“You’ve been hunting again,” he said. His tone was a mix of anger and resignation.
“Dad, I’ve just been out for an hour…” Maddie began, sensing that her father might be more reasonable than Cassandra. She knew she could usually bring him round to her way of thinking.
“I’ve been waiting over two hours,” Cassandra snapped. “I found your bed empty and I’ve been sitting here ever since.”
Horace shook his head. Any hopes that he would be more forgiving than her mother were dashed by his next words.
“Are you stupid, Maddie? Or are you just determined to defy your mother and me? It’s got to be one or the other, so tell me. Which is it?”
It wasn’t fair, Maddie thought, the way adults gave you two equally damning alternatives and insisted you pick one. She folded her arms and dropped her eyes from her father’s angry gaze.
“I’m waiting,” Horace said.
Maddie set her jaw. She glared at her angry parents and they glared back. At last, Cassandra couldn’t endure the silence.
“Maddie, you’re the heir to the throne. You’ll rule Araluen one day—” she began, and Maddie seized on the opening she’d created.
“And how can I do that if you keep me locked up in a protective cocoon? If I know nothing about facing danger and making decisions and thinking quickly?”
“What?” her mother said, frowning. But Maddie kept going.
“If I were a boy, Dad would be teaching me how to fight and ride and lead men in battle…”
“I taught you to ride,” Horace said, but she shook her head impatiently.
“If I do become queen, how can I order men to go out and fight for me if I don’t know the first thing about it myself?”
“You’ll have advisers,” Cassandra said. “People who do know these things.”
“Not the same! I’ll be expected to make decisions.” She pointed a finger at her mother. “Of all people, you should understand that! When you were my age, you fought the Wargals, were abducted by Skandians and commanded archers against the Temujai. You fought alongside Dad!”
“That was by accident. I didn’t set out to do those things!”
“But you did choose to go to Arrida and fight the Tualaghi. And you chose to go to Nihon-Ja and rescue Dad. You killed the snow tiger—”
“Alyss killed it,” Cassandra put in but Maddie ignored the interruption.
“And you used to sneak out into the forest and practise with your sling…”
Cassandra’s head snapped up. “Who told you that?”
“Grandpa. He said he used to be worried sick about you.”
“Your grandfather talks too much,” Cassandra said, thin-lipped. “In any event, even if I did do those things, that doesn’t say you should do them too.”
“But people respect you! They know you’ve faced danger! That’s all I’m asking: some of that same respect! And I’m bored! I want some excitement in my life!”
“Well, this is not the way to get it!” Cassandra said.
“Then how? Tell me that? I don’t want to spend my days learning needlework and geography and Gallican grammar and irregular verbs! I want to learn more important things.”
“Maybe we can work something out…” Horace said doubtfully. He could see a grain of sense in what his daughter was saying.
But she rounded on him immediately. “Like what? What can we work out?”
He made a helpless gesture in the air. “I don’t know… something… we’ll see.”
Maddie finally erupted in anger. “Oh, great! We’ll see. The great parental excuse for doing nothing! That’s terrific, Dad! We’ll see.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Horace told her, although he was conscious of the fact that the phrase we’ll see was a tried and true parental tactic for postponing difficult decisions.
“Why not? Will we see what happens to me if I do? What will we see?” She leaned towards him, challenging him, her hands on her hips. Her entire body seemed to quiver with indignation and frustration.
“All right. That’s it,” Horace snapped. “You’re confined to your rooms for a week! I’ll put a sentry on the door and you will not leave!”
Maddie’s cheeks were flaming with self-righteous anger now. “That is so stupid and petty! I suppose we’ll see how it works out!” she yelled.
“Make it two weeks,” Horace said, every bit as angry as she was. She took a breath to reply and he tilted his head to one side. “Planning on trying for three weeks?”
She hesitated, then saw the look in his eyes. She turned away and stamped angrily to the door to her own rooms.
“This is so unfair!” she shouted, and slammed the door behind her.
Horace and Cassandra exchanged a long look. Horace shook his head, defeated, and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“That went well,” he said.
Four
Halt and Pauline eased their horses to a stop as the road emerged from the trees below Castle Araluen.
Neither had suggested it, nor had they exchanged a glance. It was simply a natural response to the sudden sight of the castle, with its soaring spires and turrets, and banners streaming bravely in the wind from a dozen different vantage points around the walls.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Pauline said softly.
Halt glanced sidelong at her, a half smile on his face. “Always has been,” he agreed. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for Redmont.”
By comparison, Castle Redmont was solid and functional, with none of the grace and beauty that Araluen offered. But it was home. It was where Halt and Pauline had spent the greater part of their lives and where they had finally revealed their life-long love for each other.
Life at Redmont was also far less formal, which was more in line with Halt’s idea of how things should be. He had little time for the strictly ordered routines and occasions of the royal palace, with its rigid adherence to protocol and rank. He thought of such behaviour as useless tomfoolery and scowled whenever he was forced to attend any sort of formal event. Thankfully, the message he had received from Gilan indicated that there would be no formality attached to this visit.
They urged their horses forward in a slow trot, their hooves raising small puffs of dust that hung in the warm air. They were travelling alone, with just a single packhorse and without any escort. Not that they needed any. Even though Halt was now retired, and his hair had turned from pepper-and-salt grey to silver, he was still the most famous Ranger in the Kingdom, and a formidable opponent for any potential highwayman. The massive longbow he carried across his saddle was evidence of the fact.
“Do you find it odd,” Pauline asked, “to be summoned by your former apprentice?”
Halt pursed his lips. “It wasn’t so much a summons,” he corrected her. “More a request.”
It was three years since Crowley had passed away. The Ranger Commandant had died peacefully in his sleep. It was an ironic end for his oldest friend. After a lifetime of battles and intrigue and danger, he had simply stopped breathing one night. He was found with his eyes open and a quizzical smile on his face. At least that was fitting, Halt thought. Crowley had been renowned for his impish sense of humour. He had obviously died thinking of something that amused him and Halt drew comfort from that fact.
With Crowley’s death, most people assumed that Halt would take on the mantle of Corps Commandant. But he had reacted with horror at the suggestion.
“Paperwork, reports, organisation, sitting behind a desk listening to everyone’s complaints and problems. Can you see me doing that?” he had said to Pauline at the time.