Hylus raised a frail, age-mottled hand. “Calm yourself, young man. You are not accused of any crime.” He motioned to Ulies to bring the frightened valet a mazer of wine.

“Thank you, my lord.” Bisir took a sip and some color returned to his thin cheeks.

“Surely you must have heard something?” the old man prompted.

“Yes, Lord Chancellor. I heard my master speaking angrily to the prince. It was wrong of him, speaking to Prince Tobin like that.” He paused and gulped nervously. “Forgive me, my lords. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of my master, but—”

“It’s of no consequence,” Iya said impatiently. “So you heard Orun shouting. Then what?”

“Then came that terrible cry! I ran in at once and found them senseless on the carpet. At least I thought—When I saw my master’s face—” His gaze flickered to Tobin again, and this time there was no mistaking the fact that Bisir was scared. “Lord Orun’s eyes were open, but—By the Four, I’ll never forget the way he looked, with his eyes bulging and his face gone all black—”

“It’s as he says,” Tharin concurred. “I hardly recognized him. It looked like an apoplexy to me.”

“Then Sir Tharin burst in and carried the prince away before I could tell if he—I feared he was dead, too!” He gave Tobin a bobbing bow. “Thank the Four you are well.”

“If I may, my lord?” said Niryn.

Hylus nodded and the wizard approached the quaking man. “Give me your hand, Bisir.”

Niryn seemed to grow larger and the air darkened around him. It made every hair on the back of Tobin’s neck stand up. Ki stepped closer and his hand brushed Tobin’s.

Bisir let out a hiss of pain and sank to his knees, his hand locked in Niryn’s. When Niryn released him at last, Bisir cowered where he was, cradling his hand against his chest as if it had been burned.

Niryn shrugged and sat down on the hearth bench. “He speaks the truth as he knows it. It would seem the only person who knows what really happened in that room is Prince Tobin.”

For one awful moment, Tobin thought the wizard meant to put him to the same test, but Niryn simply stared at him with hard red-brown eyes. Tobin felt no strange sensations this time, but summoned the mind trick Arkoniel had taught him just in case.

“He grabbed me roughly, accused me of trying to turn the king against him—”

“And did you?” Niryn asked.

“What? No! I never wrote anything to my uncle.”

Niryn gave him a sly smile. “Never tried to exercise any influence with him at all? It was no secret that you despised Orun. Not that I blame you in that, of course.”

“I—I don’t have any influence with the king,” Tobin whispered. Was Niryn growing larger again? Was the air growing dark and thick around him?

“It would never have occurred to the prince,” Tharin interjected, and Tobin saw that once again he was holding his anger in check. “He’s only a child. He knows nothing of court ways.”

“Forgive me, I was only thinking how far a noble heart will go for love for a worthy friend.” Niryn glanced at Ki as he bowed to Tobin. “Please accept my most humble apology, my prince, if I in any way gave offense.” His hard gaze slewed back to Tharin. “Perhaps others took it upon themselves to plead the prince’s case?”

Tharin shrugged. “For what reason? Rhius chose Ki as his son’s squire. The king understands that bond.”

Niryn turned to Ki again. “And what about you, Squire Kirothius? Where were you while Prince Tobin was with his guardian?”

“Here, my lord. The steward can vouch for me.”

“No need for that. I was only curious. Well, it seems there’s nothing more to be learned here.”

Lord Hylus nodded gravely. “No doubt your guess is right, Tharin. Strong emotion is a dangerous thing in an old man. I believe it is safe to assume that Lord Orun was the author of his own destruction and brought on a fit of apoplexy.”

“Unless it was some dark magic.”

Everyone stared at Niryn.

“There are spells that could bring on such a death. The man certainly had enemies and there are wizards who can be bought. Don’t you agree, Mistress Iya?”

Iya held out her hand. “If you are accusing me, my lord, by all means put me to the test. I have nothing to fear from you.”

“I assure you, Mistress, if it had been you, I would already know it.”

Tharin cleared his throat. “With all respect, my lords, Prince Tobin has had a difficult day. If there is no more to be learned, perhaps we should give him some peace?”

