The Still (9 page)

She shrugged. “You did as you must. Take my arm. If I fall it’s the end of me.” Gingerly, we made our way through the rock-strewn field.

She freed me at the safety of the path. I looked about; nearly all had gone ahead. “Where’s Pytor?”

“Run back on his own, I expect. He never would abide my pace.”

A figure detached itself from the bystanders, approached casually. “Rodrigo—” The groomsman, Kerwyn. He inserted himself between me and the Nurse, dropped his voice to a whisper. “Elryc sent me. Danger.”

“Tell my gutless brother he can—what?”

“Danger.” His words were almost soundless. “He said to meet him where you met him and Rustin last, and to bring Pytor.”

“What’s happened?”

“I don’t know. Elryc’s a strange child, and I’d have paid no heed but for the odd look he bore. Griswold said—well, no matter. You’d best find out what he wants.”

I swallowed. Rust would know what to do, but where was he? “If this is a trick, some peasant jest, I’ll cut out your heart!” Without waiting for answer, I started down the trail.

Hester caught at my arm. “You’re off? To where?”

“Later, Nurse.” I loped down the hill.

She called after. “Tell Pytor there’s no use to hide from me; I’ll only switch him the worse!”

I left the trail to pick my way to the rear wall, and the servants’ entrance. Brushing past startled washmaids, beyond the kitchen and the guards’ barracks, along the stairs to the courtyard, I flew up the steps to the ramparts, ran past the ceremonial guard, made for the tower in which we three had conferred.

The tower stairs were steep, and I paused for breath halfway. If Elryc had mounted some prank, by the Lord of Nature, I’d have his ears. My pace more sober, I climbed the last steps, squeezed past the stack of barrels, strode out onto the deck.

Elryc was nowhere in sight. Imps take the boy. Brother or not, I’d—

“Roddy!” A hoarse murmur.

I whirled. “Where are you? End your games!”

“Here.” A whisper.

I peered through the tower door. At first, in the dim light, I saw nothing. Then, behind the row of barrels, a figure. I bounded over the pile of staves, grasped Elryc’s shirt, hauled him to his feet. “What are you playing at?”

“Where’s Pytor? Did they follow you?”

“Leave him. Speak, ungrateful son of a buried Queen!” I shook him so his teeth rattled.

“Stop it, you ass!” He tore loose. He peered down the circular flights to the entry door. “Someone may hear us. Listen for steps.” He perched on a barrel. “This morning, I was asleep in your bed.”

“Like a log. You—”

“They knocked, but I didn’t want anyone to know I’d needed company last night, so I lay quiet in my cave.”

“Under my quilt. Get on with it; I’ve a Council meet to attend.”

“They walked in without leave, can you imagine? ‘He’s not here,’ one said. ‘Obvious enough,’ growled the other.”

“So, servants came looking for me. Uncle Mar probably wanted—”

“Shut up, you big lout! Will you never listen?”

I filed his insolence in my list of revenges, lapsed into grudging silence. “Finish.”

“The raspy voice said, ‘He wasn’t in his own room, wasn’t at breakfast; where the devil could he have gone?’ I lay very still. ‘Don’t blame me,’ the other said. ‘It was your idea to wait until day. You be the one to tell the Duke we didn’t grab the little ones.’”

I stared dumbly at the rampart deck.

“The first voice answered, ‘No, we’d best find them before we report. You know his lordship’s moods.’ When I was sure they were gone, I sneaked to the stables, gave Kerwyn a message for you. Then I hid. I’ve had no food since yesterday. Did you bring a bite? Anything?”

I was as one drugged. What was this about?

“Roddy, don’t you see? We were to be seized, Pytor and I!”

“But Pytor trotted right past Uncle Mar to climb the hill with me. Mar didn’t lift a finger. You’re making a—”

“Imbecile! Think you Uncle Mar would take a child, in front of all his guests?”

“Mind your tongue.” My voice was cold. “Even from you, I won’t—”

“Fool! Dunce! Dimwit! Why didn’t you bring Pytor?” Elryc danced with frustration. “Care you as little for him as for me? Why didn’t you protect him!”

I slammed my brother against the stone, knocking the breath from him. “Never call me such names; I’m King! Pytor ran off before Kerwyn brought me your cursed message.”

Elryc wheezed, his face purple. “Not King yet. Won’t be, unless you rouse yourself.” He gasped for air. “You won’t even let us help you!” His shoulders shook. “Go seek your throne! I’ll worry for Pytor.”

