The Still (12 page)

I wondered what she’d look like. After a time, my thoughts became less coherent. I fought the urge, found myself outmatched, chose surrender. At the end, lying inert, covers thrown back to evaporate my sweat, I fought back tears.

Then, at last, I slept

In the sweltering morn I lay drowsing beyond my usual hour, until roused by a persistent knock. I covered myself with a sheet before I unbarred.

Rustin waited, wearing only a light, loose-fitting robe.

My breath hissed. “Where have you been?”

“I couldn’t come.”

“Rutting with your kitchen girl, were you? She means more than our friendship.” I kicked at a chair.

For answer, he untied his loose belt, shrugged off his robe.

“Lord of Nature!” My breath hissed. His back and rump were a mass of fading red welts. “Who did that?”

“My father.” His voice was almost inaudible.

“Couldn’t you free yourself? You’re bigger than he. Didn’t you call for help, take away the stick—”

“I let him.” Rust’s misery extinguished the embers of my rage. He picked up the robe, wincing.

I laid it carefully across his bare shoulders. “Why, Rust?”

“Because I rode with you up the hill.”

“Didn’t you explain? I couldn’t have faced the lords without you.”

“That, he understood. But I’d defied him before his—no, don’t shake your head, it
does
matter. I was too impetuous to go back to the keep and explain; I spurned his order in sight of his guards. That, he couldn’t forgive.”

“Still, how could you let him beat you so?”

His tone sharpened. “Would you I challenged him twice in two days, and be known through Caledon as unruly and willful? Whose gate would open to me then?”

“Better that than have the skin flayed from your back!”

“His hurt had to be assuaged, and the welts will fade. Next time I’ll be more cautious.” He grinned, with little mirth.

I found clothes, threw them on. “Uncle Mar is back.”

“We saw his procession.” The road from Verein intersected the descent from our hill, at Llewelyn’s keep. “He must have emptied his castle. Fully two hundred horse.”

“They’re posted everywhere. I couldn’t slip out last night. How’d you get in?”

“The gate’s open for tradesmen. I went round to the kitchen, where everyone knows me.” He perched on my bed. “Throw open your window; the room’s musty.”

It wasn’t his place to tell me so, but I did as bidden. Then, beckoning him close, I told him of Pytor, and how I hid Elryc.

“Where is he?”

I splashed water on my face, wiped it dry. It would do for ablutions. “A good day to talk outside.”

We strolled out to the dusty courtyard, round the foundation walls of the keep, to the orchard that, along with outbuildings, stables, smithies and fruit cellars, surrounded Stryx Castle. All were enclosed by the stronghold’s massive outer walls. On three sides, jagged rock and plunging ravines made assault hopeless. The battlements on the fourth wall, facing the road from Stryx, were bristling with round stones, spears, arrows. Guardhouses every hundred paces overlooked the winding Castle Way.

Now, the ramparts were guarded as if for war. Torches pierced the night shadows; sentries patrolled each catwalk. Even the high tower was manned. Thank Lord of Nature we’d moved Elryc in time.

We went to the orchard, where under welcome shade and safe from prying ears, I finished my story. “The only ones who know are old Griswold and Garmond, the stable-boy.”

“A dung beetle.” He laughed softly.

“It was all I could think of.”

“Might we smuggle Elryc to your room?”

“Stire may search again.” I shifted out of the advancing sun. “What about your father’s keep?”

“No.” A tone of finality.

“Not for Elryc’s sake, for mine.”

“I won’t ask it.” He leaned forward, spoke to my frown. “Roddy, it would mean Father’s death. Mother’s too.”

“Uncle Mar may be spiteful, but he doesn’t go about slaughtering—”

“He’s not had need. Would you he set an example?”

I had no answer. I recalled Uncle Mar’s glance of hatred as I’d barred him from Mother’s door.

From the courtyard, trumpets.

Rustin glanced about. “Now what?”

I shrugged. Perhaps Uncle Mar was leaving again for Verein. Good riddance. “Rust, I’ve been thinking about giving up the Power.”

He sucked in a breath, then busied himself with a blade of grass. Finally he said, “Not yet.” He licked his lips, as if nervous. “When it’s time, you’ll know.”

He got carefully to his feet, favoring his welts.

We roamed the grounds of Castle Stryx. Tents had been set up near the scullery for the extra men from Verein. Boys of the town and castle jostled to watch the soldiers clean and arrange their gear; I tugged Rustin’s arm and made him come away, lest we appeared to be mixing with such riffraff.

