“I do, but these days it’s not always wise to say so too loudly.”
Larenth blew out his moustaches with another snort. “Mark my words, Mistress. There’ll come a day when the king will be glad enough of my girl in his ranks, and all the others like her he’s pushed out. Those bastards across the water won’t be content with raiding forever.”
Sir Larenth’s steading proved to be nothing but a small, sparse-looking bit of land with a few outbuildings and corrals surrounding a rude stone house inside a stockade. A pack of barking hounds greeted their arrival and milled around their legs as they dismounted. Half a dozen muddy young children came running to do the same, hanging on their father and older siblings.
Larenth’s harsh face softened a little as he tossed a little girl up on his shoulder and ushered Iya into the damp, smoky hall with rough courtesy.
There was little in the way of comfort to be found here. Even with the doors open, the room was cramped and malodorous. The furnishings were plain and few, with no hangings or plate in sight. Sides of meat and ropes of sausages dangled from the rafters below the smoke hole in the roof, curing in the smoke of the fire that blazed in the center of the packed earth floor. Beside it a thin, pregnant young woman in a sack of a gown sat twirling a distaff. She was introduced as the old knight’s fourth lady, Sekora. With her were a few women, and an idiot stepson of about fourteen. Four bare-bottomed little children scrambled among the hounds at the women’s feet.
The rest of Larenth’s brood soon came straggling in for the evening meal. Iya lost count at fifteen. It was impossible to distinguish trueborn from bastard; in country households like this, where only the eldest stood to inherit the father’s rank, it didn’t much matter. The rest would have to make their own way.
Supper was a disorganized affair. Trestles were set up and pots hung on tripods over the hearth. Trenchers were brought in from a bake house and everyone sat where they could find space to eat. No one stood on ceremony here; more children arrived and elbowed the others out of the way to reach the hearth. It was not an elegant house hold, or a particularly friendly one, and the food was vile, but Iya was grateful to be off the road. The drizzle had turned into a downpour and lightning lit the yard outside.
The meal was nearly over before Iya noticed the trio of boys standing by the open doorway. Judging by their wet clothes and small portions, they’d arrived late during the chaos of the meal. One of them, the muddiest of the lot, was laughing over something with his brothers. He was as wiry and sun-browned as all the others, with thick dark hair that was probably a good brown under the dirt and twigs. She wasn’t certain at first why she noticed him at all. Perhaps it was something in the tilt of his smile.
“Who is that?” she asked her host, trying to make herself heard over the chatter and the rain pounding on the thatch.
“That one?” Larenth frowned a moment. “Dimias, I think.”
“That’s Ki, Father!” Ahra chided.
“Is he trueborn or bastard?” asked Iya.
Stumped again, Larenth consulted his daughter. “True-born, of my third wife,” he said at last.
“May I speak with him?” asked Iya.
Larenth gave her knowing wink. “All you like, Mistress, but remember there’s other pups in the litter, if that one don’t suit you.”
Iya made her way over dogs and legs and babes to the trio in the doorway. “Are you called Ki?” she asked the boy.
Caught in midchew, he swallowed hastily and bowed. “Yes, Lady. At your service.”
Though he was not striking in any particular way, Iya knew at once that this was no turnip. His eyes, the color of chestnut hulls, shone with good nature and intelligence.
Iya’s heart skipped a beat; could he be wizard born? Taking his dirty hand in greeting, she touched his mind out of habit and found with a twinge of disappointment that he was not.
“Is that all there is to your name?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s all I’m ever called.”
“It’s Kirothius,” one of the older boys reminded him, giving him a poke in the back. “He just don’t like it ’cause he can’t say it.”
“I can so!” Ki told Iya, blushing under the dirt that streaked his cheeks. From the smell of him, he’d spent his day tending pigs. “I like just Ki better. And it helps Father remember, with so many of us to keep track of.”
Everyone within hearing laughed, and Ki of the shortened name flashed a buck-toothed grin that seemed the brightest thing in this wretched hovel, or the whole wretched day.
“Well now, Ki, how old are you?”
“Eleven summers, Lady.”
“And are you trained to the sword?”
The boy’s chin rose proudly. “Yes, Lady. And the bow.”
“Trained to the pig-whacking stick, more like it,” the poking brother chimed in.
Ki turned on him angrily. “You just shut your mouth, Amin. Who broke your finger for you last month?”
Ah, so the pup has cut some teeth, too, Iya noted approvingly. “Have you ever been to court?”
“I have, Lady. Father takes us to Ero for the Sakor festival most years. I seen the king and his son in their golden crowns, riding with the priests to the temple. I’ll serve at court one day, myself.”
“Tending the king’s pigs!” teasing Amin put in.
Outraged, Ki jumped on his brother and knocked him down onto a circle of children sitting on the floor behind them. Iya retreated hastily as the discussion devolved into a loud free-for-all involving an increasing number of children and dogs and wailing babies. A few minutes later, she spotted Ki and the offending brother perched in the rafters overhead, grinning at the mayhem they’d created. The current mother waded into the fray, wielding a ladle.
