“Do you know how my brother died?” asked Tobin softly, still staring at the bed.
Tharin looked at him. “Stillborn, Nari said. Never drew breath. But it wasn’t a boy child, Tobin, it was a little girl.”
Ki gave him a questioning look; surely he’d speak the truth to Tharin? But here was Brother again, standing between them with a finger to his lips. Tobin shook his head at Ki and said nothing.
Instead, he turned away, seeking some sign of his mother in this empty room. If she had changed so terribly the night he was born, then perhaps there was some trace here of who she’d been before—something to help him understand why she’d changed.
But he found nothing and suddenly he didn’t want to be here anymore.
The other chambers along the corridor were the same: long since deserted and emptied of all but the largest furnishings. The more he saw, the lonelier he felt, like a stranger wandering somewhere he did not belong.
Tharin must have sensed this. He put an arm around Tobin’s shoulders and said, “Come back downstairs. There’s a place I think you’ll like better.”
They went down through the hall and along a short corridor to a cozy, dark-paneled bedchamber that Tobin recognized at once as having been his father’s. Rhius hadn’t been here in months and would never return, but there was still a feeling of life in this room. The heavy dark red hangings around the bed were just like the ones at the keep. A pair of familiar shoes stood on a chest. A half-finished letter in a bold scrawl lay curling on the writing desk beside an ivory portrait of Tobin. Tobin breathed in the familiar mix of scents: sealing wax, oiled leather, rust, herbs, and his father’s own warm, manly smell. On a shelf by the writing desk Tobin found a collection of his wax and wooden sculptures—gifts to his father over the years—lined up and saved just as Tobin had saved the tokens his father had sent to him.
All at once the ache of loss he’d managed to hold at bay returned full force. He clenched his teeth against it, but the hot tears came anyway, blinding him as he sank down. Strong arms caught him; not his father, but Tharin holding him tight, patting his back as he had when Tobin was very small. There was another hand on his shoulder, too, and this time he was not ashamed at showing weakness in front of Ki. He believed him now; even warriors had to grieve.
He wept until his chest hurt and his nose ran, but in the end he felt lighter, freed of some of the burden of sorrow he’d carried so deeply. He pulled away from them and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I’ll honor my father,” he said, looking around the room again with gratitude. “I’ll carry his name into battle and be as great a warrior as he was.”
“He knew that,” said Tharin. “He always spoke proudly of you.”
“May I have this room as mine, when I stay here?”
“You don’t have to ask, Tobin. It all belongs to you.”
“Is that why Koni and the others are wearing different uniforms now?”
“Yes. As your parents’ sole heir, you take the rank of your mother and all your father’s holdings fall to you.”
“My holdings,” Tobin mused. “Can you show me?”
Tharin opened a chest and took out a map. On it Tobin recognized the outline of the Skalan peninsula and the territories to the north of it. A tiny crown on the eastern coast marked Ero. He’d seen maps like this before, but on this one there were other places marked in red ink. Atyion lay to the north, and Cirna was a dot on the thin bridge of land that connected Skala to the mainland. There were red dots up there in the territories, too, and across the mountains on the northwestern coastline where there were almost no cities at all. Which ones would Ki like best, he wondered?
“All these belong to the Crown until you’re of age, of course,” Tharin said, frowning down at the map.
“That worries you.”
“It’s nothing we have to think about for now.” Tharin tried to smile as he put the map away. “Come and see my room.”
They walked to the next door along the passageway and Tharin showed them in.
This chamber was austere to the point of severity by comparison, with plain hangings and few comforts. The only exceptions were a fine collection of weapons hung on one wall, collected from many battlefields, and more of Tobin’s little creations on a table near the window. Tobin went over and picked up a lopsided wax man with a wood splinter sword in one round fist. He wrinkled his nose. “I remember this one. I threw it out.”
