— 29 —

Tobin celebrated his fourteenth name day in Atyion, and Duke Solari saw to it that it was a grand affair. Far grander, in fact, than Tobin would have liked; he’d have been happier with a small hunting party at the keep, with just the Companions and a few friends, but Iya had warned against going there now. She wouldn’t say why and Tobin’s old resentments against the wizard boiled up. But in the end even Tharin had taken her side and Tobin had grudgingly given in.

All the same, he was glad to visit Atyion again. The townspeople turned out to greet him, and Tobin was pleased that he recognized so many faces among the crowd.

Even the castle cats seemed glad to have him back. Packs of them gathered wherever he sat down, winding around his ankles and curling up on his lap. Lytia’s orange tom, Ringtail, slept stretched between Tobin and Ki every night, and followed Tobin around the castle. The cat couldn’t abide Brother, though. When Tobin called the ghost in secret, Ringtail would dart under the furniture, growling and hissing until Brother was gone.

To Tobin’s great relief, the king did not come out for the name day feast. Solari was disappointed, but still managed to fill the great hall with guests. The high tables were packed with lords Tobin hardly knew—Solari’s captains and liegemen mostly—but farther out, soldiers wearing the colors of Atyion sang and yelled out toasts to Tobin’s health. Looking out over that sea of faces, Tobin was all too aware of who wasn’t there. Una had not been heard from since her disappearance, and Arengil was gone, too, sent home to Aurënen a few days after the embarrassment on the roof. Weeks later it came back to Tobin through palace gossip that the young foreign lord had been deemed a bad influence.

There were a great many gifts this year, and one large pile sent by the people of the town. Most of them were from merchants and represented the sender: a fine pair of gloves from the glove maker, kegs of ale from the brewer, and so on. Tobin gave most of it a cursory glance, until Ki pulled a large scroll from the pile and handed it to him with a grin. Unrolling it, Tobin found a beautifully illuminated ballad about his father, banded along the top and margins with intricate colored scenes of battle. A smaller scrap of parchment had fallen out and on it Tobin found a brief but effusive note from Bisir, who was very happy in his new profession.

Tobin and the Companions stayed at the castle for a fortnight. Whenever they could slip away, he and Ki visited with Tharin’s aunt Lytia and Hakone. The old steward had declined over the summer and was growing more feebleminded. This time he could not be dissuaded from the notion that Tobin and Ki were the young Rhius and Tharin. It was rather unsettling.

Tobin was also entertained lavishly by the town’s principal guild masters. Most of these banquets were a bore. His hosts were invariably gracious and openhanded, but he sensed that much of it was done to curry his favor.

He much preferred visiting the men of the barracks. He’d never seen his father around actual troops, but he’d always been friendly with his guard and it didn’t occur to Tobin to act otherwise. Soon he knew most of the officers and sergeants by name and set up mock challenges between his guard and any swordsman the Atyion men wanted to put forward, even going a few rounds himself. He was disappointed when they let him win, but Tharin assured him later that it was done out of love and respect, rather than fear.

“You’re their lord, and you take the time to learn their names,” he told Tobin. “You can’t imagine how much that means to a man in the ranks.”

He also revisited his parents’ room several times, trying again to capture the long-lost echo of who they had been then, but he didn’t go near his mother’s wardrobe. The memory of his reflection in the mirror made him blush.

Instead, he and Ki came there late at night when everyone else was asleep, and sat at the wine table playing at bakshi. He summoned Brother, too, and let him stalk sullenly around in the shadows as they played. The ghost had shown no signs of wanting to hurt Ki again; Tobin could almost forgive him.

When the fortnight was over, Tobin was reluctant to leave; Atyion now felt almost as much like home as the keep. Perhaps it was the way everyone greeted him on the streets, always smiling, always friendly. In Ero he was the king’s nephew, Korin’s cousin, the odd little second heir. Just a placeholder, really. In Atyion he was someone’s son and the future hope of the people.

Ringtail escorted him to the front court when it was time to leave and sat yowling on the stairs as he rode away. Riding out through the cheering, banner-waving throngs that lined the streets, Tobin almost regretted his place in the Companions.