Lynan started to smile, but just then he heard the sound of someone running toward him from behind. He spun around and saw a second guard bearing a wooden trident bearing down on him. Lynan charged his new attacker, diving low and tackling him below the knees. The pair rolled once in the dust of the arena. The moment Lynan was on top, he used one knee to stop himself from turning while he rammed the other into the side of his opponent. The man gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, then wheezed in pain when Lynan brought down his sword on the back of the hand carrying the trident. The guard let go his weapon and rolled away, holding up his good hand to concede defeat.
Lynan remembered the first guard. He turned just in time to deflect a thrusting spear. His attacker had been too confident of success and his momentum carried him forward. Lynan’s foot stuck out and his opponent went flying. The prince stood over him, sword pointed at his throat.
“Enough, your Highness,” Kumul said.
Lynan stood back and lowered his weapon. “Was this one of your tricks, Constable?”
“You have made up in part for your earlier mistakes.”
Kumul was being sarcastic. Lynan’s last maneuver had been similar to the one that had brought him low in the first bout. Kumul waved his hand, and the two guards picked themselves up and hobbled away. As Lynan watched them leave, he saw two shadows lurking in the entrance and recognized them immediately.
“I had an audience,” he said to Kumul matter-of-factly.
“You are a prince of the royal blood, Lynan. Do you think there is ever a time when you are not watched?”
“That attack was unusually ruthless, even for Kumul,” Berayma observed.
“We’ve had as tough,” Galen said, somewhat subdued.
“You think so?” Berayma turned to leave. He wanted to see his mother. Since her use of one of the Keys of Power earlier in the summer, her illness had grown worse. Every day was filled with anxiety for his mother and the fear that he would soon inherit the job he had been groomed for since childhood.
She’d made sure he was well trained. He could outride and outfight virtually anyone in the empire—or outside it. He had been given the best teachers and instructors, all in preparation for a job he didn’t even want.
But his sister and brothers? What purpose lay behind their training? What had his mother planned for them?
His thoughts turned to Lynan as he left the arena. He had no particular affection for his half-brother, but he certainly felt no malice toward him. His disinterest stemmed largely from his mother’s own. She had barely spent any time with Lynan since his birth, and afforded him no great courtesy or allowance beyond the bare minimum demanded by his rank as a royal prince.
Galen ran his fingers through his thinning hair and watched him leave, wishing he could find the words that would make him come to terms with the future they both knew was imminent and yet which Berayma refused to accept. The queen was in death’s grip, and nothing could free her from it. The ship of state that was Kendra needed a firm hand to keep it on an even keel, to balance the competing demands of its member states. The last thing Berayma should do was defer a decision about what was to be done with his half-brother Lynan. A new king could not afford to offend the most powerful families in his kingdom for the sake of a wastrel.
Galen shook his head. This was a problem with many solutions but no prince ready to implement them.
From a balcony above the arena, Areava also had been watching Lynan at practice. She did not know it, but her thoughts, mixed with the feeling of shame she felt about her half-brother, mirrored those of Galen. The fact that the queen had imperiled her life for Lynan’s injured acquaintance had only confirmed for her Lynan’s ignorant selfishness, proof of the tainted blood that ran in his veins. She, Berayma, and Olio, true and pure scions of the Twenty Houses, understood it was selflessness, not selfishness, that marked the nobility. They were born to rule for their people, not to take advantage of their position. Anger boiled within her. What could be done about him?
She left the balcony for her own quarters. She was so absorbed in her thoughts she did not hear or see the greetings and salutations offered her by passersby. Most of them shrugged and continued on, used to her fierce concentration. One, however, turned on his heel and pursued her, tugging playfully on her elbow as he caught up.
“Who in God’s name… !” she started, but swallowed her anger as soon as she saw Olio striding beside her, a grin on his face that stretched from one ear to the other.
“Hello, sister! You’re looking p-p-particularly formidable this m-m-morning.”
Areava frowned. “I am?”
“Oh, yes. You’re m-m-moving north through the p-p-palace like a storm front. Black clouds p-p-precede you, lightning illuminates the roof. Very formidable.”
Areava snorted, then smiled. “I don’t mean to come across so threatening.”
“Everyone knows that, which is why they p-p-put up with it. What p-p-particular ache is souring you this m-m-morning?”
“The usual.”
Olio sighed. “Let m-m-me guess. Lynan.”
“As always. There was no guessing involved on your part.”
Olio stopped Areava with a hand on her sleeve. “Slow down, sister. It is impossible to talk with you at this speed.” Areava faced her brother, her hands on her hips. “And don’t come high and m-m-mighty with me. You m-m-may be m-m-my senior, but not b-b-by enough to warrant your anger.”
Areava drew in a deep breath. “Say your piece, then.”
“What happens after our m-m-mother dies is B-B-Berayma’s affair, not yours. He will be king, we will remain p—p-princess and p—p—prince. If he needs us to do any worrying for him, he’ll let us know. Do not take on responsibilities that are not yours.”
“We are members of the royal family, Olio, the first of the Twenty Houses. We are responsible for the good administration and safety of this kingdom, whether we like it or not. It is our duty to worry.”
“Not without the m-m-monarch’s leave. And remember, Lynan shares our inheritance.”
Areava’s face pinched. “He knows nothing about being a prince of the blood. He has spent his whole life as a wagging tail. His father’s blood and his natural laziness makes him unsuitable to rule his own life, let alone any part of Kendra.”
“You do not know him as well as you think.”
“I see people for who they really are.”
“Do you hate him so m-m-much?”
Areava seemed shocked. “I don’t hate Lynan! I don’t even dislike him.”
“Are you sure? Have you ever forgiven Lynan for b-b-being the son of the m—m—man who replaced our father as the queen’s consort?”
Areava shook off her brother’s hand and walked away from him. “You go too far, brother!” she cried, her voice filling the hallway. “You go too far!”
Lynan wiped the sweat from his forehead and adjusted the quilt padding around his body. Under the heavy, lead-lined roof of the fencing stalls, part of the palace armory, he felt twice as hot as he had in the open arena. He nodded to Dejanus, his opponent in this session of real weapon fencing. Lynan enjoyed his practice sessions against the Life Guard; the man was as fast as a whip, and Lynan was already two points down.
“Ready, your Highness?”
In reply, Lynan pulled down his visor. Dejanus did the same. Kumul, standing on the sideline, called “Start!” Lynan flicked his blade against that of Dejanus, who brought his own weapon across to defend his body. Before the Life Guard could react, Lynan swept the blade underneath and over, and lunged. His sword point sank into the padding over Dejanus’ chest.
“Wound!” Kumul shouted. “That’s two counts for the prince, three for Dejanus.” The pair separated. “Start!” Kumul said.