The legend of Nightfall

Chapter 15

Nightfall let the matter of the Tylantian contests settle, allowing Edward to take a watch, then sleeping through his own. As usual, throughout the night he remained on the restless edge of awakening.

Constructed for meeting and drinking rather than hostelry, the He-Ain’t-Here Tavern kept its overnight visitors packed into two rooms. Though it meant sharing his quarters with seven more men, Nightfall appreciated that the tavern owner had decided to divide his guests by gender. Kelryn stayed with the travelers’ wives, enough company for Edward to believe her safe and for her to feel no need to intrude upon the men’s shelter. In truth, her welfare was of no concern to Nightfall, and he felt certain Ritworth meant her no harm at all. The Healer’s description in Delfor and ·Kelryn’s sleep-talk left him no doubt that she worked with sorcerers. Even if the Iceman was not her usual contact, she would know the right words to league with him and she surely would not hesitate to sell Nightfall out… again.

Nightfall assessed the men around him, curled under whatever blankets or tattered cloaks they had brought with them. All claimed to have journeyed from distant countries, three from Hartrin and four from Mitano, to watch the competition in Tylantis. Although they came from slave country, none brought any of their own. Nightfall knew by their manner and gear that these men could not afford such luxuries had they wished to do so, but he was quick to point out the respect with which they treated him.

Prince Edward seemed withdrawn. Longer than a week had passed since he proselytized about anything, and Nightfall feared he had succeeded too well at crushing the fanatical idealism, sapping the prince of any drive at all. His sleeping neighbors did not concern Nightfall. He had watched their movements, seeking a grace, offhand comment, or hidden strength to suggest they were other than they claimed, and he found nothing to worry him.

Still, the night passed for Nightfall with fretful slowness.

Nightfall, Prince Edward, and Kelryn spent much of the next day shopping for gear and rations, the squire quietly supplementing their meager money from the pockets of wealthier passersby. For the first time in his life, remorse prickled at his conscience for the intrusion, though whether born of exposure to Edward’s morality or from the realization that being exploited and downtrodden no longer worked as an excuse, he did not know. He did find himself taking smaller amounts from a larger number of victims, a fairness that hardly justified his crimes, although it did ease his guilt as well as place him at more risk of discovery.

Kelryn and Edward spent large amounts of time discussing the merits of foods and fabric, which left Nightfall more than enough chances to purchase a grappling hook, rope, knives, and a container for shartha petals as well as obtaining capital to cover the prince’s acquisitions and still leave silver in his pocket for their rooms and board. Though engrossed in his own activities, Nightfall spared more than enough attention to keep Edward safe. He could not help but also overhear much of the conversation between prince and dancer. They chatted about the pros and cons of myriad products as if they had done so together all their lives, though Kelryn had never shown interest in such talk when he had courted her. Apparently, there was much about Kelryn he had never known.

That night, Nightfall sneaked Willafrida another flower.

Datlinst left for Tylantis the following day, without any reluctance to indicate he knew about Willafrida’s mysterious suitor. That satisfied Nightfall. If the duchess-heir chose not to discuss such events with Datlinst, it either meant her tie to him had not become serious or she had trivialized the gifts. No matter the reason, secretiveness would only enhance the romance of the anonymous flowers.

That evening, as dinner drew to a close, Nightfall dragged Prince Edward outside on a pretext. He chose that moment for two reasons. First, they had left Kelryn in a crowd, presumably safe, so Edward could concentrate on other matters. Second, Nightfall suspected Willafrida would already lie in wait to see whether Datlinst or some other suitor was leaving the presents. This time, he wanted to confront her directly. For that purpose, he carried a grapple and rope ladder hidden beneath his cloak.

Prince Edward and Nightfall stepped from the tavern into a hovering evening grayness that fled before their lantern and seemed to thicken as they watched. Though they walked side by side, Nightfall passively chose the direction, trying to make it seem as if Edward had done so. Most of the citizens had gone home to cook or eat and rest, but a few still wandered the streets, mostly young couples or prostitutes.

"What’s wrong?" Edward asked, naturally assuming Nightfall wished to talk for personal reasons. "Nothing’s wrong," Nightfall admitted. “I just wanted some time with you away from Kelryn to make sure your needs are being taken care of. I know having her around probably sometimes makes- it hard for you to talk as prince to servant, and you’ve been so quiet."

