“Tell me, stray.” Silvo took another sip. “How does this squire-servant thing work?”
“It doesn’t really,” Achan murmured.
“I would think not.” Silvo snorted, then snarled, “I demand a rematch, stray. You embarrassed me in front of a lot of people today and—”
“You embarrassed yourself, Master Hamartano,” Lady Tara said.
Silvo’s eyes widened. His olive cheeks flushed maroon.
Lady Tara cocked an eyebrow and held up her goblet. “May I have some wine, please?”
“Of course, my lady.” Achan took his time filling Lady Tara’s goblet, his own cheeks burning from the effect of her stare.
“I think a man of many talents is quite the man indeed,” she said. “Tell me, Master Hamartano, can you serve wine with one arm? Most servants I’ve seen use two to hold the jug. It must be very heavy.” She looked at Achan. “Pass the jug to Master Hamartano, good sir. I fear Sir Nongo is parched at the high table. We cannot have Master Cham serving your knight, can we, Master Hamartano?”
The boiling rage in Silvo’s eyes brought a grin to Achan’s lips. The squire snatched the jug from Achan and glided on agile feet to the high table.
“I see we are even, Master Cham,” Lady Tara said with a coy smile. “Now I have rescued you.”
Achan smiled down on her. “That you have, my lady.”
“Could you not tell me how you went from squire to servant in half a day?” She sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving his.
His stomach danced a jig. As much as he wanted to talk with her, he remembered his place, and bowed. “Is there anything else you need, my lady?”
“Only your company. Could you not pull up a chair?”
“I could not, my lady. Forgive me.” Achan bowed again, feeling the fool, but enjoying himself nonetheless.
Lady Jaira clucked her tongue. “Really, Tara. You degrade yourself. I don’t understand why you must—”
“Achan!”
It was Sir Gavin’s voice. Achan spotted the knight sitting at the end of the high table itself. The knight was waving him over, his eyebrows trying to send a message Achan couldn’t translate.
Could it have something to do with a servant holding conversation with a noblewoman in the great hall? Although he didn’t sense anger from the knight, Achan blew out a deep breath, turned to Lady Tara, and bowed once more. “Excuse me, my lady.”
He turned to walk the long way around the room to Sir Gavin — in order not to have to pass Silvo at the high table — and met Poril at the entrance. A sense of foreboding closed in on his mind, and from the cook’s bloodshot eyes and clenched teeth Achan figured he’d also seen Achan’s exchange with Lady Tara. Well, why not add a beating to this momentous day?
Knowing Poril would rather die than make a scene in the great hall in the middle of the prince’s coming-of-age celebration, Achan passed him right by and went around to Sir Gavin. He squatted beside the knight’s chair.
“For Lightness’s sake, lad, stand up,” Sir Gavin hissed.
Confused, Achan stood. He preferred the cover of squatting behind the table. He was tired of being stared at and longed to leave the great hall.
“Achan, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Prince Oren Hadar.”
Prince? Achan knew of no claimant to the throne beside Prince Gidon. Achan averted his gaze for a moment, then curiosity won out. He looked up at the man seated beside Sir Gavin. Prince Oren Hadar had black hair, blue eyes, and a long, narrow nose. He wore a thin crown of gold on his head. It was so thin, in fact, that Achan might not have seen it if the torches on the wall hadn’t reflected off the shiny metal. The prince studied Achan with narrowed eyes, as if searching his memory for something.
Achan’s thrilling moment with Lady Tara had left his brain on the other side of the room. He put it to work at once. Was this man in some way related to Prince Gidon? Achan glanced to the center of the table where the prince sat presiding over his coming of age celebration.
“Prince Oren is King Axel’s baby brother,” Sir Gavin said. “Second in line for the throne, behind only Gidon.”
Achan went straight to his knees.
Prince Oren chuckled. “None of that for me, lad. And I’m no baby, ‘baby brother’ though I be.” He winked at Achan. “I think my nephew, Gidon, gets his handsome face from his mother.”
“Bah!” Sir Gavin waved his hand. “Dara was beautiful. That”—he nodded to the prince—“is far from beautiful.”
Achan failed to bite back a laugh. Sir Gavin had better watch himself or he’d be hanged for insulting the prince. People had been hanged for less around here.
The thought of unnecessary cruelty brought Lord Nathak to mind. “Sir Gavin, I need to tell you about what happened today—”
“How did you do?” Prince Oren asked. “Gavin tells me you clobbered Silvo Hamartano.”
“Only because he was over-confident, Your Highness.”
Prince Oren raised an eyebrow. “Modest.”
“No, really,” Achan said. “He assumed because I’m a stray I’d be weak. He led with a move easily deflected by any beginner, leaving him wide open and off balance.”
Again Prince Oren laughed. “I hear Sir Gavin’s logic in your words, my boy.”
“Achan.” It was Poril’s thin voice.
Pig snout! Would no one let him be for five minutes? Achan turned.
Poril walked toward him as if each step brought the old man closer to death. Approaching the high table without food, wine, or invitation was a good way to meet a noose. Poril’s gaze flickered between Lord Nathak and Prince Oren as if he were unsure who might banish him first.
Achan sighed and looked back to Sir Gavin. “I waited for you at the hand-to-hand pen, but you didn’t return, and Lord Nathak told them I couldn’t compete. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to be beaten for my dual roles at Sitna Manor today.” He glanced across the hall and caught Lady Tara watching him. He grinned. “It was worth it, though.”
Poril whispered, “Achan!” The cook now stood three yards from the high table. He beckoned Achan toward him with the jerk of his head.
Achan had never seen him ask so strange. “Farewell.” Achan bowed his head to Prince Oren. “It was an honor, Your Highness.”
Sir Gavin grabbed his elbow. “See here, you’ll not be whipped because of me.”
Achan waved him off. “Oh, it’s not really your fault, sir, and a very long story.”
Sir Gavin chuckled. “See what I mean? He has that way about him, does he not?”
Prince Oren flashed Achan a curious smile. The stares of both men brought a flush to Achan’s cheeks for no reason he could explain. He sensed a secret in them, something clandestine that somehow involved himself. He swallowed, bowed again to Prince Oren, and started toward Poril, who turned and made a beeline for the kitchens.
Achan was surprised to find Sir Gavin at his heels.
“Sir Gavin!” Lord Nathak’s nasal voice amplified over the chatter, sending an icy chill up Achan’s arms. “A word?”
“I’ll be right back, Achan. Don’t go anywhere.”
But Achan desperately wanted to exit the great hall. He watched Poril’s back, wondering what his reaction would be when he found Achan not following. He sighed. He’d almost take a beating just to feel some cool air on his face.
He stood where Sir Gavin had left him, torn between whom to obey. Then he saw Silvo’s dark eyes spot him. The thin squire stood and started his way, no good on his mind. Achan wasn’t willing to take that kind of beating. That settled it. He made a quick exit from the great hall.