Dazed, I sat on a barrel. What would Uncle Mar want with Pytor and Elryc? Why not me? I was his danger. He could have taken me in the privacy of his chambers. “Elryc, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Here, sit with me.”

Sobbing, reluctant at first, he let me comfort him.

“You’re sure you got it right? They said, ‘Grab the little ones’?”

He nodded.

I struggled to pull myself together. “Wait here while I find Pytor, and send for Rustin.” I strode to the steps. “I’ll bring you apples.”

“Anything.” His voice was small. I started down the winding steps at a moderate pace, found myself leaping the last few treads. I dashed along the rampart, raced around the corner to the courtyard steps, cannoned into an armored figure, and sprawled with him in the dust.

“Clumsy buffoon!” The guard snatched up his scattered gear. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Then he caught a look at my face, and his jaw dropped.

I staggered to my feet, my ribs afire. “Forgive me, Lanford. I was in a hurry.” Clutching my side, I staggered off.

Fool. Ass. Imbecile. If my little brother Pytor was in danger, I deserved every name I’d been called, and more. I loped up the steps, through the great oaken doors to the donjon. Three flights to the nursery; I took them as fast as I could.

It was vacant.

The first room I’d try would be Elryc’s, then my own. Pytor would be in one of his usual hiding—I hurtled down the steps.

“Aiee!” I averted a collision with the climbing figure, but slipped and rolled down half a flight, bumping ribs and buttocks on each cold stone step. From above Nurse Hester watched, incredulous.

“That’s how you mourn your mother, eh? Galloping about the palace like a maddened—”

“Where’s Pytor?”

“He’s where Pytor goes when he would not be found. Why the sudden interest? For a year you’ve consigned him to—”

“Have you seen him since the hill?”

“Think you my legs take me faster than yours? I’m just returned. Why do you search for your brother?”

“Hester ...” I hobbled up the steps. “Put aside our rancor for the moment.” I put my lips close to her ear. “Pytor’s in peril. When he returns, hide him, and send for me at once.” I turned to go. Her hand lashed out, grabbed my ear, twisted. I yelped, clawing at her iron grip.

“Not so fast, Prince of Caledon.”

“Let go my—”

“What about my boy? Peril? How?” Her eyes held a glint I’d never seen.

“Keep your voice dow—hargh!” My neck was cocked at an impossible angle. “Please, Nurse.” My words tumbled, lest she wrench off my ear. “Elryc says Uncle Mar sent soldiers to take him and Pytor. I don’t know what it means.”

Her grip unlocked, and I was freed. She growled, “Where? And is Elryc safe?”

“He’s in hiding. I was supposed to bring Pytor, but by the time I heard—”

“He’d already run down the hill. It’s not your fault, Roddy.” Her wrinkled hand flicked out to pat my throbbing ear. “We’ll find him. You check the grounds; I’ll search the castle.”

“Three stories, and cellars? That’s beyond you.”

“I’m slow, but not crippled.” She sighed. “Still, you might be faster, once you get the knack of stairways. I’ll watch the nursery, your room and Elryc’s, and the Queen’s chambers. No one’s thought to bar me from them.” She sniffed. “My lady’s been gone only a day.”

“Right.” I took her hand, squeezed it to cement the truce, limped off with what dignity I could muster.

I prowled wine cellars and holds, kitchen and storerooms, all the places a small boy might dawdle, all the places I’d known as a child, a few seasons past.

No Pytor.

In the courtyard I spotted Genard, the stableboy. Not much older than Elryc, he sprouted new inches like a weed gone wild. I fished out a coin. “You. Run down the hill to Llewelyn’s keep. Ask for Rustin, tell him to come at once; I need him.”

He eyed the copper dolefully. “Aye, but it’s an hour’s climb back up—”

“Or I could have Griswold lash your rump; it’s all the same to me. Oh, don’t pout like that.” I sighed. “Here.” I handed him a second copper, and a third.

Genard’s face brightened; he flicked a knuckle to his forehead. “Thank ye, youngsi—m’lord.”

When he dashed off I roamed casually through stables, smithy, orchards, the myriad of alcoves and lean-tos outlying any castle fort, but secure within its thick walls. Most folk let me pass unmolested, but a few were bold enough to offer kind words to a disconsolate heir wandering the grounds to no apparent purpose.

Hours passed, and I grew weary. My ribs ached from my tumble, and repeated tours up three flights of stairs to see if Hester had found my brother didn’t help. Impatient, but glad of the rest, I sat on a ledge overlooking the courtyard to await Rustin. Even if he’d been at some chore when my message arrived, he’d have had time to be done and answer my call.

