His words gave Tobin a nasty turn. Had Niryn looked into his head after all, or did he have spies of his own? “Mistress Iya was a friend of my father’s,” he replied.
“Yes, I remember,” Niryn murmured as if it didn’t interest him much. Arching an eyebrow, he turned to Orun. “Still abed at this hour, my lord? Are you ill?”
Heaving himself out of bed, Orun pulled his gown around him with imperious dignity. “I was not expecting official visitors, Lord Niryn. The prince has come to visit me after his absence.”
“Ah, yes, the mysterious illness. I trust you’re quite recovered, Your Highness?”
Tobin could have sworn the man winked at him. “I’m very well, thank you.” Tobin expected any moment to feel the wizard’s creeping touch in his mind but Niryn seemed far more interested in baiting Orun.
Eyeing his unexpected visitor suspiciously, Orun waved him and Tobin to seats by the fire. Both men waited until Tobin was seated before taking their own chairs.
The old hypocrite, Tobin thought. So long as there was anyone else around to see, Orun treated him with the proper courtesy.
“The prince and I are expecting a messenger from the king,” said Orun.
“And as it happens, it is in that capacity that I come to you today.” Niryn took a rolled parchment from one deep sleeve and smoothed it over his knee. The heavy royal seals dangled from silk ribbons at the bottom of it. “I received this early this morning. His Majesty asked that I deliver it to you personally.” Niryn glanced down at the document, but Tobin could tell he already knew the contents. “His Majesty begins by thanking you for your care of his royal nephew.” He looked up at Orun and smiled. “And he hereby relieves you of all further responsibility in that regard.”
“What?” Orun’s velvet cap slid askew as he lurched forward in his chair. “What—what does this mean? What are you saying?”
“It’s perfectly clear, Orun. You’re no longer Prince Tobin’s guardian.”
Orun gaped at him, then held out a shaking hand for the letter. Niryn relinquished it and watched with obvious satisfaction as the other man read it. By the time Orun had finished, the wax seals were clattering together on their ribbons. “He says nothing of why! Have I not discharged my duties faithfully?”
“I’m certain there’s no need for concern. He thanks you most graciously for your service.” Niryn leaned forward and pointed out a section. “Just there, you see?”
Niryn made no effort to hide how pleased he was with Orun’s reaction. “The duke’s death was so unexpected, and you were right there, offering your aid,” he went on smoothly. “But King Erius wishes to impose on you no longer, for fear you’ll be too distracted from your duties at the Treasury. He will appoint a new guardian when he returns.”
“But—but my understanding was that the position was permanent!”
Niryn rose and gave him a pitying look. “Surely you, of all people, are no stranger to the king’s whims.”
Tobin had sat transfixed through all this, but found his voice at last. “My—the king, he’s coming home?”
Niryn paused in the doorway. “Yes, my prince.”
“When?”
“I cannot say, my prince. Depending on the current negotiations with Plenimar, perhaps sometimes in the spring.”
“What does this mean?” Orun mumbled, still clutching the letter. “Niryn, you must know the king’s mind in this?”
“It is dangerous for anyone to presume to know King Erius’ mind these days. But if I may, my old friend, I would suggest that your reach has finally exceeded your grasp. I believe you know what I speak of. The blessings of the Four be with you both. Good day to you, my prince.”
He swept out and, for a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the incessant patter of the rain. Orun’s lips moved silently as he stared into the flames.
The air felt charged, the way it did just before a storm. Tobin looked longingly at the closed door, anxious to get away. When Orun didn’t move, he rose slowly. “May—may I go?”
Orun looked up slowly and Tobin’s knees nearly gave way. Naked hatred twisted the man’s features. Lurching to his feet, he loomed over Tobin. “May you go? This is your doing, you ungrateful brat!”
Tobin took a step back but Orun followed. “With your smirking and your insults. Old Slack Guts, isn’t that what you and that country bastard call me behind my back? Laughing! At me, who has served two rulers? Oh, you think there’s anything that goes unheard, do you?” he snarled, though Tobin had said nothing. Grabbing him by the arm, Orun shook the king’s letter in his face. “This is your doing!”
“No, I swear!”
Orun tossed the letter aside and jerked Tobin closer. Spittle flew from the man’s lips as he snarled, “Writing to the king behind my back!”
“No!” Tobin was truly frightened now. Orun’s fingers dug into his arms like claws. “I wrote nothing, I swear—”
“Lies. Writing lies!” Orun clutched the neck of Tobin’s tunic and shook him. His fingers tangled in the chain and it dug painfully into Tobin’s neck.
“Turning him against me, his most faithful servant!” Orun’s eyes narrowed in their folds of fat. “Or was it that lackey of yours downstairs? Good Sir Tharin!” Sarcasm curdled the words. “So humble. So faithful. Always fawning on your father like some pathetic stray dog. And always turning up where he’s not wanted—” Tobin saw something new and dangerous come into Orun’s face. “What did he tell the king? What did he say?” he hissed, shaking Tobin so hard he had to grasp at Orun’s arms to stay on his feet.
Orun’s grip tightened, making it harder to breathe. “Nothing!” Tobin wheezed.
Orun was still ranting at him, still squeezing, but Tobin could hardly make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. Black spots swam before his eyes and Orun’s face looked as big as the moon. The room was spinning, going dim. His legs wouldn’t hold him.
“What did you say?” Orun screamed. “Tell me!”
Then Tobin was falling and something deathly cold passed over him. As his vision cleared he saw Orun backing away from him, hands thrown up in terror. But it wasn’t him Orun was looking at, Tobin realized, but a writhing mass of darkness taking shape between them.
Still sprawled where he’d fallen, Tobin watched numbly as the shape coalesced into a familiar, menacing form. He couldn’t see Brother’s face, but Orun’s expression was mirror enough.
“What sorcery is this?” the man whispered in horror. He looked uncomprehendingly from Tobin to the ghost as Brother glided closer. Orun tried to back away but fetched up against the wine table. It toppled over, blocking his escape.
Too dizzy to stand, Tobin watched in confusion as Brother raised one spectral hand. The ghost usually descended like a whirlwind, flinging furniture and striking out wildly. This slow, deliberate advance was worse. Tobin felt the rage and menace emanating from his twin; it sapped what little strength he had left. He tried to cry out, but his tongue wouldn’t work.
“No,” Orun whimpered. “How—how can this be?”
And still Brother did not attack. Instead, he simply reached out and touched the terrified man’s chest. Orun let out an agonized shriek and toppled backward over the fallen table as if he’d been thrown. Sparks flew up when one outstretched hand landed in the fire.
The last things Tobin remembered were Orun’s slippered feet twitching in the firelight and the smell of scorched flesh.
7
Word had traveled quickly through the Old Palace. Mago and his cronies made faces at Ki during the morning run. At the temple Alben bumped into him, and whispered, “Farewell, grass knight!” too softly for anyone but Ki to hear.
As soon as Tobin and Tharin left, he’d taken Tharin’s advice. Slipping out through a servant’s passage, he hurried away to Tobin’s house. The steward answered his knock, looking as if he’d been expecting him. He took Ki’s wet cloak and set a chair for him by the hearth.