Iya knew she’d found her boy, but was surprised by a twinge of conscience. If the worst happened, there could be no hesitation, no mercy. Yet surely it was worth the risk. What future did the poor child have here? No land, no title; at best, he’d end up a foot soldier or mercenary and die on the end of a Plenimaran lance. This way, he at least had a chance to realize his dream of court and some title of his own.
After the children were asleep that night in scattered piles on the floor, Sir Larenth bound the boy over for a boon fee of five gold sesters and a packet of charms to keep his well sweet and his roof sound.
No one thought to ask Ki what he thought of the matter.
By the light of day, Iya worried that she might have acted rashly. Ki had cleaned up well enough, and even had on a clean suit of faded hand-me-down clothes. His hair, tied back with a thong today, was the same warm brown as his eyes. He came armed, too, with a knife at his belt and a decent bow and quiver over his shoulder.
But he showed none of the previous night’s sparkle as he bid his family good-bye and set off on foot beside Iya’s horse.
“Are you well?” she asked, watching him march doggedly along. “Yes, Lady.”
“You mustn’t call me ‘lady.’ You’re more nobly born than I am. You may call me Mistress Iya and I shall call you Ki, just as you like. Now, would you like to come up and ride behind me?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Did your father tell you where we’re going?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Are you glad to be the companion of the king’s nephew?”
He said nothing and Iya noted the grim set of his jaw. “Does the prospect displease you?”
Ki shrugged his little bundle higher on his shoulder. “I’ll do my duty, Mistress.”
“Well, you might be a bit happier about it. I should think you’d be glad to leave that wretched place back there. Nobody will expect you to tend pigs or sleep under a table in Duke Rhius’ house.”
Ki’s spine stiffened visibly, just as his half sister’s had the day before. “Yes, Mistress.”
Wearying of this strange, one-sided conversation, Iya let him be and Ki trudged along behind her in silence.
By the Light, perhaps I have
made a mistake after all, Iya thought.
Glancing back at him, she saw that he was limping now.
“Do you have a blister?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Then why are you limping?”
“I got a stone in my shoe.”
Exasperated, she reined her horse to a halt. “Then why in the world didn’t you say so? By the Light, child, you have a voice!”
He met her gaze squarely, but his chin was trembling. “Father said I was to speak only when spoke to,” he told her, trying desperately to keep up a brave front as the words spilled out. “He said if I give you any back talk or stepped wrong, you’d turn me back to him and make him give the gold back and he’d flay the skin off me and turn me out on the road. He said I must do my duty to Prince Tobin and never come home again.”
It was quite a speech, and boldly stated except for the tears spilling down his cheeks. He swiped at them with his sleeve, but kept his head up proudly as he waited to be sent home in disgrace.
Iya sighed. “Wipe your nose, boy. No one’s going to send you home for having a rock in your shoe. I don’t have a lot of experience of ordinary boys, Ki, but you strike me as a good sort, over all. You’re not going to hurt Prince Tobin or run away, are you?”
“No, La—Mistress!”
“Then I doubt there’ll be any need to send you home. Now empty your shoe and come up here.”
When he’d finished with his shoe she gave him a hand up and gave his knee an awkward pat. “That’s settled. We’ll get along just fine now.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And perhaps we can have a more interesting conversation. It’s a long ride to Alestun from here. You may speak freely, and ask me questions whenever you like. You won’t learn much in life if you don’t, you know.”
Ki shifted his knee against the leather sack, which hung against his leg. “What’s in here? You carry it around with you all the time. I seen you sleep with it, last night.”
Startled, she snapped, “Nothing you need to know of, except that it’s very dangerous and I will send you home if you ever meddle with it.”
She felt the boy cringe and let out a slow breath before she spoke again. He was only a child, after all. “That wasn’t a very good start, was it? Ask me another.”
There was a long moment of silence, then, “What’s the prince like?”
Iya thought back to Arkoniel’s letter. “He’s a year or so younger than you. I’m told he likes to hunt and he’s training to be a warrior. He might make you his squire if you’re a good boy.”
“How many brothers and sisters he got?”
“‘Does he have,’” Iya corrected. “By the Light, we must work on your grammar.”
“How many does he have?”
“Not a one, nor any mother, either. That’s why you’re going to keep him company.”
“Did his mother die?”
“Yes, a year ago last spring.”
“A year? And the duke ain’t got hisself a new woman yet?” Ki asked.
Iya sighed. “‘Duke Rhius hasn’t gotten himself—’ Illior’s Fingers! ‘Hasn’t remarried’ is how it’s said, not that it’s any concern of yours! And no, he has not. I believe you’ll find this household rather different from what you’re used to.”
Another pause, then, “I heard some folks claim there’s a ghost at this prince’s castle.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“Yes, Mistress Iya! Aren’t you?”
“Not especially. And you mustn’t be, either, because there is a ghost at the keep.”
“Bilairy’s balls!”
Suddenly Ki was no longer behind her. Turning, Iya found him standing in the road with his bundle in his arms, staring miserably back toward home.
“Get back up here, boy!”
Ki wavered, evidently uncertain which he was more afraid of, ghosts or his formidable father.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided. “Prince Tobin has lived his whole life with it and it hasn’t done him any harm. Now come along or I will send you back. The prince needs no cowards around him.”