Hylus rose and patted Tobin on the back. “You are a brave boy, my dear prince; but I think your friend is right. Rest now, and put this unpleasantness behind you. I shall act as your guardian until your uncle declares another, if you have no objection.”

“I’d like that very much!”

“What’s to become of Lord Orun’s household, Lord Hylus?” Bisir asked softly, still crouched on the rushes.

“On your feet, lad. Go home and tell the steward that the house and staff are to be maintained until the estate is settled. Hurry along now, before everyone bolts with the silver!”

“Come along, Prince Tobin. Let’s get you settled,” Iya said, just as if she were Nari.

“Couldn’t Bisir come live here?” he whispered, letting her and Ki lead him away to his own room.

But Iya shook her head. “Forget him. Light a fire, Ki.”

Tobin bridled. “How can you say that? You saw how he was at the keep all those weeks. And he did try to help me today. Ask Tharin—”

“I know. But appearances are very important here and it wouldn’t do.” When Tobin stood his ground she relented a little. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you, then.”

Tobin gave a grudging nod, his old distrust for her resurfacing. He wouldn’t have had to argue with Arkoniel this way.

Chapter 8

Returning to the Companions the following morning, Tobin and Ki found themselves the center of much unwanted attention. Korin and the others would have had the tale told three times over during the morning run if Master Porion hadn’t finally threatened to make them muck out the stables if they didn’t leave Tobin alone.

As the day went on, however, even his threats weren’t enough to stop the whispers and wide-eyed questions. As they stood blowing on their fingers in the archery lists, everyone wanted to know what Orun looked like when he died. What sort of sounds did he make? Was there any blood? Tobin told them what he could and was glad when Ki finally threatened to knock down the next person who pestered him.

Word traveled quickly around the Palatine. For the next few days courtiers and servants alike stared at Tobin, whispering to each other behind raised hands as he passed. He and Ki kept to their rooms as much as possible or retreated to Tobin’s house.

As with most gossip, however, the story was soon sucked dry and within the week the curious had moved on to other scandals. When Caliel challenged him to a game of bakshi at dinner one night, Tobin left Ki to his duties with the other ushers and went to fetch the gaming stones from his room.

He was almost to his door when Lady Una stepped out from the shadows of an empty room across the corridor. Surprise gave way to outright shock when the normally shy girl took him by the hand and pulled him into his chamber. Molay and Baldus were off having their dinner in the kitchen. Tobin was alone with her.

Pushing the door closed, she gazed at him for a moment in silence, brown eyes shining.

“What is it?” he asked, utterly perplexed.

“Is it true?” she demanded.

“Is—is what true?”

“There’s a rumor going around that before he died, Lord Orun tried to make you choose another squire, and that—well—” She blushed furiously, but looked him squarely in the eye. “People are saying that you named me!”

Tobin blinked. He’d only said it to anger Orun, then forgotten all about it. Bisir must have overheard and carried the tale.

He wanted to sink through the floor as she clasped his hand again, pressing his knuckles to her bodice. “Is it true, Prince Tobin? Did you put me forward for the Companions?”

When he managed a nod she clutched his hand even tighter, looking hard into his face. “Did you mean it?”

“Well …” Tobin hesitated, not liking to lie to her. “I think you’d make a fine squire,” he managed, settling for a half-truth. He wished she’d let go of his hand. “If girls could be squires, you’d be a good one.”

“It’s so unfair!” she cried, eyes flashing with a passion he’d never seen before. “Women have always been warriors in Skala! Ki told me all about his sister. Ahra really is a proper warrior like he says, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes!” Tobin had only met Ahra once, but she’d shown him a thing or two about grappling in a fight. He’d back her against most men in a duel.

“It’s just so unfair!” Releasing his hand, she folded her arms and frowned. “If I wasn’t a noble, I could join the ranks like she did. My grandmother was a general, you know. She died gallantly in battle, defending the queen. And I’ll tell you a secret,” she confided, leaning alarmingly close again. “She comes to me in my dreams sometimes, on a great white charger. I have her sword, too. Mother gave it to me. Father won’t let me train with a proper arms master, though. Not even at light fencing. But one day, if only I could learn …” She broke off, giving him an embarrassed little smile. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“No! I’ve seen you shooting in the lists. You’re as good as any of us with the bow. And you ride like a soldier. Even Master Porion said so.”

