At the dressing table he opened a box and found a woman’s hairbrush. Some dark strands were still twined among the bristles. He plucked a few free and wound them around his finger, pretending for a moment that his parents were down in the hall, laughing and drinking with their guests. They’d come upstairs soon and find him waiting to bid them good night …
But it was no good; he couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Reaching into his tunic, he unfastened the chain and slipped his mother’s ring on his finger, searching the two profiles carved in the beautiful purple stone—the stone his father had traveled all the way to Aurënen to choose because he loved his bride so much.
Try as he might to think otherwise, the proud, serene pair on the ring were strangers to him. They’d shared this room, shared that bed and a life Tobin had never known, never been a part of.
But his curiosity grew, fed by the loneliness that never quite went away. Still wearing the ring, he opened another box and found a few jewels his mother had left behind: a necklace of carved amber beads, a golden chain with links shaped like dragons, and a pair of enamelwork earrings set with smooth stones the color of a summer sky. Tobin marveled at the craftsmanship; why would she leave these things behind? He replaced them, then opened a large ivory casket. Inside were a set of heavy silver cloak pins and a horn-handled penknife. A man’s things. His father’s.
He went to the wardrobes next. The first held nothing but a few old-fashioned tunics on pegs. Taking one down, Tobin pressed it to his face, seeking his father’s scent. He held the garment up, thinking of the armor his father had given with him, with the promise that he would be old enough to go to battle when it fit him. He hadn’t tried it on for a long time.
He pulled the tunic on over his nightshirt. For all his growth this past year, the hem still fell well past his knees and the sleeves hung below his fingertips.
“I’m still too small,” he muttered, replacing it and moving to the next wardrobe. He swung the doors wide, then stifled a cry of dismay as his mother’s perfume wafted over him. It wasn’t her spirit, though; the scent came from bunches of faded flowers hung on hooks to freshen the folded gowns.
Tobin knelt to look at them, marveling at the colors. She’d always favored rich tones and here they were—wine dark reds, deep blues, saffron gold, greens like the colors of a summer forest in brocades, silks, velvets, and lawn. He touched the fabrics, hesitantly at first, then hungrily as his fingers found the raised work of embroidery, trimmings of fur, and colored beads.
A guilty yearning seized him and he stood up and lifted out a green gown trimmed with winter fox. He paused, listening for steps in the passage, then carried it to the long mirror near the bed.
He held the dress up in front of him and saw that he must be as tall as she had been, for the hem just brushed his toes. He shook out the wrinkles and held it up under his chin again; the full skirt spread out around him in graceful folds.
What would it feel like—?
Embarrassed by this unexpected longing, Tobin quickly thrust the dress back into the wardrobe. In doing so, he knocked a long cape of cream brocade from the peg it had been hanging on. It had a high collar of ermine and was stitched over the shoulders with rays of blue and silver.
Tobin had only meant to replace it, but somehow he found himself at the mirror again, draping it over his shoulders. The heavy fabric settled around him like an embrace, the dark satin lining cool as water against his skin. He fastened the golden clasp of the collar and dropped his arms to his sides.
The soft white fur caressed his throat as he slowly raised his eyes to his reflection. It was an effort to meet his own gaze there.
My hair is like hers, Tobin thought, shaking it out over his shoulders. And I have her eyes, just as everyone always says. I’m not beautiful like she was, but I have her eyes.
The cloak whispered around his ankles as he went to the dressing table and took out one of the earrings. Feeling sillier by the minute, yet unable to stop himself, he carried it back to the mirror and held the jewel to his ear. Perhaps it was the earring, or the tilt of his head, but Tobin thought he caught a glimpse of the girl Lhel had shown him. The blue stone complemented his eyes, just as the embroidery on the cape did, making them seem bluer.
In the forgiving light of the small lamp, she looked almost pretty.
Tobin touched the face in the glass with trembling fingers. He could see the girl, that stranger who had looked back at him from the surface of the spring. There hadn’t been time then, but now Tobin gazed in growing wonder and curiosity. Would a boy look at her the way his friends looked at the girls they fancied? The thought of Ki looking at him like that sent a hot, shivery feeling down through Tobin. The sensation seemed to pool between his hipbones like the moontide pains, but this didn’t hurt. Instead, he felt himself starting to go hard under his nightshirt. That made him blush, but he couldn’t look away. Suddenly lonely and unsure again, he called the only witness he could.
Brother made no reflection in the mirror, so Tobin had him stand beside it instead so that he could compare their faces.
“Sister,” the ghost murmured, as if he understood the nameless ache growing in Tobin’s heart.
But the fragile illusion was already broken. Standing side by side with his twin, Tobin saw only a boy in a woman’s cloak there in the mirror.
“Sister,” Brother said again.
“Is that what you see when you look at me?” Tobin whispered.
Before Brother could answer, Tobin heard voices outside the locked door. He froze like a frightened hare, listening as Koni and Laris exchanged greetings. It was only a change of guard, he knew, but he still felt like a thief about to be caught. What if someone noticed that he was gone from his room and came looking?
What if Ki found him here like this?
“Go away, Brother!” he hissed, then hastily put away the cloak and earring. Extinguishing all the lamps, he felt his way to the door and listened until the voices had faded away down the corridor.
He made it back to his own chamber without meeting anyone and Ki didn’t stir as he climbed back into bed. Pulling the covers over his head, Tobin closed his eyes and tried hard not to think of the swirl of heavy silk around his bare legs, or how, for a disjointed moment, his eyes had looked back at him in the glass from a different face.
I’m a boy, he told himself silently, squeezing his eyes shut. I’m a prince.
19
Korin had everyone up at dawn the next morning to be ready for the king. The sun was out and mist was rising in long streamers from the river and off the wet fields.
The Companions dressed in their mail and corselets, and wore their finest cloaks. Going downstairs, they found the house in an uproar.
Armies of servants were at work everywhere Tobin looked. The great hall was already hung with the king’s colors and all the gold plate lay ready. Outside, smoke billowed from the kitchen chimneys, and from several pits in the kitchen garden, where whole stags and boars were being roasted Mycenian style on buried beds of coals. Entertainers of all sorts milled in spare rooms and courtyards.
Solari was once again master of the situation. Breaking his fast with Tobin and the others, he outlined the evening’s entertainments and courses, with the steward and Lytia hovering at his elbow. Every few minutes he would pause, and ask, “Does this meet with your approval, my prince?”
Tobin, who knew nothing of such things, nodded silent agreement to everything presented.