He glanced down at himself to make sure his clothes were something Erdrick would wear and pulled the yellow scarf off his knee. Then, slouching a little, Beckram paced down the hall.
There were a lot of people still in the court hall, so it took Beckram a long time to see that Erdrick wasn't there. When he saw the queen gossiping with one of her ladies, he relaxed. Not that he'd believed his brother could betray him, not really. "Erdrick?"
He was better at being Erdrick than Erdrick was at being him. Beckram didn't even hesitate in responding to his brother's name. "Lord Alizon?"
The older man looked tired. "You don't usually come to the dances, Erdrick."
Beckram gave his brother's soft, half-embarrassed laugh. "Well, I'm looking for Beckram. He borrowed one of my books to press a crease out of a scarf, and now I can't find it anywhere."
"Ah," the king's brother shrugged. "I haven't seen him here lately. After dinner, he said something about catching some air."
"I'll check the courtyard, then," said Beckram.
Alizon nodded. "If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him."
When the Shavig boy wandered away, Alizon sipped his water to wash the foul taste of his brother's business out of his mouth.
At first, Beckram thought the courtyard was empty. It was a little chilly, not yet fall but soon. The unease, which had brought him home earlier than his comrades, hadn't dissipated with the reassurance that Erdrick hadn't poached his lady.
He stood in the middle of the courtyard and tapped his toe impatiently. To bed, he decided abruptly. There must have been something odd in the ale he'd had tonight that produced this feeling that something was wrong. The damned palace was too big to search for his brother, who was probably passed out on some forgotten couch somewhere.
Beckram started for the entrance nearest his rooms but stopped when he smelled blood. As the air brought the rich scent of it to his nose, something within him died as a sudden certainly grew within him. Something had happened to his twin.
"Rick?" he called anyway, answered only by a faint breeze that made the leaves whisper together.
A dizzy feeling of unreality swept over him as he stepped through the carefully planted bed and followed the scent of death to the shape that lay half hidden in shadows. Shock was replaced first by grief, then by rage, as he stared at his twin's dead face. He remembered the pale face of the queen's last lover after he'd been drowned and cursed himself for asking Erdrick to take his place. He should have known better.
The urge to kill Jakoven was overwhelming. He knew he could do it, too, despite the king's reputation as a swordsman. Who would be so stupid as to defeat the high king? Beckram's sword work had been polished by Stala. Yes, he could kill Jakoven. There were places the king didn't bring his guards.
But if he did, his father would lose both of his sons, one to murder and the other to the headsman's ax. Beckram held that thought and rode the pain it brought: There could be no overt revenge. He would have to hold to the oaths he swore to the king for his father's sake.
Carefully, Beckram closed his twin's eyes. He kissed the cool forehead and muttered a few words of love. Then he slid an arm beneath Erdrick's shoulders and under his knees, gathering him close.
It wasn't easy getting to his feet, for Erdrick weighed no less than Beckram, and neither of them were small men. Beckram staggered a bit, adjusting to the weight, then began to walk.
Beckram stood momentarily unnoticed in the entranceway and looked around. His gaze drifted over Haverness and found a dozen more nobles who were just the kind of men he was looking for. Men whose loyalty to the throne could not be doubted nor could their word be bought.
Satisfied, Beckram strode in with measured footsteps, the beat of his pulse dictating his steps. He could tell when they saw him, the hundred or so people still dancing at this hour, because a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone in this room knew about the queen's previous lover. Everyone knew Beckram had been her lover. Everyone knew they were watching Erdrick carry Beckram's body before the king who had killed him.
The king remained where he was, expressionless. Beckram heard the small sound the queen made, but he had eyes only for Jakoven. When the king was five paces away, the traditional space for fealty swearing, Beckram knelt and set his brother on the white marble tiles. He remained kneeling.
"My king," he said, using his voice as his father had taught him so it carried to the far corner of the room. "Hurogs have served the Tallvenish rule since there have been high kings. My father, his brother, their father before them served you. It is my intention to do the same. Haverness?"
O, brave man, thought Beckram as he saw the Oranstone nobleman approach out of the corner of his eye.
Haverness waited to answer until he stood behind the king. We are all doing this by tradition, thought Beckram with that same eerie calmness that had claimed him from his entrance into the dance room.
"Hurog?" asked Haverness.
It startled Beckram to be called that; he'd always been addressed as Iftahar, after his father's holding, but it was appropriate. Surely his soul was encased in the cold black stone of Hurog.
"How many men go with you, Haverness?" Beckram asked, not taking his eyes from the king.
"Eighty-four."
"And you leave when?"
"Ten days' time."
"Would you consider taking me?"
"Hurogs are rare men. I would be honored."
For the first time since he'd entered the room, Beckram looked away from the king. He stared at his twin's gray face and black blood. No more dusty books, he thought.
Beckram returned his gaze to the king's face, wanting to watch his reaction. "Then you may put down the name of Beckram of Hurog on your list."
A gasp of surprise traveled around the room.
"First though, I must take my brother Erdrick to Hurog for burial. He met with an accident in the courtyard—or maybe it was suicide." Beckram looked at the gaping wound, then looked around the room. "No, I suppose it was an accident. He tripped and cut his throat on a thorn in the garden." Beckram scooped his brother off the floor—the body seemed much lighter—and strode to the nearest door. It wasn't until he was in the corridor that he realized Haverness and Garranon paced beside him. "When are you leaving?" asked Garranon. "Now," Beckram replied shortly.
"Do you have enough gold to hire horses along the way?"
"I'll manage."
Garranon pulled his belt purse loose and tied it to Beckram's belt. "That should be enough."
"I'll have two of my men ride honor guard," said Haverness. "They'll meet you at the stables."
"I won't wait."
"If they're late, they'll catch up." They left him then, and he walked the rest of the way to his rooms alone. He had to set Erdrick down to open the door, and it was harder to pick him up again this time. The strength of anger was seeping away, leaving only guilt.
Beckram lay Erdrick on the bed while he packed. He took Garranon's pouch and put it in his saddlebags, then stared around the suite at a loss. What was appropriate to pack?
In the end, he just wrapped Erdrick in the top quilt of the bed and staggered out with near-empty saddlebags. He didn't bother waking the grooms but settled his burden on a pile of hay and saddled both horses. The Hurog-bred geldings snorted a bit at the dead body, but Hellebore, Erdrick's war-trained mount, stood steady while Beckram heaved the wrapped body over the saddle and secured it with rope.
Mounting his own steed, Beckram started out. He passed a couple of men wearing Haverness's colors running to the stable, but he didn't stop. He would spend no more time than he had to in the home of the man who murdered his brother. He didn't even notice it was Garranon and Haverness who opened the palace gates and let him through.