“He did?” Una positively glowed. “But it’s no good unless you can use a sword. I have to make do with treatises and what I can pick up watching you boys train. I get so jealous sometimes. I should have been born a boy instead!”

The words struck Tobin in a way he didn’t fully understand, and without thinking he blurted out, “I could teach you.”

“Really? You’re not just being charming, or teasing me like the other boys do?”

Tobin wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them, but he couldn’t, not with her looking at him like that. “No, I’ll teach you. Ki, too. Just so long as no one finds out.”

Without warning Una leaned forward and kissed him square on the mouth. It was an awkward kiss, bruising Tobin’s lip against his teeth. She fled before he could recover, leaving him agape and blushing beside the open door.

“Bilairy’s balls!” Tobin muttered, tasting blood on his lip. “What did I do that for?”

As bad luck would have it, Alben and Quirion happened to be passing just then. That figures, thought Tobin; Quirion stuck to the older boy like dog shit on a shoe.

“What’s the matter? Did she bite you?” Alben drawled.

Tobin shouldered angrily past them, bakshi stones forgotten.

“What’s the matter?” Quirion called after him. “Don’t you like being kissed by girls?”

Whirling to make some retort, Tobin tripped over his own feet and fell against one of the ancient tapestries that lined the corridor. The hanging pole snapped and the whole dusty mess came down on him like a collapsed tent. The other boys howled with laughter.

“Blood, my blood. Flesh, my—” Tobin whispered, then clamped a hand over his mouth. Their laughter faded away down the corridor, but Tobin stayed where he was, horrified at what he’d almost done. Hugging himself in the musty darkness, he searched his memory again, wondering if he’d somehow summoned Brother against Orun, after all.

He confided the encounter with Una to Ki and Tharin the next day as they sat by the fire in Tharin’s room, but leaving out the unpleasant aftermath with Alben. He was none too pleased when his friends burst into laughter.

“Tob, you bump brain!” Ki exclaimed. “Una’s had her cap set for you since we got to Ero.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You mean to say you haven’t noticed how she’s always watching you?”

“I’ve thought so, myself,” Tharin said, still chuckling. “But she’s a—just a girl!”

“Well, you do fancy girls, don’t you?” Ki laughed, unwittingly echoing Quirion’s taunt.

Tobin scowled down at his boots. “I don’t fancy anyone.”

“Let him be, Ki,” said Tharin. “Tobin’s young yet, and not used to court. I was the same myself, at his age. As for this sword-training business, though.” His expression turned serious. “She said it herself; her father doesn’t hold to the old ways, and Duke Sarvoi’s not a man to cross. She’ll do better to stick with her shooting and riding.”

Tobin nodded, though a disapproving father scared him a great deal less than the girl’s regard. His lip still hurt where she’d kissed him.

“All the same, you may feel differently in a year or two,” said Tharin. “She’s a fine girl from a powerful family. A pretty little thing, too.”

“I’ll say!” Ki put in warmly. “If I thought she’d look twice at a lowly squire, I’d be happy to stand in your shoes.”

The sudden warmth in Ki’s voice and his wistful smile made Tobin’s belly tighten, as if he’d eaten something bitter.

Why should I care if Ki fancies her? But he did. “Well, I only told her that to be kind, anyway,” he grumbled. “She’s probably forgotten all about it.”

“Not that one,” said Ki. “I’ve seen the way she watches us.”

Tharin nodded. “What she told you about her grandmother is true. General Elthia was the equal of any man in the field, and a cagey strategist, too. Your father thought very highly of her. Yes, I can see a bit of the old warrior in young Una. That’s the trouble with these new ways. There are too many girls with the blood of heroes in their veins and the stories still green in their hearts, kept in skirts by the fire.”

“No wonder she’s jealous of a common soldier like Ahra,” said Ki.

“I don’t imagine Erius will let that go on much longer, either. And then where will they all go?”

“You mean there are lots of them? Women warriors?” asked Tobin.

“Yes. Just think of old Cook—or Sergeant Catilan, as she was known before—working away in your father’s kitchen all these years. Erius forced out a lot of the older ones. She was too loyal to argue, but it hurts her pride still. There are hundreds more like her, scattered about the land. Maybe more.”