In the kitchen, Kerwyn looked up from his meal. “The Duke’s men seek you.”

“Why?”

He snorted. “Lord Mar doesn’t consult me, sire.”

I retreated with Rustin to the sultry daylight. “Should I go?”

“Three days ago you were anxious enough to see him.”

True, but Uncle Mar had taken on aspects of Mother at her most imperious. He wasn’t my parent, nor my liege lord; I owed him nothing. Reluctantly, I trudged along the massive inner wall of the keep itself, toward the front entrance.

I ran my hand across the rough stones as we approached the corner. “How does it look, that I come crawling to his summons?”

“Stuff and nonsense. If I called, wouldn’t you come?”

“That’s diff—”

A figure cannoned round the corner, knocked me to the turf. I lay stunned, breathless.

With a roar Rustin hurled the intruder off my chest, flung him aside. His dagger unsheathed, he whirled, searching for more attackers.

I croaked, “It’s only Garrand.”

The stableboy scrambled to his feet, rubbing his forehead. He circled me warily, keeping my supine form between himself and Rustin. “It’s Genard, m’lord. Did you hear the crier?”

I struggled to draw breath. My sore rib, recovering from my fall down the steps, gave notice of misery to come. “Hear what, you misbegotten oaf?” I stumbled to my feet, braced myself against the rock wall. “Rust, I think he broke—”

“They’ve proclaimed Elryc!”

My mouth worked like a goldfish in the pond. It could not be so.

“You lie!” Rustin cornered the urchin stableboy against the stones.

“It’s true! The crier was on the very steps of the castle. He said—”

“They proclaimed Elryc King.” I slid to the ground, clutching my aches. I’d never trusted the scheming foul-minded little goblin. Here I’d risked life and station to protect him, and behind my back he’d made treaty with the Duke.

“Not King, outlaw!” Genard was beside himself. “The crier called him traitor, said that you were rightful heir, that your brother plotted against you. Twenty gold pieces to any man who found him.”

“Rust, what’s Uncle up to?”

The stableboy danced from toe to toe. “Twenty goldens!”

I cuffed him across the mouth. “Villain, I’ll wear your skin for a jerkin, if you but breathe a word ...”

“I won’t!”

“I heard your greed.” I twisted his hair, flung him to the ground. “Don’t let the thought cross your pea brain!”

“Easy, Roddy.”

“You too, Rust? Would you betray us for twenty goldens? Or perhaps you’d bargain for—Ow!”

Rustin stood over me, fists ready. “You call
me
traitor?”

From the turf, the stableboy watched, jaw agape, a tear drying on his cheek.

I rubbed my chin, half-dazed from Rustin’s blow, wondered if I was in position to kick his legs from under him. Then, despite my fury, a smile twitched. My head lay no more than a foot from Genard’s. As I had done, Rustin had done to me.

“Oh, stop!” Grumbling, I got to my feet, waving away the threat of his blow. “I didn’t mean it.”

Rustin’s passion was aflame. “You’re a lout and a bully!”

“And your liege.”

“True. My liege lord, you’re a lout and a bully!”

“Some vassal you.” I winced, offered a hand to the stableboy. “Up. My temper got the better of me.”

“Should he think that an apology?” Rust’s tone was acid.

“Need I apologize to a churl?” Preposterous. I pulled the urchin to his feet.

The boy’s lip quivered, much as Elryc’s had, in his terror atop the tower. Well, I could have regrets, and speak them, with honor. “I wish I hadn’t lost my temper.”

The boy nodded, eyes downcast. Somehow, it didn’t seem enough.

I hoped I wouldn’t ruin him for service. “I hope you’re not much hurt, Garmond.”

“Genard.” His eyes rose shyly. “I’m all right, m’lord.”

Rustin thrust a warning finger at me, spoke to the urchin. “His brother’s life is in your hands, stableboy. Only a fool would betray it for a mere twenty goldens. When Rodrigo’s King, your loyalty will reap a fortune.” Genard’s eyes grew round.

Now Rust was raiding my treasury before I’d secured it. After a moment my frown relaxed. It was he who’d made the promise. Let
him
pay the stableboy his ransom.

“Satisfied, Rust? Or must I apologize to you, for knocking me down?”

“A lout and a bully.” But his anger was fading.

“What’s Uncle Mar up to?”

“You’re the one to be King. Think.”

Sometimes he was beyond bearing. I sighed. “Mar hopes to unearth Elryc. But a reward would do that by itself. Why talk of treason?” I leaned against the wall, dabbed again at my lip.