Shadows lengthened. Where in the demons’ vale was Rust? I knew I ought to confront Uncle Mar, but first Rustin and I should—

I leaped to my feet cursing. The Council meet.

I dashed up the front steps into the frescoed hall, made for the vaulted meeting room to the rear, where armed sentinels stood post.

A graying guard thrust himself between me and the door, halberd poised across his chest.

“Out of my way. Are the Seven still within?” I squinted. “Who are you?”

“Fostrow, my lord. No one may pass. Council is at session.”

“That’s why I’ve come. Let me through.”

A second guardsman stepped forth. “It’s forbidden, Prince Rodrigo.”

I felt myself grow red. “It’s
my
Council now! Stand aside!”

“No one may enter.” His mates took stations on each side of me, uncomfortably close.

I stamped my foot. “Whose men are you? You’re not of the household.”

One said proudly, “I’m Baron Stire, of the Duke’s troop, from Castle Verein.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Soldiers of Verein are forbidden the city, by long-standing treaty.”

He shrugged. “We go where my lord the Duke sends us.”

Infuriated, I pushed past. “Take your hands off—let me go!”

I found myself pinned to the opposite wall by half a dozen strong arms. One hand gripped a dagger.

I snarled, “Pierce me, would you? They’d hang the lot of you! Faugh!”

“Easy, lads.” The guard Fostrow. To me, “No one spoke of killing—”

“Why the knife, churl? To mince your dinner?” My voice grew even louder. “I won’t have it! Send for the Duke! Let me loose!”

The blade slipped into its scabbard, but despite my struggles I was firmly held. In a moment I would begin to cry, and in their sight that was intolerable. I shouted, “Margenthar! Duke of Stryx!”

Hands reached for my mouth, but I evaded them. “Treason! False Council! Disloyal villains, come forth from your nest and face your King! Margenthar!”

The doors were hurled open. Uncle Mar stood framed in the entry. “What lunacy is this?”

I struggled, nearly maddened with frustration. “
I WON’T BE HELD!”

He snapped his fingers. “Let him loose.” The hands fell away. “Whatever is the matter with you, lad?”

“Nothing.” I wiped my face, brushing aside a perfidious tear. “These treacherous louts stopped me from joining you.” I crossed to the entry, but Uncle Mar himself barred my way. Peering past, I saw old Earl Cumber, his rheumy eyes blinking, seated among the other councilors.

“Council meets unobserved. Such is the law.”

“The Queen attended.”

“Of course.”

“Then shall I.”

“No.” Mar turned away.

“I’m heir!”

“I’m appointed regent and attend in your place.” I tried to shoulder past; he thrust me back.

“When will I be crowned?”

“If you’d leave us to our meet I could tell you. Roddy, what’s come over you? Look at yourself: sweaty, your hair awry, hollering like a field hand’s whore! And you would instruct Council to make you King? Brush the dust from your clothes, and go to your chamber!”

Had I my blade I’d have slashed his throat. I said, “What mischief do you work? Why are your troops—”

“Business you’re not man enough to attempt.” His contempt was unsheathed.

Not man enough? My voice betrayed my rage. “Where’s Pytor?”

“Unharmed. Where is Elryc?”

“How should I know? Try his room.” I made sure my face showed nothing. “Let me talk to Pytor.”

“Of course. As soon as the rituals are done.”

“Where is he, damn you?”

Mar’s eyes were drawn daggers. “Sent to Verein. We decided it was best he be raised quietly, away from commotion.”

“You imprisoned a—a little boy?”

“Nonsense. He’s free as you or I. The funeral has only upset him; he needs a time away—”

“He needs Hester!”

“We have our nurse, who’s raised my sons. Your Hester’s too old and feeble.”

“She is not!” How did I come to be defending Mother’s vengeful crone? “She’s all he has!”

“No longer. Elryc too will find a home with us.”

“How dare you take the princes of Caledon!”

“Enough.” He addressed Fostrow. “Don’t harm him, but keep him out of earshot; I won’t have the meet disrupted. Roddy, you’re overwrought. Go to the well, rinse your head in cold water, sit until you calm yourself.”

“If I ride to Verein, will they let me in?”

“You’re not to leave the castle grounds. I’ve informed the guard.”

“I am King!”

“You are heir. The crown comes when you’re of age. No, hear me out! Elena let you run wild like a peasant’s runt, but I won’t have it. You’ll find your own discipline, boy, or by Lord of Nature you’ll know mine! Baron Stire, take him out!’