Tobin stared into the fire, imagining a whole army of dispossessed women warriors, riding like ghosts into an unknown distance. The thought sent a shiver up his spine.

Chapter 9

Arkoniel stretched the stiffness from his shoulders and went to the workroom window. Unfolding the letters Koni had brought that morning, he slowly reread them.

Outside, the afternoon was quickly waning. The tower shadow stretched like a crooked finger across the new snow blanketing the meadow. Except for the churned-up trail left by Koni’s horse, it was smooth and white as a new bed sheet: no snow forts beyond the barracks house, no foot trails snaking away to the river or woods.

And no echoing laughter outside his door, Arkoniel thought glumly. He’d never been lonelier. Only Nari and Cook remained now; the three of them rattled about the place like dice in a cup.

He sighed and turned back to the letters. His presence here remained a secret, so they were ostensibly addressed to Nari. Arkoniel smoothed the first parchment against the windowsill, rubbing his thumb idly over the broken seal. Both boys had written to him of Orun’s death. Iya had sent word earlier, but he was most interested in their versions.

Tobin’s was brief: Orun had had some sort of fit, brought on by bad news. Ki’s was the more useful, though he’d not been with Tobin when it happened. Arkoniel smiled as he unfolded the double sheet. Despite Ki’s initial resistance to writing, and a less-than-beautiful hand, words seemed to flow as easily from the boy’s pen as they did from his lips. His letters were always the more detailed. He told of the bruises on Tobin’s neck and the fact that he’d been carried home unconscious. Strangest of all, he’d closed with the line: Tobin still feels awful bad about it. Iya had made no mention of any regrets in her letter, but Arkoniel guessed that this was no idle platitude. Ki knew Tobin better than anyone, and had shared his friend’s loathing for their guardian. Why would Tobin feel badly about the man’s passing?

Arkoniel folded Tobin’s letter into his sleeve to return to Nari, but added Ki’s to the neat stack on his writing table.

I nearly killed him, but I did not, he reminded himself, as he did each time he placed a new letter on that pile. He wasn’t sure why he kept them, perhaps as proof against the nightmares that still haunted him, dreams in which he did not hesitate and Ki did not wake up ever again.

Arkoniel pushed the memory away and glanced at the window to check the sun’s progress. Yesterday he’d stayed too late.

When he’d first come here, the keep had been a tomb haunted by both the living and the dead. He and Iya had cajoled the duke into restoring it to a proper home for his child, and for a time it had been. It had become Arkoniel’s home, too, the first he’d known since leaving his father’s house.

The place was falling back to rot and ruin now. The new tapestries and painted plaster already looked faded. The plate in the hall was tarnished with disuse, and spiders had reclaimed their kingdom in the rafters of the great hall. Without regular fires in most of the rooms, the whole place was once more damp and cold and dim. It was as if the boys had taken the very life from the place with them.

He turned back to the desk with a sigh to complete the day’s notes. When the journal was safely locked away, he cleared up the wreckage of his latest failed efforts.

He was nearly finished when something brushed softly past the door, no louder than a mouse’s whisker. Arkoniel caught his breath. The glass rod he’d been cleaning slipped from his fingers and shattered at his feet.

Just a rat. It’s too early. Golden light still lingered in the eastern sky. She never comes down this early.

Gooseflesh prickled his arms as he lit a candle and walked slowly to the door. His hand trembled and a rivulet of hot wax ran down over his fingers.

Nothing there. Nothing there, he repeated, like a child in the dark.

As long as Tobin and the others had been downstairs, he’d managed to hold his fear at bay, even when Bisir’s unexpected stay had trapped him up here for days on end. With others in the house, he didn’t mind so much the half-heard whispers in the corridor.

Now that the second floor lay empty, however, his rooms were suddenly much too far from Cook’s warm kitchen and much too close to the tower door. That door had been locked since Ariani’s death, but that didn’t stop her restless spirit from wandering out.

