“Why in the Hells and Abyss were you asking that thing about me?” he demanded. “It’s not your business. Why do you care about my family?”
Because they’re wealthy, he thought. Because they’re powerful. Because you’re a madman for rejecting all of that. She didn’t have to say-it was the same reasons anyone cared.
“Because I wanted to know why you’re acting like this!” Havilar shouted. “I didn’t ask about your pothac family, I asked why you’re avoiding me, and the Book didn’t know either!”
Brin’s anger fled. “Avoiding you?”
“You act like you’re fond of me,” she went on, “and then you act like I’m no one, and then you won’t tell me things as if you don’t trust me or you want me to keep my distance. And then you call me daft. But whatever it is that’s bothering you, I just want to help. But when I help you get angry.”
Flushed and flustered, she folded her arms around the glaive and tugged on the end of her braid. “I give up,” she said. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s not like chapbooks at all.”
Ah, ye Watching Gods-someone could have knocked the floor out from under his feet and he would have felt surer. For a moment he was almost afraid to breathe. It shouldn’t have hurt her feelings for him to keep such a secret, but it had-there it was. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do either.
“Listen …,” he started. He glanced around to be sure Pernika had gone and no one else was near, before taking her by the hand. She stiffened, but followed him into a little nook of shelves around an ugly bust of some ancient arcanist.
“Oh, just yell if you’re going to!” she said. “Everyone can hear anyway.”
“No,” he said, and he sat down on the floor, sure this was the right thing to do, even though every part of him rebelled at it. She eyed him a moment, but sat down beside him at last, laying the glaive on the floor.
“Listen,” he started again. “The thing is …” He pursed his lips a moment-these were the last seconds before everything changed again. “I do trust you. So I’ll tell you everything. But it’s … more than a secret. You can’t even tell Farideh.”
Solemnity didn’t suit Havilar, but she wore it for the moment.
“All right.”
“My mother,” he said, “she was a Cormaeril-parts of this aren’t going to mean anything to you, right, but let me finish. Her father’s father’s father was the king of Cormyr, back before the Spellplague. Azoun Obarskyr the fourth. Not an ‘official’ son, but … the king claimed him anyway. So she has a little royal blood-but not enough to inherit anything, right? And my father … everyone thought my father was just a Crownsilver for ages, just the old lord’s eldest son. Nothing special.
“But then Granny-on her death bed, mind-announced that he wasn’t the old lord’s son at all. That she’d dallied with the prince, the current king’s brother. And so my father was really an Obarskyr by blood. Everyone went mad and there were fights in the halls and arguments in the king’s court, and tests and sworn statements, and for a few tendays my father was in line for the throne. Until he died … Until someone had him killed.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Brin, I’m sorry.”
“Which means,” Brin said, feeling as if he might throw up the words if they didn’t get spoken, “when you put them together, I’m … I’m in line to be king.”
She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “Aren’t a lot of people?”
He had been ready for a lot of things-for her to pull away, for her to start in on some wild fantasy, for her to laugh hysterically at him-but nonchalance was not one of them. “What?”
“I mean, in stories there’s always a line of succession that goes on for ages and then some catastrophe happens and everyone dies and some swineherd’s the king. You’re some kind of lord-I figured that out-so of course you’re ahead of the swineherd.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I might be in a line of succession for all you know.”
“No,” Brin said. “I mean, yeah, you might, I don’t know. But I mean … Right now it’s the Crown Prince, then his son and his daughter, then Baron Boldtree, the king’s nephew, the old prince’s other bastard.” He took a deep breath.
“And if I go back to Cormyr, my Aunt Helindra is going to tell everyone the truth: that because Granny loved the old prince, the line goes: the Crown Prince, his son, his daughter … and then me.”
Now her eyes were like saucers. “Holy gods!” Havilar said, pulling back as if to get a better look at him. “Are you serious? That … that doesn’t even take a big catastrophe for everyone to die and then you’re the king. One nasty carriage accident! A bad cauldron of soup!”
“I know,” he said glumly. “And no one else has any idea. Aunt Helindra let people think I died in a featherlung epidemic when I was eight, before people figured out I land ahead of the Baron. It’s going to shock a lot of people when I turn up not dead.”
“Gods,” she said. “Well, no wonder you ran away.”
“It’s not because I’m afraid.”
“I know,” she said, as if he were reminding her that he was human. “You’re terribly brave.”
He felt his face grow hot. “Don’t tease,” he admonished. “My father didn’t die by accident, and he didn’t die alone. There are a lot of people who take that line of succession very seriously. It’s the best thing for me, for my family, and probably for Cormyr, too, if I just don’t exist. It’s them I’m afraid for.”
“I’m not teasing!” She took his hand and squeezed it, and he was never so aware of his hand as in that moment. “Look, you said that they’re mad, your family-and I’m sorry, if your cousin is the good one, then the rest of them are pretty karshoji lunatic and ready to do some stupid things. But even if they’re lunatic, they’re family, so why would you want them to get hurt for you? And,” she added quickly, taking her hand back, as if she’d just remembered herself, “that is terribly brave. I couldn’t bear to leave Farideh and Mehen. Even if it were for their own good.”
Ye gods, he thought. You don’t give her enough credit. “Yes,” he said. “They don’t … they don’t really understand that. Not many people seem to.” He looked down at his hands, wondering if she’d object if he took hers again. “I’m sorry I called you daft.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen about that henish.”
He smiled. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you before. It’s just … sometimes it doesn’t seem like you’re listening.”
“It’s all right. You’re not the first person to say that,” she said. “I do think you can defend yourself, you know. I’d just hate it … if something happened and I could have helped.” She looked down at her own hands. “I hope you don’t think I’m a nuisance because of that. Sometimes I think you’re the only one who doesn’t, and if I’ve wrecked that … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He sighed. “No. It’s not you. It’s … Where I come from, the stories aren’t usually about princes getting rescued by pretty girls. It’s hard not to feel sort of stupid and useless, even if it makes a lot more sense to put the sword in your hands, right?”
“Oh.” Havilar went very stiff and flushed, her mouth clamped shut as if she were trying to keep herself from speaking.
Oh gods, Brin thought. “What?”
“Do you think that?” she said very quietly. “That I’m pretty?”
“Um.” He wet his mouth.
For all the time spent on teaching Brin what to say and how to say it; how to tell what parts of information were better kept close to the chest like a trump card, and which were to be played early, to lure others into putting forth details they ought to have held close-for all of that, Brin hadn’t any idea what to do next. For a moment, in the dark of the library, his thoughts scrambled, trying to form a play, trying to decide how badly he’d tipped his hand, and whether Havilar had tipped hers at all. Trying to form a strategy when he didn’t even understand the game they were playing, but he was pretty certain he’d made the wrong move when he wasn’t paying attention.