Prince Edward smiled, shaking his head with obvious admiration. "Always worrying about me, aren’t you, Sudian? I’m fine. I’m just not certain where to go from here. I think our next action might have to be a meeting with King Idinbal or King Jolund. We can find out what dire troubles or enemies they might have and use our skills to aid the kings.”

Nightfall suppressed a grin, realizing he had not wholly squashed the innocent kindness and naivete. "Master, from what I’ve heard, right now King Jolund’s biggest problem is a duchy that needs a duke."

Prince Edward looked away with a noncommittal noise.

Nightfall would not let him escape that easily. "Are relations between Alyndar and Shisen so strained that King Jolund would not invite a prince of Alyndar to his games?"

"I was invited," Edward admitted.

Nightfall raised his brows awaiting further explanation.

It came, though it seemed inadequate. "I’ve chosen not to go."

Nightfall stopped walking and stared, incredulous.

Two paces later, Edward also came to a halt, though he did not turn.

"Master, am I still barred from questioning you?"

"It’s still rude." Edward remained in place. "But that’s not stopped you before." Finally, he faced Nightfall. "You know I won’t hit you."

Though eager to get on with the conversation, Nightfall maintained the necessary politeness, clinging to his role. Edward seemed uncharacteristically irritable, and Nightfall suspected the reason was intimately tied to his insistence on missing the Tylantian contests. "I’m not worried about hitting. I’m worried about offending.”

For a moment, Prince Edward lost his regal confidence, wincing at the impact of his words. In the light of the new information Kelryn had given him about Nightfall’s past, his sarcastic comment about hitting might have seemed cruel. Though the statement had not bothered Nightfall at all, he relished the discomfort that would make Edward feel more obligated to explain. "Ask your question. I won’t let it, nor the mere act of asking, offend."

Nightfall started walking again with a slow, thoughtful stride. "You need to become landed. King Jolund wants to give away a landed title. Master, it seems perfect. Why would you choose not to go?"

Soon, Edward’s long strides brought him even with Nightfall, and the smaller man increased his speed to keep pace with his long-legged master. "I’ve chosen not to go. You may question my actions for clarification, but don’t challenge my motivations.”

Nightfall hesitated, thrown by so many difficult words at once. "I still don’t understand.”

"I don’t wish to go."

"Why not?”

“I don’t wish to go." Rising anger tainted Edward’s tone. “That is all."

"But why not?" Nightfall continued to press, not the least put off by Edward’s annoyance. Like alcohol, strong emotions, such as rage, fear, and love, tended to goad people to say things propriety would otherwise gag. At best, he might discover some truer incentive beneath Edward’s loyalty to himself and to the downtrodden. At worst, he would listen to another tedious discussion of manners.

“It’s pointless to go," Edward’s strong voice verged on a shout. "Why waste time on a contest I can’t win.” The prince’s words seemed so uncharacteristic, Nightfall halted in his tracks before he realized he had stopped, and it took Edward several strides to notice. "I can’t believe you just said that."

Edward turned, brow wrinkled, seemingly perplexed by his own comment. Nevertheless, he stood by his words. "It would waste my time to go."

"Master…" Nightfall paused, finding a response as difficult as he wanted it to appear. “Are you the same man I pledged my services to? The one who set out to end generations of slavery and poverty single-handedly?"

"I am," Edward said, the anger fading into thoughtful consideration. "And I still plan to do it."

"So, as I understand it," Nightfall put the situation fully into perspective, "you’re willing to fight or lecture every person in the world involved with bondage or injustice. But you’re not good enough to win a joust?" He began walking again, wanting to get closer to the duke’s citadel.

Again, Edward caught up swiftly. "It’s not that. It’s just, well, I know some of the people who’ll be there, men who’ve fought wars. Men who consistently bested me in practice."

"Master, you’re a great warrior."

The prince smiled, but his attitude seemed more tolerant than agreeable. "Your faith in me is touching, really it is. But I’m not experienced, and I know my limits."

Nightfall did not believe he had ever heard a more false statement in his life. Knows his limits, indeed. This from a man who frees slaves without warning and expects no complaints from their owners. This realization cued Nightfall to something deeper. Whatever kept Prince Edward from the Tylantian contest had only partially to do with the belief that he would lose. "But, Master, don’t you want to know for sure? Were I highborn, I would at least wonder where I stood among the others."

