“Ah, someone’s glad to see you home,” Caliel observed, misinterpreting Tobin’s sudden blush.
“Mazer, butler, a welcoming cup for my cousin!” Korin cried. Lynx brought Tobin a golden mazer and Garol, none too sober himself, slopped wine into it.
Korin leaned forward, peering into Tobin’s face. “You seem no worse for your illness. Thought you had plague, did you?”
Korin was drunker than he’d thought, and reeked of wine. All the same, the welcome was genuine, if a little slurred, and Tobin was glad of it.
“I didn’t want the deathbirds nailing up the palace,” he explained.
“Speaking of birds, your hawk’s been pining for you,” Arengil called down the table, his Aurënfaie accent giving the words a graceful lilt. “I’ve kept her in trim, but she misses her master.”
Tobin raised his cup to his friend.
Korin swayed to his feet and banged a spoon against a platter of goose bones. The minstrels ceased and the tumblers scurried away. When he had everyone’s attention, Korin raised his cup to Tobin. “Let us pour libations for my cousin, for his name day’s sake.” With an unsteady hand, he tipped half the contents onto the stained tablecloth, then downed the rest as the others sprinkled the required drops. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Korin proclaimed grandly, “Twelve years old, my cousin is, and twelve kisses he’ll get from every girl at the table to speed him on to manhood. And one extra, too, for the month that’s passed since. Aliya, you first.”
There was no point in arguing, for Korin would have his way. Tobin tried not to flinch as Aliya draped herself around him and delivered the required dozen all over his face. Korin was welcome to his opinion of her, but Tobin had always found her sharp-tongued and mean. For the last kiss, she pressed her mouth hard to his, then flounced away laughing. Half a dozen more girls crowded forward, probably more anxious for Korin’s approval than Tobin’s. When Una’s turn came, she shyly brushed his cheek, eyes squeezed shut. Over her shoulder, Tobin could see black-haired Alben laughing with Zusthra and Quirion, clearly relishing his embarrassment.
When the ordeal was over, Ki set a parsley bread trencher and a finger bowl down before him. Tobin saw that he was tight-lipped with anger.
“It’s just in fun,” Tobin whispered, but it wasn’t the kissing that had upset his friend.
Still glowering, Ki took the platter away. A moment later Tobin heard the clatter of dishes and Ki’s muffled curse. Turning, he saw Mago and Arius laughing as Ki scooped greasy scraps back onto the platter he’d dropped. From the look Ki shot them, Tobin guessed those two had lost no time resuming their old tricks.
Tobin hadn’t forgiven Mago for goading Ki into a fight that had gotten him a beating on the temple steps. He was halfway out of his chair when Korin’s squire, Tanil, stepped in beside him to place several cuts of roast lamb in his trencher.
“I’ll deal with them,” he murmured.
Tobin grudgingly settled back in his chair. As usual, Korin took no notice. “What will you have for a present, coz?” he demanded. “Name anything you like. A gold-chased corselet, perhaps, to replace that battered old turtle shell of yours? A peregrine or a fine new Aurënfaie horse? I know—a sword! There’s a new smith in Hammer Street, you’ve never seen the like—”
Tobin chewed slowly, considering the offer. He had no desire to replace his horse or his sword—both gifts from his father—and his old armor suited him just fine, though perhaps it was getting a little small. The fact was, he’d been given so many gifts since he’d come to court that he couldn’t think of a thing to ask for, except one. And he didn’t dare bring up Ki’s possible banishment here. He wasn’t even certain if it was in his cousin’s power to decide the matter and wouldn’t risk embarrassing Ki in front of the others.
“I can’t think of anything,” he admitted at last.
This was greeted with good-natured hoots and catcalls, but he overheard Urmanis’ sister Lilyan whispering meanly to Aliya, “Always has to play the simple rustic lord, doesn’t he?”
“Perhaps the prince would rather have a different sort of gift,” Tharin suggested. “A journey, perhaps?”
Korin grinned. “A journey? Now there’s a gift we could all share in. Where would you like to go, Tobin? Afra, perhaps, or down to Erind. You won’t get better fried eels anywhere and the whores there are said to be the finest in Skala.”
Caliel threw an arm around his friend’s neck, trying to stem the drunken ramble. “He’s a little young for that, don’t you think?”
He gave Tobin a sympathetic wink over Korin’s shoulder. Caliel and Tanil were the only ones who could steer Korin when he was this deep in his cups.
Still at a loss, Tobin looked back at Tharin. The man smiled and raised a hand to his breast, almost as if he were pointing at something.
Tobin understood at once. Touching the lump his father’s seal ring made under his tunic, he said, “I’d like to see my estate at Atyion.”
“Only that far?” Korin regarded him with bleary disappointment.
“I’ve never seen it,” Tobin reminded him.
“Well then, to Atyion it is! I could use a new horse and the herds there are the best this side of the Osiat.”
Everyone cheered again. Warmed by his little triumph, Tobin allowed himself a deep swallow of wine. Lord Orun had always found some excuse for Tobin not to go. In this, at least, Korin had the final say.
“Well, well. Look who’s back,” Mago sneered as Ki helped collect the scraps for Ruan’s alms basket.
“Yes, look who’s here,” Arius, Mago’s shadow and echo, chimed in, jostling Ki’s arm. “Our grass knight has come home. I hear Lord Orun’s been fuming mad at you, letting the prince run off like that.”
“Master Porion isn’t too happy with you, either,” Mago gloated. “How do you fancy kneeling on the temple steps again? How many lashes do you suppose he’ll have your prince give you this time?”
For an answer, Ki stuck his foot out and sent Mago sprawling with the platter of roast lamb he’d been carrying.
“Tripping over your own feet again, Mago?” Tanil chuckled as he passed. “You’d better get that cleaned up before Chylnir catches you.”
Mago scrambled to his feet, his fine tunic covered in grease. “Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” he spat at Ki. Then, to Tanil, “If I’m so clumsy, maybe Sir Kirothius here should finish the job by himself.” He stalked off toward the kitchen with the empty platter. Alius shot Ki a dangerous look as he trotted off after Mago.
“No need to get yourself in trouble over me,” Ki mumbled as he gathered the scraps. It embarrassed him that Tanil had heard the other boys’ taunts.
But the head squire’s eyes were bright with suppressed laughter. “Not your fault that he can’t keep his feet, now, is it? That was a nice little move. Will you teach me?”
It was after midnight when Tharin and Caliel accompanied the princes to their bedchambers. Korin was blind drunk, and after several attempts to fall on his nose, Tharin picked the prince up and carried him to his door.
“Good night, sweet coz. Sweet, sweet coz,” Korin warbled, as Tanil and Caliel took charge of him. “Sweet dreams to you and welcome home! Caliel, I think I’m going to puke.”
His friends hurried him inside, but from the sounds that followed, they weren’t quick enough getting him to a basin.
Tharin shook his head in disgust.
“He’s not always like that,” Tobin told him, always quick to defend his cousin.
“Too often for my taste, or his father’s, I’d say,” Tharin growled.
“Mine, too,” muttered Ki, lifting the latch at their door.
The door fetched against something as he tried to open it. There was a grunt of surprise from the other side, then their page, Baldus, swung it wide, grinning at Tobin with sleepy delight. “Welcome home, my prince! And Lord Tharin, it’s good to see you again.”