Ki swallowed hard and squared his shoulders, just as she’d guessed he would. “My father sired no cowards.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
When he was safely mounted again, she asked, “How did you know of the ghost?”
“Ahra told me this morning after she heard who Father bound me off to.”
“And how did she know of it?”
She felt a shrug. “Said she heard it among the ranks.”
“And what else did your sister hear?”
Another shrug. “That’s all she told me, Mistress.”
Ki was polite in a glum sort of way the rest of the day, and that night he wept very quietly after he thought Iya was asleep. She half expected to find him gone in the morning. When she opened her eyes just after dawn, however, he was still there, watching her from across a freshly laid fire. There were dark circles under his eyes, but he’d fixed a cold breakfast for both of them and looked much more the bright fellow she’d taken him for that first night.
“Good morning, Mistress Iya.”
“Good morning, Ki.” Iya sat up and stretched the stiffness from her shoulders.
“How long ’til we get there?” he asked as they ate.
“Oh, three or four days, I think.”
He bit off another mouthful of sausage and chewed noisily. “Could you learn me to talk proper on the way, like you said?”
“For a start, don’t speak with your mouth full. And don’t chew with your mouth open.” She chuckled as he hastily swallowed. “There’s no need to choke on my account. Let’s see, what else? Don’t curse or swear by Bilairy’s body. It’s coarse. Now, say ‘could you please teach me to speak properly?’”
“Could you please teach me to speak properly?” he repeated, as carefully as if it were some foreign tongue he was mastering. “And could you please learn—teach me about ghosts?”
“I’ll do both, as best I can,” Iya replied, smiling at him. She’d judged rightly after all. This boy was no turnip.
Chapter 22
Sitting on the roof with Arkoniel one afternoon in late Rhythin, Tobin looked out over the blazing colors of the forest and realized it was only a few weeks until his name day. He hoped no one remembered.
He hadn’t wanted to come up here for their morning lesson, and made certain they sat as far as possible from the base of the tower.
Arkoniel was trying to teach him mathematics, using dried beans and lentils to work through the problems. Tobin wanted to pay attention, but his thoughts kept straying to the tower. He could feel it looming behind him, cold like a shadow even though the sun was warm on his shoulders. The tower shutters were closed tight, but Tobin was sure he could hear noises behind them; footsteps, and the soft brush of long skirts across stone floors. The sounds scared him the way his visions of his mother’s ghost behind the tower door did.
He didn’t tell Arkoniel about the sounds, or about the dream he’d had the night before; he’d made that mistake several times already and everyone, even Nari, had started to look at him strangely when the ones he told came true.
In this one, he and Brother went outside again, but this time the demon led him to the bottom of the meadow, where they stood waiting for someone. In the dream, Brother started crying. He cried so hard that dark blood ran from his nose and mouth. Then he pressed one hand over his heart and the other over Tobin’s, and leaned so close their faces were almost touching.
“She’s coming,” Brother whispered. Then he flew through the air like a bird back to the tower, leaving Tobin to wait alone, watching the road.
He’d woken up with a start, still feeling Brother’s hand pressing on his chest. Who’s coming, he thought, and why?
Sitting here in the sunshine now, Tobin didn’t tell Arkoniel any of that. He hadn’t been scared in the dream, but when he thought of it now, listening to the noises in the tower
, he was overcome with a strange sense of dread.
An especially loud bump sounded overhead and Tobin stole a quick glance at the wizard, thinking he must have heard that, that perhaps Arkoniel was just choosing not to say anything.
In their first days together Arkoniel had asked him many questions about his mother. He never mentioned the tower or what had happened there, but Tobin could see in his eyes that he wanted to.
Tobin let out a sigh of relief when Tharin appeared in the courtyard below. Father and the others were still away, but Tharin had come home to be his weapons master.
“It’s time for my practice,” he said, jumping up.
Arkoniel raised an eyebrow at him. “So I see. You know, Tobin, there’s more to being a noble than arms. You have to understand the world and how it works….”
“Yes, Master Arkoniel. May I go now?”
A familiar sigh. “You may.”
Arkoniel watched the child scamper eagerly away over the slates. He doubted Tobin had heard half the lesson. Something about the tower had distracted him; he’d twisted around to stare at it every time he thought Arkoniel wasn’t looking.
The wizard stood and looked up at it. Something about those closed shutters always sent a chill down his spine. When the duke returned, Arkoniel meant to get his permission to see that room. Perhaps if he could stand there, breathe the air, touch the things she’d left behind, then he could gain some sense of what exactly had happened that day. He certainly wasn’t going to learn it from Tobin. The few times Arkoniel had broached the subject the child had gone blank and silent in the most disquieting way.
Arkoniel gave no credence to Nari’s wild talk of possession, or her fear that Tobin had somehow caused his mother’s fall. But the longer Arkoniel remained here, the more keenly aware he was of the dead child’s permeating presence. He could feel its chill. And he’d heard Tobin whispering to it, just as Nari had said, and found himself wondering what sort of replies Tobin heard.