"I have no need for that knowledge.”

"But what could it hurt to try‘?" Nightfall knew he had passed the boundary of pressing too hard, but to drop the subject now might leave him no chance to raise it again without Edward immediately ending the discussion. Fresh wounds made men talkative; old anger spurred avoidance.

He tensed for the tongue-lashing sure to follow his insistence.

But Edward did not yell. He spent several seconds in deep contemplation before replying. "It’s my brother, you know. He’s so much more skilled, it makes no sense for me to go. He’s always beaten me." His voice went so soft, Nightfall had to strain to hear. "He’s always made me look like a fool."

Nightfall spoke nearly as softly. "All the more reason you should go. So you can show your brother what you can do. So you can show him you’ve become a man, not the toddler he remembers."

"And if I wind up looking more foolish?"

"You won’t."

"But if I do?"

"Then at least you tried."

Edward went meditative again, while Nightfall laughed. "What’s funny about that?”

"You’re always so strong and confident. It’s good to see you have some doubts for a change."

"It doesn’t make me look weak?"

“Just the opposite, Master." Nightfall quoted Dyfrin once again. "A fool fears nothing and calls it courage. A hero conquers what he fears."

Edward nodded appreciatively. "Very well stated."

Nightfall refused to take the credit. "I heard it from a wise man, the closest I ever had to a brother. Sometimes I wish I had listened to him more."

Apparently noting wistfulness, Edward asked the obvious question. "What happened to him?"

"Who?" Backtracking through the conversation, Nightfall realized Edward had referred to Dyfrin, probably believing him one of Kelryn’s siblings. “Oh, him.” Nightfall avoided names. Caught talking about actual events from the past, he changed the subject quickly. "Nothing as far as I know. We just went in different directions. We seem to find each other every so often." He wondered if Dyfrin would have reason to attend the contests and doubted it. He had not seen his old friend in longer than two years. "Do we go to the contests?"

"Don’t push me," Edward warned, good-naturedly. "Yes, I suppose we go. But you’ll need to prepare my fighting gear now and on the field, things such as armor, weapons, and my destrier. And we’ll need new colors. We can’t represent Alyndar when the crown prince is there. We’ll have to find something not already being used as the symbol of another house."

Nightfall found the details trifling, yet he guessed those with wealth needed some means of occupying the time commoners spent working to keep warm or searching for food. His first thought, to place the prince in a single, unadorned color such as flat black, passed quickly. Once Edward got an idea in his head, he acted on it swiftly and with vigor. He would want to leave for Shisen at once, and it would take at least a few days without other suitors to win, the hand of Lady Willafrida. Success here might make the contests immaterial, but having the competition as a backup plan relieved Nightfall of some of the urgency wooing the duchess-heir had held. Rousing love in a day seemed difficult, but no more so than rigging several mock battles in Edward’s favor without getting caught in the act. The need for a seamstress to create their colors could hold Edward here for the time Nightfall required. Now, he needed only to think of some symbol so compelling it charged Edward to his usual frenzy. “An opened shackle and a majestic eagle flying free from it." He waved the hand carrying the lantern to indicate the scene as if it stood before them. The light cut a saffron arc through the growing darkness, adding grandeur as well as possibly attracting Willafrida’s attention. "In golden weave, of course. All on a background of clear sky blue."

Edward stared into the darkness where Nightfall had conjured the image, a grin creeping slowly onto his features. "We’ll make it deep blue. More contrast and easier to see from a distance. I like the rest. It won’t be the first emblem with a bird of prey nor the only one in blue and gold; but the motif will make it different enough." He waved a hand, as if to clear the same area for his own picture. "A captured eagle flying for freedom. How appropriate."

Nightfall believed they had come to an excellent breaking point in the conversation, and they had walked near enough to the citadel for the next stage of his plan. "Master, excuse me a moment please. I’m afraid I had a bit too much beer." He offered the lantern.

Prince Edward took it. "As you need, Sudian."