Arkoniel had climbed the tower stairs only twice since his first encounter with her angry ghost. Driven by curiosity and guilt, he’d gone up the day after Tobin left for Ero that first time, but felt nothing. Relieved but unsatisfied, he’d worked up the courage to return at midnight—the same hour Tobin had taken him there—and this time he’d heard Ariani weeping as clearly as if she were just behind him. Torn between fear and anguish, he fled and slept in the kitchen with the tower key clutched in his hand like a talisman. The next morning he threw it in the river and moved his bedchamber to the toy room downstairs. He would have shifted his workroom, too, but the furnishings were too heavy and it would have taken him the rest of the winter to carry down all the books and instruments he’d amassed. Instead, he resigned himself to keeping daylight hours.

But today he’d lingered in the workroom too long. Taking a deep breath, Arkoniel gripped the latch and opened the door.

Ariani stood at the end of the corridor, tears streaming down her bloody face, her lips moving. Frozen in the doorway, Arkoniel strained to hear, but she made no sound. She’d attacked him the first time they met after her death, but still he waited, wanting desperately to hear her words, to give some answer. But then she took a step toward him, face shifting to an angry mask, and his courage failed.

The candle cast antic shadows around him as he bolted, then it went out. Squinting in the sudden darkness, he went down the stairs two at a time and missed his footing before his eyes could adjust. He trod air for an instant, then fell heavily, tumbling down the last few steps into the welcome lamplight of the second floor corridor. Resisting the impulse to look back, he limped quickly toward the stairs to the hall.

One of these days he was going to make a ghost of himself.

Chapter 10

Lord Orun had left no heir. That being the case, his property went to the Crown, absorbed into the very Treasury he’d so ably administered. It had been, in Niryn’s estimation, the only good work the man had ever done. Orun’s exacting honesty when it came to his official duties had always amazed the wizard.

The house and its furnishings were soon disposed of, and the new Treasury Chancellor installed. That left only Orun’s household servants to be dealt with, and few on the Palatine would have taken the gift of them.

The more notorious spies were quietly put out of the way by those they’d helped compromise. Orun had had a passion for blackmail. Not for money—he had wealth enough of that sort—but for the sadistic love of control over others. Given that, together with his other unpleasant pastimes, none but a select few mourned his passing.

And so his spies were poisoned or garroted in alleys, the prettier catamites whisked quietly away into certain other households, and the rest sent from the city with good references and gold enough to keep them away.

Niryn followed these proceedings closely and had made a point of attending Orun’s burning. It was there that a young man standing among the few mourners caught his eye.

His face was familiar and after a moment Niryn recognized him as a minor noble named Moriel, whom Orun had tried to force on the prince as a squire. Orun had left the fellow a small bequest in his will, no doubt for services rendered. He looked to be fourteen or fifteen, with a pale, bitter face and sharp, intelligent eyes. Curious, Niryn brushed the boy’s mind as they stood by the pyre and was pleasantly unsurprised at what he found there.

The following day he sent the promising young fellow an invitation to dine with him, if his grief allowed. The messenger soon returned with the expected reply, written in the same purple ink his late protector had favored: Young Moriel would be delighted to dine with the king’s wizard.

Chapter 11

Iya was not sorry to see Orun out of the way, and had shared Tobin’s obvious relief when Chancellor Hylus appointed himself temporary guardian. She hoped Erius would leave the good old fellow in charge. Hylus was a decent man, a relic of the old times before Erius and his mad mother had tarnished the crown. As long as Erius still valued his counsel, perhaps Niryn’s sort would not triumph.

She clung to that hope as she fastened the hated Harrier brooch to her cloak each day in Ero.

She had to pass the Harriers’ headquarters when she left the Palatine. White-robed wizards and their grey-uniformed guard were always about in the yards around the old stone inn. It reminded her of a hornet’s nest and she treated it as such, passing on the far side of the street. She’d been inside only once, when they numbered her in their black ledger. She’d seen enough during that visit to know that a second visit would probably prove fatal.

So she kept her distance and was circumspect in seeking out others like herself, ordinary wizards forced to wear the shameful numbered badge. There were far fewer in Ero these days and most of them were too frightened or suspicious to speak to her. Of all the taverns once patronized by their kind, only the Golden Chain was still open and it was full of Harriers. Wizards she’d known for a lifetime greeted her with suspicion and few offered her hospitality. It was a frightening change in the city that had once most honored the free wizards.

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