— 26 —

In the weeks following the execution, none of the Companions dared speak openly about the king’s frightening outburst or the fact that he’d killed a bound man with his sword. Tobin’s fainting fit was another matter, however.

The king had been furious that a member of his own family would mar the event with such a show of weakness. Ki was quick to point out that Tobin hadn’t actually fallen all the way off his horse, though he’d come close to it. By the time Ki got to him Tobin had already righted himself, but people had seen and the damage was done. By the following day it was the talk of the Palatine, at least behind upraised hands.

The more charitable gossips had put it down to Tobin’s youth and sheltered upbringing; others were not so kind. Though none of the Companions dared tease Tobin to his face, or say anything in front of Korin, more than once Ki caught Alben and his friends pantomiming a girlish swoon behind Tobin’s back

The worst of it for Ki was Tobin’s silence with him. Clearly, he was too shamed to speak of it, even to his friends, and Ki hadn’t the heart to pry. The burning had been an awful business and he’d come close to puking up dinner himself.

Better to say nothing and just forget it for now, he told himself.

A few weeks after the execution, he and Tobin were heading into the messroom when they caught a bit of conversation from inside that put a knot in Ki’s gut.

“Between that, and how he reacted to Lord Orun’s death?” That was Alben speaking, spiteful as always. And there was no question of whom he was speaking.

Tobin halted, just outside the door and shrank back against the wall to listen. Ki wanted to haul him away before he heard any more, but knew better than to attempt it; Tobin had gone pale. From where he stood Ki could just see half the room, and some of the people loitering there. Alben was leaning at ease against the long table, holding forth to Zusthra and Urmanis. Korin and Caliel must not be around, Ki guessed, or Alben wouldn’t dare talk that way about Tobin.

“Oh, who cares about that?” Zusthra growled, and Ki’s spirits rose; Zusthra could be rough, but he was usually fair. But what he said next dashed any good feelings. “If he can’t take the sight of a bunch of traitors getting their due, what use will he be on the battlefield?”

This was too much. Ki strode in, fists clenched in front of him. “You shut your mouth!” he snarled, not caring that they were lords and he was only a squire. He’d take a beating before he’d let Tobin hear any more of this. When he glanced back, however, Tobin was gone.

Zusthra looked abashed, but the others snickered as Ki backed out again.

The incident was gradually eclipsed by other gossip and more pressing concerns.

Despite his hopeful words in Atyion, Erius still refused to send them out to fight. Every day it seemed there was some new report of brigands terrorizing the villages somewhere, or pirates striking out of the islands at the coast. But as the summer quickly faded, Erius would not consent to his son’s pleas to get them blooded.

Perhaps because of this, the older boys turned more often to the pleasures of the lower city, led, as always, by Korin.

The king’s return had done nothing to stem the prince’s drinking or his taste for low pleasures. According to Nikides, their conduit to court doings, Erius had winked at Porion’s reports, and said, “Let him sow his wild oats while he can!”

Judging by how often Tanil ended up sleeping in the mess or in the squire’s alcove in Tobin’s room, Korin had plenty of oats to sow, and eventually, a few of them sprouted. A few more chambermaids turned up pregnant, but were quickly banished from court. How many bastards Korin might have fathered on the harbor whores was not known, at least to the Companions.

Even in the aftermath of the execution shame, Korin’s regard for Tobin never wavered, but all the same, the older boys began to leave the younger ones behind more often when they went out at night.

If Tobin noticed or cared about this increasing division, he gave no sign of it, even to Ki. As the summer waned into a cooler autumn, Tobin and his friends kept up their secret sword practice with Arengil and Una’s warrior girls.

Nearly a dozen showed up most days, though Ki was certain most of them just liked dressing in boy’s clothes and sneaking about. Una, Kalis, and a girl named Sylani were the only ones who showed any real skill.

They met there a few days after Tobin’s thirteenth name day celebration. When Tobin and Ki arrived, they found the girls laughing among themselves. Una colored indignantly when one of them confessed that they’d been debating whether or not Tobin was old enough for marriage under the royal laws.