Nightfall did not wait an instant before striding, then dashing, off into the shadows. The oath-bond set off its alarm the instant the prince’s form disappeared into the gloom, reminding him he had left his charge alone in sparsely traveled territory. Nightfall ignored it. He would leave for only a few moments, and his need to land the prince took as much precedence. When vows clashed, he had to choose according to situation. If he remained glued to Edward’s side, the prince would never own property; and Nightfall’s soul would become Gi1leran’s possession as fully as if the prince had died. He doubted Ritworth had tracked them yet. Even if he had discovered the town, he would have to search for specific location as well as risk attacking a prince out in the open where witnesses might come upon them.

This time, Nightfall used the grappling hook and rope ladder. It would look suspicious for a squire to know how to scale walls without such equipment, and this time he planned to reveal himself to Willafrida. He worked swiftly, swinging and flinging the grapple into place on the window ledge on the first try, tugging to embed the teeth. The time for strategy and consideration had ended. Now, it only remained to set the plan in motion. Nightfall paused just long enough to pluck a perfect flower from one of the citadel’s tended beds, then scurried up the rope.

Nightfall hesitated near the top, guessing darkness cloaked him well enough to hide his identity, especially given the soft glaze of light in the duchess-heir’s bedroom. He hoped the romance of a single nightly flower slipped anonymously into her room would make her curious and proud rather than threatened. He would need to act swiftly if he met anyone other than Willafrida in her room. Quietly, tensed to jump, Nightfall peered inside.

Willafrida perched on the bed, the curtain of veils dangling from the canopy closed. Through their silk, Nightfall could make out her silhouette. She wore a flowing dress or gown, her long hair piled on her head. She had struck a provocative pose, her arms back to accentuate the small breasts, the dress flopping away from a shapely leg drawn seductively to her chest that drew attention from the generous hips and buttocks. Seeing, hearing, and sensing no others in the room, Nightfall quietly climbed inside, careful to affect a light noise that would notify her of his presence without making it obvious he meant for her to catch him.

Willafrida took the bait. A stubby-fingered hand appeared from a gap in the silks and brushed them open far enough to reveal her face. Cosmetics enhanced her lips and eyes, and the scent of perfumed oils wafted to him. The sleeping gown seemed as thin and satiny as the canopy veils, its maroon complimenting the sun-darkened skin and its cut revealing the inner corners of her breasts. Her gaze found him, and her demeanor wilted. She pulled the gown self-consciously around her. “Who are you?" she demanded, the romance broken. "What are you doing in my room?"

Nightfall pretended to appear startled, dropping the flower and turning to stare. "I-I’m sorry, Lady," he stammered, dropping to his knees and lowering his head in an exaggerated gesture of respect. "My name is Sudian. I’m just a servant. Please don’t have your guards hurt me." While on the floor, he picked up the fallen flower, offering it to her with eyes averted.

Willafrida took the blossom absently. “What are you doing here? Not trying to court me, I hope. I don’t associate with servants.”

"Me?" Nightfall met her gaze from habit then quickly glanced away. "No. Oh, no. Me? Certainly not. My master, Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar. I think the two of you… I mean I…" He trailed off, waiting for her to save him. Her reception suggested interest before she caught a glimpse of the scrawny, plain-looking man in livery she feared to be her suitor.

"Prince?" Willafrida repeated.

"Yes, Lady. Prince Edward. I believe he would wish you to call him Ned."

Willafrida sat on the edge of her bed, one hand still holding the flower, the other clutching her night gown to keep herself as covered as possible. Apparently, Nightfall’s appearance surprised her enough to become suspicious. "Is he old?"

"Within a year or two of your age, Lady." Nightfall deliberately did not mention those years would fall on the younger side.

The duchess-heir became less tense and more pensive. "Is he handsome?"

"In all the world, from the northernmost tip of the Yortenese Peninsula to the southernmost beach of the Xaxonese, from the Klaimer Ocean to the Plaxomer, if you found a man more becoming, he could, at best, be my Master’s twin."

Willafrida chuckled. "Loyal, aren’t you?"

"I only speak truth."

"Is he kind?”

"Lady, I was not born or debted into servitude," Nightfall stuck with the prevailing lie, though he hardly needed to embellish Edwards gentleness. ‘°l chose to serve my master because of his goodness and compassion, no other reason."

“Very loyal indeed? Though she obviously doubted his sincerity, Willafrida continued her questioning. "Is he witty?"