Tharin chuckled fondly. “And I saved it; it’s the only portrait ever done of me. These others were gifts from you, remember?” He pulled a crude little wooden Sakor horse on a knotted bit of string from the neck of his tunic. “This is the first one you ever made for me. All the other men have them, too. We wear them for luck.”
“You should have him make you a new one,” said Ki with a laugh. “He’s improved quite a lot since then.”
Tharin shook his head. “It was a gift from the heart. I wouldn’t trade this little fellow for all the horses of Atyion.”
“When can I go to Atyion?” Tobin asked. “I’ve heard tales of it all my life. Even Ki’s seen it, but not me! And Cirna and all the other estates and holdings?”
There was that hint of a frown again as Tharin replied, “You’ll have to speak to Lord Orun about that. He’s the one who must arrange any travel outside the city.”
“Oh.” Tobin made no effort to hide his dislike here. “When do you think the king will come back? I’m going to ask him to give me a new guardian before he goes away next time. I don’t care how rich or powerful Orun is, I can’t stand the sight of him!”
“Well, I’ve been hoping to have a talk with you about that. That’s one of the reasons I brought you here today.” Tharin closed the door and leaned against it, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin.
“You’re young, Tobin, and you’ve no experience of court life. I can’t say I’m sorry about how you’ve turned out because of that, but now that you’re here, it may hurt you, not knowing how things are done. Illior knows, there hasn’t been much time to speak of all the changes—It took us all by surprise when he showed up. But now that we’re all split up this way, there are some things you need to hear. I swore to your father that I would watch over you, and I don’t know of anyone else who can tell you what I’m about to tell you. Ki, you listen well, too, and don’t you ever breathe a word of it to anyone.”
He sat the boys on the edge of his bed and pulled up a chair.
“I don’t care much for Lord Orun, either, but you keep that to yourselves. He’s the king’s friend, and one of his highest ministers, so it wouldn’t do you any good if that’s the first thing your uncle hears from you when you meet. Understand?”
Tobin nodded. “Prince Korin says I should be careful of him, because he’s a powerful man.”
“That’s right. At court you must say less than you think and only speak as much of the truth as will do you good. I’m afraid that’s something we didn’t teach you before, but you always were a good one at keeping quiet about things. As for you, Ki—”
Ki blushed. “I know. I’ll keep my mouth closed.”
“It’s for Tobin’s sake. Now, it costs me some pride to say it, but I want you both to keep on Lord Orun’s good side while you have to.”
“You sound like you’re scared of him!” Ki blurted out.
“You could say that. Orun was already a powerful lord at court when Rhius and I were in the Companions. He was only the third son of a duke, but his father was rich and had the mad queen’s ear. I mean no disrespect to your family, Tobin, but your grandmother Agnalain was mad as a cat in a high wind by the end and Orun still managed to come out alive and with power. Erius likes him, too, which is more than your father or I could ever fathom. So crossing Orun is only fouling your own nest. Keep peace between you. And …” He stopped, as if unsure what to say next. “Well, if either of you has any trouble with him, you come to me. Promise me that.”
“You know we will,” Tobin replied, though it seemed to him th
at Tharin was looking at Ki as he said this.
A knock came at the door and Tharin went to deal with a courier who’d arrived. Tobin sat a moment, pondering all he’d been told, then rose to go back to the hall. When he came out into the passage, however, Ki tapped his shoulder and whispered, “I think our friend is here. I’ve been feeling him since we were upstairs.”
Tobin turned in surprise, realizing that Ki meant Brother. “You can feel him?” he whispered back. He’d lost track of the spirit upstairs and hadn’t seen him since.
“Sometimes. Am I right?”
Tobin looked around and, sure enough, there was Brother behind them, beckoning for Tobin to follow him down the passage in the opposite direction. “Yes. He’s there. I didn’t call him, though.”
“Why should he act any different here?” muttered Ki.
