“Asleep?” Ki wrinkled his nose as a whiff of sour vomit floated into the corridor.
Lynx gave a rueful shrug, but brightened when he heard their news. “Don’t worry, I’ll have him ready!”
Master Porion praised Korin’s plan. “Meet the king like warriors, boys, not a pack of soft courtiers!” he said, slapping the prince on the back.
Molay and Ki insisted on overseeing everything. Baldus was dispatched to Tharin with orders to ready the men and horses. While everyone else was busy, Tobin slipped into the dressing room.
If leaving the doll behind meant being free of Brother for a few days, it would have been an easy choice, but the ghost’s new habit of showing up where and when he pleased was getting out of hand. Tobin took the doll down from its hiding place and shoved it to the bottom of his pack. As he yanked the straps tight, it occurred to him that Atyion should have been Brother’s home, too.
Despite their haste, it was almost noon before Korin had his column properly formed up in the front courtyard. The Companions wore the colors and arms of their own houses, as was the custom when riding out from the city, and lord and squire alike wore the scarlet baldric bearing the Prince Royal’s white dragon crest. Their helms and shields shone bravely in the midday light.
Korin’s guard was resplendent in scarlet and white, and Tobin’s wore blue. Tharin, as always on such occasions, wore noble dress and a baldric of Tobin’s colors.
A crowd of courtiers had gathered to see them off, cheering and waving scarves and hats.
“Look Tobin, there’s your lady,” Korin called. Una stood with Arengil and several girls from the secret sword school. The other Companions heard and laughed. Blushing, Tobin followed Ki over to say good-bye.
Arengil made them an exaggerated bow. “Behold the glorious warriors of Skala!” He stroked Gosi’s nose, admiring the golden rosettes that adorned the gelding’s new harness. “So much for the peasant prince, eh? You look like you just stepped out of a tapestry.”
“Yes,” said Una. “I suppose we’ll have to let our dancing lessons go for now. How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know,” Tobin told her.
“Come on!” Korin shouted, wheeling his horse about and brandishing his sword. “Let’s not keep my father waiting. To Atyion!”
“To Atyion!” the others cried, leaping into the saddle.
As Tobin turned to go, Una kissed him on the cheek, then disappeared into the crowd.
Swept up in the excitement of the preparations, Tobin had been able to forget his fears for a little while, but the inevitable boredom of a long ride gave them space to creep in again.
He was going to meet the king. Because of this man, his mother had never been queen. Perhaps if she’d worn the crown, she wouldn’t have gone mad. And perhaps Brother wouldn’t have died and they could have grown up together at court, or in Atyion, instead of hidden away in the mountains.
If not for him, Tobin thought with startling bitterness, I’d have grown up knowing my true face.
16
Word of the king’s return had reached Niryn by secret messenger a week earlier. It seemed his business in Ilear would have to wait; the king’s brief letter ordered the wizard to meet him quietly at Cirna.
Nothing could have suited Niryn better. Under cover of darkness, he left the city with a small contingent of Harrier Guard, riding north.
Situated at the narrowest point of the isthmus, the fortress at Cirna belonged to Prince Tobin, at least in name. After Orun’s timely death, the king had seen fit in his wisdom (and with some subtle manipulation) to make Niryn Lord Protector here. Built on a rocky, windswept scrap of ground inhabited by a few goatherds and fishermen, bounded on either side by precipitous cliffs, the Cirna fortress was, in its own way, as important as Atyion. Its power lay not in resources, but in location. The master of Cirna guarded the only land route into Skala.
The massive walled fortress stood at the center of the isthmus, straddling the only road. On either side stone walls twice the height of a man and thick as a house ran from its outer walls to the cliffs on either side, and had withstood the attacks of Plenimaran armies, Zengati raiders, even the witches of the hill folk. The tolls collected at its gates were not inconsiderable, and Niryn’s share had already enlarged his own coffers.
But gold was not what made his heart swell as the grim fortress loomed out of the salt-laden mist ahead of him. Cirna represented the consolidation of his power over the king.
It had not been easy to turn the king against Rhius. But turning him against the odious Orun had been another matter entirely. In the latter case, there had been more than enough evidence against the man’s character. But Duke Rhius’s life had been above reproach, and the bonds forged between the men as Companions seemed to hold for life. Perhaps Erius had pressed Rhius to marry his only sister, thus safely binding the powerful holdings at Cirna and Atyion to the throne, but his affection for the man had been genuine. That had presented a significant obstacle in the early days of Niryn’s rising influence. But at last Rhius had been so unwise as to speak openly against the killing of female Kin, and the king’s patience had worn thin. When Rhius was finally killed in battle, only Niryn guessed at the relief behind the king’s extravagant show of grief.
That had removed one obstacle from Niryn’s path. Today he would deal with an even greater threat.
The isthmus road took Niryn and his riders along the top of the eastern cliffs and from here, through a lowering curtain of drizzle, he saw the royal flagship and her escorts riding at anchor in the little harbor below.
Crossing the Inner Sea so early in the spring was a risky undertaking and the vessels all showed signs of damage. Aboard the king’s ship sailors were swarming busily at their repairs in the sheets.
Riding down the muddy switchback road to the village, Niryn found several men of the King’s Guard waiting for him on the shingle. They rowed him out in a longboat and Lord General Rheynaris was there to greet him as he hoisted himself over the ship’s rail.
“Welcome aboard, Lord Niryn. The king’s waiting for you below.”
Niryn glanced around as he followed Rheynaris. Across the deck a cluster of younger nobles was watching him with apparent curiosity. One of them made a warding sign when he thought Niryn wasn’t looking.
“Tell me, Rheynaris, who is that young fellow there?”
“With the yellow hair? That’s Solari’s oldest son, Nevus. He’s one of the king’s new equerries.”
Niryn frowned; he’d heard nothing of this. Lord Solari had been one of Rhius’ liegemen.
“How is the king?” Niryn inquired when they were out of earshot of the others.
“Glad to be home, I’d say.” Rheynaris paused as they neared the cabin. “He has been more—changeable since we left Mycena. It’s always worse when he’s away from battle.”
Niryn nodded his thanks for the warning and the general tapped lightly at the door.
“Enter!” a gruff voice called.
Erius reclined on the cabin’s narrow bunk, writing on a lap desk propped across his knees. The wizard waited at respectful attention, listening to the busy scratch of the goose quill. The cabin was unheated; Niryn could see his breath, but Erius had his tunic unbuttoned like a common soldier. His hair and beard were greyer, the wizard noted, and framed a face more careworn.
Finishing with a flourish of the quill, Erius set the desk aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. “Hello, Niryn. You’ve wasted no time. I didn’t expect to see you before tomorrow.”
The wizard bowed. “Welcome home, Majesty.”
Erius pushed a stool his way with one foot. “Sit, and give me news from home.”
Niryn quickly touched on general news, downplaying a recent wave of plague that had decimated several northern towns. “The high priest of the Achis temple is being held for treason,” he went on, moving on to more important business. “He was heard on at least three occasions speaking of that mythical queen they keep seeing in their fever dreams.”