“Old enough for battle, that’s all I care about,” Tobin countered, blushing furiously. He hated it when they flirted with him.

“What about you, then?” said Kalis, turning warm eyes on Ki. “You’re fifteen. That’s old enough to marry in my town.”

“If you want a child for a husband,” Arengil scoffed, shouldering Ki aside. “How about me? I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”

“You don’t look much like my grandfather,” she said, running a hand over the Aurënfaie’s smooth cheek.

Jealous, Ki tried to lure her fickle attentions back with a fancy two-handed flourish he’d picked up from Korin. “If you ever want to feel the way a beard tickles, he won’t be much use to you.” Nikides ducked out of the way as Ki’s blade flashed past his shoulder.

“Let’s see you put that move to practical use, Squire Kirothius,” Una challenged, laughing at him. She knew he fancied Kalis.

Tobin had marveled at the progress Una had made. It was less than a year since they’d started training and she was already a match for Nikides. She wouldn’t let any of the other boys give quarter when they sparred, either. She’d had a few split knuckles and bruises to explain away, but bore her wounds proudly.

Watching her now with Ki, he thought again of Grannia in Atyion and the girls she trained in secret there, hoping for the day when a queen would call them to arms. How many more were there all over Skala? And how many like Ahra, who were lucky enough to serve openly?

In the midst of these contemplations, he caught sight of Nikides across the circle. He was staring over the roofline at something, looking positively horrified.

Tobin turned just in time to see the king stride into view less than twenty feet way. Porion and Korin were with him, and their old enemy, Moriel, was leading the way. The king’s face was an ominous sight. Korin saw him and shook his head. Porion caught Tobin’s eye and gave him a withering look.

One by one the others realized what audience they had. Several of the girls let out cries of dismay. Ki dropped his sword and fell to one knee. Arengil, Lutha, Nikides, and their squires quickly did the same. Tobin couldn’t move.

Erius strode into their midst and looked around, memorizing faces for future punishment. At last, he rounded on Tobin.

“What’s going on here, nephew?” he demanded.

Tobin realized that he was the only one still standing, but his legs still refused to obey him. He glanced quickly into the king’s eyes, reading the weather signs there. There was anger, to be sure, but also that quicksilver danger, a hint of madness.

“Well?” Porion prompted gruffly.

“We—we’re just playing,” Tobin managed at last. Even to his own ears it sounded ridiculous.

“Playing?”

“Yes, Majesty,” a trembling voice piped up. It was Una. She placed her sword on the ground in front of her, as if offering it to him. “It’s just a game we play—pretending to be warriors.”

The king rounded on her. “And whose idea was this?”

“Mine, Your Majesty,” she answered at once. “I asked To—Prince Tobin if he’d show us how to play at swords.”

The king raised an eyebrow at Tobin. “Is this true? You come all the way up here, hiding away, just to play?”

Moriel was gloating openly now. How long had he spied on them, Tobin wondered, hating him even more. And how much had he told the king?

“Una asked me to teach her and I did,” he replied. “We come up here because her father wouldn’t approve. And so the older boys wouldn’t laugh at us, fighting girls.”

“You, Nikides?” asked Erius. “You went along with this as well, and never thought to tell your grandfather?”

Nikides hung his head. “No, Majesty. It’s my fault. I should have—”

“You damn well should have!” Erius thundered. “And you know better, too, young miss!” he snapped at Una. Then he was back to Tobin again, face twisted with mounting rage. “And you, my own blood, practicing sedition! If news of this reached my enemies—”

Tobin’s knees gave way at last and he knelt before the king, certain the man was about to lay hands on him. Just then he caught a hint of motion from the corner of his eye and an even greater fear froze the breath in his throat.

Brother stood on the ridge where the king had been, framed against the sky. Even at this distance Tobin saw murder in his twin’s face. Brother started forward, stalking the king as Erius continued to berate Tobin.