Following Brother, the boys passed through a succession of narrower passages and out into a small disused courtyard surrounded by a high wall. There was a summer kitchen here, but the mossy roof over the outdoor oven had fallen in years ago and never been repaired. Near the center of the yard stood a huge, dead chestnut tree. Its twisted branches stretched their broken fingers over the yard like a netted roof, grey and scabrous against the blue sky. Its knobby roots humped up out of the packed earth like serpents writhing across the ground.
“Can you still see him?” Ki whispered.
Tobin nodded. Brother was sitting at the base of the tree between two big roots. His legs were drawn up tight against his chest and his forehead rested on his knees. Tangled black hair hung down, covering his face. He looked so forlorn that Tobin slowly moved closer, wondering what the matter could be. He was within a few feet of the spirit when Brother raised a pale, tear-streaked face to him and whispered in a dry, weary voice Tobin had never heard before, “This is the place,” and faded from sight again.
Baffled, Tobin stared up at the tree, wondering what was remarkable about this spot. He’d understood about the bed; Brother had been stillborn upon it and seemed to remember it. But why would he remember this yard, or this tree? He looked back at where Brother had been sitting and spied a small opening beneath one of the roots. Squatting down, he examined it more closely. It was larger than it had looked at first glance; eight or ten inches wide and a few inches high on the outside. It reminded Tobin of the sort of place he used to look for in the forest as a hiding place for the doll.
The soil here was sandy and hard, well sheltered by the tree. Curious, he reached inside to see if the hole was as dry as it looked.
“There could be snakes,” Ki warned, hunkering down beside him.
It was larger inside than he’d have guessed, large enough for the doll if he could get it through the opening. His fingers found no snakes, only a few spiky chestnut husks among the dead leaves. As he moved to withdraw his hand, however, his fingers brushed across a rounded edge. He felt more closely, then got enough of a grip on it to dislodge it from the soil. Drawing it out, he saw that it was a gold ring set with a carved stone like the one Lord Orun had given him. He rubbed it on his sleeve to clean it. The large flat stone was the same deep purple as the throat of a river iris, and carved with the intaglio profiles of a man and a woman, side by side with the woman’s foremost.
“By the Flame, Tobin, isn’t that your father?” asked Ki, peering over his shoulder.
“And my mother.” Tobin turned the ring over in his hands and found an A and an R engraved on the gold band behind the stone.
“I’ll be damned. Brother must have wanted you to find it. See if there’s anything else.”
Tobin felt again, but there was nothing more in the hole.
“Here you are!” said Tharin, coming out into the yard. “What are you doing down in the dirt?”
“Look what Tobin found under this dead tree,” said Ki.
Tobin showed him the ring and Tharin’s eyes widened. “It’s been years—How did that get out here?”
“Was it my mother’s?”
The tall man sat down and took the ring from him, gazing at the two profiles on the stone. “Oh, yes. It was her favorite among the betrothal gifts your father gave her. It’s Aurënfaie work. We sailed clear to Virësse just so he could have the finest carvers make it for her. I remember the look on her face—We never did know what happened to it after she got sick, or some of her other things either.” He looked down at the hole. “How do you suppose it ended up out here? Well, it’s no matter. It’s found now, and yours to keep. You should wear it in their memory.”
It was too large for Tobin’s fingers so he hung it on the golden chain with his father’s seal, then looked at the carving again. His parents looked young and handsome together, not at all like the troubled people he’d known.
Tharin reached down and took the ring and seal together on his palm. “Now you can carry something of both of them close to your heart.”
Chapter 43
The weeks that followed passed in a glittering blur. Life at the keep hadn’t prepared either boy for such company, though neither wanted to trouble the other with his doubts at first.
Each morning the Companions ran to the temple to make their offerings, then worked hard on the training field until midafternoon under Porion’s demanding direction.
Here, at least, Ki and Tobin both excelled. Porion was a strict taskmaster, but he was as quick to praise as to chastise. He taught the Companions the fine points of buckler work and how to fight and shoot on horseback, but they also learned to use the javelin and the axe, and how to wrestle and fight with knives.
