boldness in Una rather disconcerting.
The following day Tobin and the others were on the balcony outside his room at the appointed hour, but there was no sign of her.
“Maybe she isn’t so bold in daylight,” Arengil said, shading his eyes to scan the snowy gardens.
“Here!” a voice called from overhead.
Una stood grinning down at them from the eaves above the balcony. She was dressed in a plain tunic and leggings and her dark hair was bound in a tight braid. The cold winter air had put roses in her cheeks, as Nari used to say, and her dark eyes were bright with a mischief Tobin had never seen before.
“How’d you get up there?” Ki demanded.
“Climbed, of course. I think you can use that old trellis over there.” She pointed to a shadowy recess several feet from the left-hand railing.
“That was you, wasn’t it, that first morning after we came to Ero?” Tobin exclaimed, remembering the mysterious figure who’d taunted them and disappeared.
Una shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not the only one who comes up here. Come on, unless you’re too scared to try it?”
“Not likely!” Ki shot back.
Going to the railing, they found a rickety wooden framework festooned with prickly brown rose canes.
“We’ll have to jump,” said Tobin, gauging the distance.
“And hope the damn thing holds.” Ki looked down, frowning. The ground fell away sharply below the balcony. Missing the trellis meant a fall of twenty feet or more.
Una rested her chin in one gloved hand. “Should I go look for a ladder?”
This was a side of Una Tobin had never seen. She was clearly enjoying herself, taunting them from her high perch. Pulling on his gloves, Tobin climbed onto the railing and jumped. The trellis creacked and groaned and the rose thorns pierced his gloves, but the framework held. Swearing under his breath, he clambered up to join her.
Una caught his wrist as he reached the eaves and helped him up. Ki and Arengil scrambled up beside them and looked around in surprise.
The palace was a huge, rambling structure and the snow-covered roofs stretched out before them like a gently rolling countryside: acres of sloping slates and low gables. Chimney pots jutted up like blasted trees, bleeding soot around their bases. Dragon statues, many with broken wings or missing heads, dotted ridgelines and cornices, their peeling gilt faded to cheap brass in the afternoon light. Behind Una, a line of footprints made a dotted path.
“I saw this once, but from higher,” said Tobin. When the others looked at him strangely, he explained, “A wizard showed me the city in a vision once. We flew over it, like eagles.”
“Oh, I love magic!” cried Una.
“Now what?” Ki demanded, impatient to get started.
“Follow me, and walk where I do. There are lots of rotten spots.”
Picking her way among the peaks and chimneys, she led them to a broad, level stretch sheltered between two high ridgelines. It was about fifty feet square and guarded by three undamaged roof dragons. They were far from the edge, and well away from prying eyes.
Several wooden crates stood under a slight overhang to their right. Una opened one and took out four wooden swords. “Welcome to my practice ground, my lords.” Grinning, she made them a deep bow. “Will this do?”
“You say you’re not the only one who comes up here?” Tobin asked.
“No, but most people only come up at night in the summer, to—you know.”
Ki nudged him with his elbow. “We’ll have to remember that!”
Una blushed, but pretended not to hear. “If you go over that way, you can see the practice grounds,” she said, pointing west through a valley of roof pitches. “And if you go that way, to the north, you’ll eventually come to my family’s villa at the far end of the palace—if you don’t get lost or fall through someone’s ceiling.”
Arengil picked up one of the wooden blades and made a few practice feints. “I still don’t know what you want with sword lessons. Even if you do learn, the king will never let you fight.”
“Maybe it won’t always be this way,” Una shot back. “Maybe the old ways will come back.”
“She can learn if she wants to,” Tobin said, liking her more than he ever had before. He paused, then added wryly, “Maybe we could continue with my dancing lessons here, too.”
That winter was not a mild one, even by coastal reckoning, but there was more rain than snow. For Tobin and the others, this meant frequent chances of clear footing for their stolen rooftop lessons, though they were often soaked. They met on the roof whenever the weather and their other lessons allowed, and though Una had sworn them all to secrecy, she was the first to break it.
One sunny afternoon Tobin and Ki arrived to find another dark-haired girl waiting for them with Una and Arengil. She looked familiar.
“You remember my friend Kalis?” Una asked, shooting a mischievous look in Ki’s direction. “She wants to learn, too.”
Ki colored a bit as he bowed and Tobin recognized her as one of the girls Ki had danced with at Caliel’s birthday ball.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Una asked.
Tobin shrugged and turned away, the lie burning in his cheeks.
Two more girls joined them after that, and Tobin brought in Nikides, who needed more practice than any of them. Of course, Lutha couldn’t be left out for long, or their squires. Ki dubbed the group “Prince Tobin’s Sword Fighting Academy.”
Tobin rather enjoyed having his own secret cabal, and was grateful to Una for another reason, as well. The roof was a safe place to call Brother. He stole up alone at least once a week and spoke the words.
He did it unwillingly at first. The scar on Ki’s forehead served as a reminder of one transgression, and Orun’s death still haunted Tobin’s dreams. The first few times he called Brother here he brought the doll and wouldn’t let Ki come with him, not yet trusting the ghost to behave.
But Brother was very quiet these days, and showed no interest in Tobin or their surroundings. Tobin wondered if he’d fade again, the way he had before their father’s death. But as the weeks passed Brother retained his strangely solid appearance. Was it the new binding, Tobin wondered, that had given him the strength to kill?
When he brought Ki up at last, they discovered that he couldn’t see Brother unless Tobin told Brother to show himself.
“Just as well. I don’t much want to see him,” said Ki.
Tobin didn’t, either. Ki’s scar might be fading, but not the memory of how it got there.
As the winter went on it became clear to Tobin that some of the girls in his “Academy” were more interested in meeting with boys than in the lessons, and that the boys had no objection to this situation. Kalis and Ki occasionally wandered off among the chimney pots, and returned sharing secret smiles. Barieus stopped pining for the unattainable Lynx; he lost his heart to red-haired Lady Mora after she broke his finger during a bout and was much more cheerful after that.
Una didn’t try to kiss Tobin again, but he sometimes sensed she wanted to. Grappling during practice fights, he couldn’t help noticing the emerging. curves of her body. Girls ripened sooner, Ki said, and got ideas sooner, too. That was all well and good for him, Tobin thought miserably.
Even if he’d wanted girls to like him, he couldn’t imagine what Una saw in him. Sparring on the roof, or dancing at a ball, he could feel her waiting for some sign that her feelings were returned. It made him feel guilty, though he was certain he’d done nothing to mislead her. It was all very confusing, and he only made things worse when he made her a gold pendant in the shape of a sword. Mistaking the gesture, she wore it openly like a love token.
During lessons, at least, he could offer her something honest. They were well matched in size and often paired off against each other. She learned quickly, surprising them all with her progress.
Tobin found a more formidable opponent in Arengil. Though the ’faie appeared no older than Urmanis, he had years more training than any of them. He didn’t lord it over anyone, though, but taught them the Aurënfaie style of dueling, which relied more on skillful dodging than grappling. Before long Tobin and the other boys were putting Arengil’s techniques to good use during practices with the other Companions. The others began to remark on it, especially after Ki managed to split Mago’s lip with his elbow. Ki grinned about that for two days and gifted Arengil his best dagger the next time they met.