Uncle Mar wanted all three of us under his control. Elryc loose was a danger, however ill-defined. By proclaiming him traitor, he would separate my adherents from Elryc’s, and neutralize them as players in the game of state. And also ...

My eyes went up. “He’s raising the stakes.”

Rust asked quietly, “How so?”

The stableboy swiveled between us.

“Mar suspects I’ve helped hide my brother, despite my denial. Condemning Elryc is a warning to me, not to cross him further.”

“But if they find him—” Genard.

“Did we ask you?” The boy wilted under my glare.

“No, sire. I’ll go now.” He sidled away.

“Hold! Where are you off to?” Hester was right; the only safe mouth was one closed by death.

“To warn him, m’lord! The stable’s not safe, with everyone looking. If someone from kitchen or the smith’s boy recognizes him ...” He seemed about to bolt.

“Rustin, he’s right. We have to move him.”

“Where?”

“The winery? A toolshed?”

Genard blurted, “He isn’t safe at the castle. Outside.”

I glowered.
“You’re
not safe. Begone, and we’ll stir our stew without your nose in the pot.”

“No, stay,” said Rustin. “Roddy, we have few enough allies.”

“Him? A simpering fool who knows not who his father is? A peasant?”

“As always, your grace is inspiring.” Rust’s tone turned colder. “Roddy, I do think I’m about to feed you grass, until you come to your senses.”

Hastily I backed away, desperate to avoid humiliation in the sight of a stableboy. “Don’t you dare—”

Rustin rolled up his sleeves. “You can’t treat folk like—”

“All right, I’m sorry!” I flushed crimson. “Both of you! Garmand, I didn’t mean any insult.”

“My father was a singer of lays!” The boy’s face was red. “He sang his tales for your mother the Queen. My ma told me ofttimes!”

“I said I’m—”

He squalled, “And my name is Genard! Not Garmand, or Garron, or any of the stupid things you call me!”

I looked with disgust to Rustin. “See what you made of him?” How dare a churl shout at a prince? Even if my temper was undone, I’d been gracious enough to apologize. As soon as we got to the stable, I’d have Griswold lay a stick to the young lout’s back.

Rust seemed less put out than I. “Lower your voice, Genard. I accept your apology, Prince Rodrigo.” He bowed.

“Arghh.” I should have stayed under my covers, and ignored Rustin’s knock. “It’s too hot to fight.” I sat, leaned against the wall, waited until the throbbing of my ribs subsided. “Genard of the stables, sit over here.” I patted the grass. “Rust, we’d better think quickly. Where can we move Elryc?”

“Have you coin for a bed at the Thorn and Briar?”

“He couldn’t sit to eat in the public—”

Rust said, “I could bring him food, in his room. If not me, Chela.”

“The inn’s too crowded.” Someone would spot him, soon or late. “Nowhere in the city. Too many greedy folk prowl the streets.” Once, when I’d been nine, my purse had been cut from my belt, and I’d never known ’til I dug for a copper.

“What, then?”

“Hester.” The word thrust from my throat, unbidden. “She’ll know.”

“Can we trust her?”

“Don’t ask it to her face, Rust. Pytor was her life. Second to him, Elryc.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Genard, tell my brother to hide as deep in the stables as he might. In the loft, behind the hay. It’ll be hot.” I fumbled for a coin. “Bring him mulled wine, dilute and cold. We’ll decide our course.”

After all I’d done for him, the stableboy seemed sullen. “You’d trust me, then? What if I run to the Duke?”

“Well, there’s always life as a dung beetle. Besides, have I choice but to trust you?” I frowned; it hadn’t come out the way I’d wished. “Garm—Genard, will you pledge to serve me, for the House of Caledon? Serve me personally, that is?”

“As your sworn man?”

I pondered. Only the well-born might take an oath of loyalty to a particular noble. Rustin had done so, on my behalf. But an unwashed bumpkin such as Genard? Ridiculous, but I had little choice.

“Yes. My sworn man.”

He hesitated a long moment. Then, “No, m’lord.”

As I turned molten he blurted, “I’ll serve Elryc, if he’ll have me.”

“You—what?”

“I’d be
his
liegeman.” He drew himself up to his small stature. To my stunned silence he said, “I’ll tell him.”

Genard stalked toward the stable. I watched with grudging eye. His bearing had, for the first time, dignity.

Rustin and I hurried round the foundation wall of the castle. “I imagine she’ll be in the nursery.” We passed through the entry to the great stone stairs. The vaulted ceiling of the hall offered cool relief from the relentless sun.