“You fine nobles may start the day in the saddle, but only Sakor knows how long you’ll stay there,” Porion was fond of telling them, and devised a good many drills designed to unseat them in various jarring ways.
After practice the remainder of the day belonged to the boys to amuse themselves as they pleased until mess time. Sometimes they rode about the city to see players or visit their favorite artisans and tailors. Other times they went to the hills to hunt and hawk, or to the seaside to bathe, enjoying the last warm days of summer.
In these pastimes they usually were accompanied by a great crowd of young nobles, and some not so young. Lord Orun frequently came along, together with others of his ilk—men who wore ear bobs and scent and hadn’t gone off to fight. There were women and girls, too.
Ki soon realized that girls like pretty Aliya and her friends were beyond his grasp, and that a pretty face didn’t necessarily mean a pretty heart. Aliya was Alben’s cousin and proved to be as spiteful as her kinsman. Prince Korin liked Aliya well enough, though, and through the gossip of the squires Ki learned that she was one of several mistresses who regularly visited the prince’s bed, hoping to get him an heir so he could go off to war. What the king would say to that no one cared to speculate.
Still, there were plenty of other girls who found Ki good enough to flirt with. One in particular, Mekhari, had given him several encouraging looks while endeavoring to teach him to dance. Skilled as he and Tobin might be at the arts of war, neither had a proper dance step between them, nor played an instrument; and despite Arkoniel’s best efforts, they had the singing abilities of a pair of crows. Their ill wishers took no end of delight in this lack of graces and made certain to include them in any situation that would call attention to these shortcomings.
Tobin managed to redeem himself quite by accident one night at dinner when, in a fit of boredom, he whittled one of his little sculptures from a block of cheese. Soon the girls were pestering him to carve charms and toys for them, offering kisses and favors in return. Tobin modestly refused payment as he hemmed and blushed and carved away furiously for them, clearly not knowing what to do in the face of such attentions.
This puzzled Ki. Tobin was nearly twelve and had heard enough of his tales to know what girls were about. While he might not be old enough to want one yet, it seemed odd that he’d be so standoffish about it. Two in particular seemed to plague him. Pale Lilyan, Urmanis’ sister, had taken to fli
rting outrageously with him, though Ki was certain she only did it because she knew it made Tobin squirm.
But the other one, a slim brunette named Una, was another matter. She was skilled at hunting and riding, and had a quiet way about her that Ki found both pleasant and unsettling; she looked at you like she could read your thoughts and liked them fine. Yet Tobin was more stumble-tongued around her than anyone else. He’d nearly sliced off one of his fingers whittling her a cat.
“What in Bilairy’s name is the matter with you!” Ki had chided, bathing the gash in a basin that night as they got ready for bed. “I bet Una would let you kiss her if you tried, but you act like she’s got the plague!”
“I don’t want to kiss her!” Tobin snapped, pulling his hand away before Ki could wrap the finger. Scrambling across the bed, he burrowed under the blankets as far from Ki as he could get and remained there, refusing to talk to him for the rest of the night.
That was the first time Tobin had ever been truly angry with him. Ki laid awake heartsick half the night and vowed never to tease Tobin about girls again.
He had enough to trouble him as it was.
Prince Korin had thrown several more of his lavish banquets since their arrival, ordering them up whenever the whim took him and he thought he could brook Porion’s disapproval. Although this meant a respite from table service for the squires, Ki could have done without them. Everyone drank more, especially Korin, and Ki liked the Prince Royal a good deal better when he was sober.
Tobin had taken to his cousin in his usual good-hearted way, but Ki wasn’t so sure of his friend’s judgment this time. Korin struck him as a weak reed when drunk, too likely to take on the colors of those around him instead of shining with his own. He was more likely to tease then, and overlook the rudeness of others.
And rudeness abounded, though it was often thinly veiled in jest. Their skill on the training field had sparked jealousy among the older Companions, and Tobin’s odd behavior that night in the old audience chamber had set a few tongues wagging. But they’d probably wagged before they ever arrived.