Tobin had been too surprised to react at Orun’s house. This time he brought his hands in front of his mouth, as if in supplication, and whispered the words as loudly as he dared behind his fingers.

Brother stopped and looked at Tobin, mouth curled in a silent snarl of rage. He was only a few paces from the king, almost within arm’s reach. The spirit’s hungry fury rolled across the roof slates like a cold fog but Tobin stared him down, lips moving now in a silent command. Go away. Go away. Go away.

Before he could tell if Brother had obeyed, Erius stepped closer, blocking his view.

“What are you whimpering about, you whelp?” he demanded furiously.

Terrified, Tobin waited helplessly for the king to drop dead in front of everyone.

“Are you deaf as well as mute?” Erius shouted.

“No, Uncle!” Tobin whispered. Shifting his weight ever so slightly, he could just see past the king.

Brother was gone.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” he said, relief making him giddy and bold. “I just didn’t see any harm in it.”

“No harm? When you know that I expressly forbid—”

“We weren’t really teaching them, Your Majesty,” Ki blurted out. “We just figured if we went along with it and got them alone, they’d let us kiss them. It—it’s not like any of them were any good.”

Tobin cringed inwardly; Una must know this was an outright lie, said only to spare them the king’s wrath, but Tobin couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“He’s lying!” Moriel cried. “I watched them. They were really teaching them.”

“Like you’d know the difference, you pasty-faced lap-dog!” Ki shot back.

“That’s enough out of you!” Porion barked.

But somehow, Ki had managed to say exactly the right thing. Erius stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to Tobin with the beginnings of a grin. “Is this true, nephew?”

Tobin hung his head so he wouldn’t have to see any of the girls’ faces. “Yes, Uncle. It was just a game. To get them alone.”

“And kiss them, eh?”

Tobin nodded.

“That’s a new one!” Korin said with a too-loud laugh.

His father burst out laughing. “Well, it’s hard to fault you for that, nephew. But you girls should have better sense. Shame on you! Get back to your mothers’ houses where you belong, and don’t think they won’t hear of this!”

Una looked back at Tobin as she turned to go. The doubt in her eyes hurt him worse than anything the king could have said or done.

“As for the rest of you—” Erius paused, and Tobin’s belly tightened again. “You can spend the night at the altar of Sakor, meditating on your foolishness. Go on! Stay there until the other Companions come in the morning.”

That night, Tobin meditated instead on the king and all he’d let himself forget once again. Despite the lapses he’d already witnessed, he’d let himself be taken in by Erius’ fatherly manner and generosity.

Brother’s appearance today had broken the spell once and for all, and his heart with it. It was proof that for at least a moment, the king had meant to hurt him, just as Orun had.

But it was not that, or the punishment, that started him softly weeping in the darkest hour of the night. As he knelt there, shattered, exhausted, dozing even as he wavered on aching knees, the breeze shifted and the strange-smelling smoke from Illior’s altar enveloped him, and he remembered—remembered how his mother had dragged him to that window, trying to pull him out with her as she fell to her death. He remembered how the river had looked, black between the snow-covered banks. There’d been ice along the edges and he’d wondered if it would break when he landed on it. His mother was going to make him fall. He had been falling, but someone had yanked him back at the very last moment and dragged him away from the window, away from the sound of his mother’s dying scream.

It had been Brother. But why hadn’t he saved their mother, too? Had he instead pushed her out?

Sobs rose in his throat. It took every ounce of will to hold them in. Just when he thought he was going to give way and shame himself again, Ki’s hand found his and squeezed it. The grief and fear receded slowly, like the waves of the ebb tide. He didn’t disgrace himself, and greeted the morning sun dazed but strangely peaceful. Brother had saved him that day, and again with Orun. And would have today, perhaps, if the king had lost control of himself after all.

He needs you, and you need him, Lhel had said. Brother must know it, too.

Returning to the palace with the others later that morning, he learned from Baldus that Una had disappeared in the night without a trace.