Nightfall suppressed a smile and answered with truth. “He makes me laugh."

“I’d like to judge for myself," Willafrida said. "Where is he?"

"Below." Nightfall cringed, still avoiding eye contact. "He’s a bit shy, and he doesn’t know I’m here. I’ll walk him by the window for you to see. If you don’t find him attractive, say nothing. I’ll lead him away. If you do, speak with him or not as you choose. In a few days, though, we’re leaving for the contests in Shisen." With that warning to encourage Willafrida to work swiftly, Nightfall scampered back out the window before she could think to stop him.

Once on the ground, Nightfall rushed back to the ball of lantern glow that indicated Prince Edward’s position. "I’m sorry l took so long, Master. I got to staring at the flower beds outside the duke’s citadel. Would you like to see them?" He reached for the lantern.

Prince Edward returned it, seeming taken aback by his squire’s sudden interest in decoration. "It’s getting late. Shouldn’t we head back to Kelryn? I’m supposed to protect her, after all."

Nightfall turned toward the citadel as he replied. "She’s safe in a crowded tavern. The Iceman’s not going to try to fight through dozens of men to get to her. We won’t take long." Nightfall tacked on the last as if in afterthought. Though it was the obvious thing to say, Nightfall found it more important to assure Edward of Kelryn’s safety than to worry about the passage of time. He did not want the traitorous dancer on Edward’s mind while he met the woman he was going, Nightfall hoped, to marry.

Pretending to admire the flowers, Nightfall steered Edward gradually and casually beneath Willafrida’s window, raising the lantern to give her a solid glimpse of features he felt certain would not disappoint her. In truth, it seemed nearly unbelievable to Nightfall that some woman had not already snatched Edwards hand and heart. Yet, he knew that royalty had stricter rules about such things. They became eligible at an older age, and the station of both parties played a large role in the matter. Edward, it seemed, had only just left his coddled nursery, whether it consisted of toys and nannies or books, practices, and stewards. Were it not such a cruel joke on Edward, Nightfall might have steered the prince toward a romance with Kelryn, if only to pay back Rikard for the oath-bond. A whore for a daughter-in-law might serve him right.

Nightfall’s current abstraction made him distinctly uncomfortable for reasons that had nothing to do with the oath-bond’s low-level hum, so he turned his thoughts elsewhere. They had tarried long enough. The next move belonged to Willafrida.

"Very nice," Edward said, the lack of expression suggesting politeness rather than interest. "I’m certain they’re beautiful when the blooms open. In the day. We’ll come back when it’s light with Kelryn."

"Good idea, Master.” Nightfall turned to head back in the direction from which they had come.

Before Edward could follow, a sultry voice wafted from above. "Hello, Ned."

The prince stiffened, obviously startled. His head whipped upward, and he squinted through the darkness. Willafrida’s face poked through the window, and Nightfall could make out the regular hatchwork of the rope ladder he had left grappled to her window.

"Hello, Ned." Willafrida repeated.

"Hello, fair Lady," Edward returned in his usual friendly manner.

Before honesty drove Edward to say anything about not knowing her, Nightfall whispered the information the prince needed. “Willafrida. The duke’s heir."

Edward nodded slightly to indicate he had received the message. "What can I do for you tonight, Lady?"

"Are you, in fact, a prince of Alyndar?"

“I am," Edward admitted.

"Come up and talk with me, Prince Ned."

Edward glanced at Nightfall, who bobbed his head encouragingly. "Go," Nightfall whispered. "I’m fine, and I’ll take care of Kelryn." The oath-bond flared slightly, though he reassured it and himself that he had no intention of straying far from Edward, his only obligation to Kelryn revenge.

"I’ll be there shortly," Edward called back to the duchess-heir. He headed away.

Surprised by the sudden change in direction, Nightfall caught up to Edward. “Where are you going, Master?"

Edward stopped, features crinkled, obviously confused by the question. "To call on her, of course, Sudian. What did you think?"

Nightfall kept his voice low. "Master, I think she wants to have a secret meeting. I think she wants you to go in through there." He made a subtle gesture with his head to indicate the window. He held the lantern so as to reveal the hemp resting among the ivy.

Prince Edward followed the direction of the gesture, finally noticing the ladder. "Oh," he said, then, more carefully, "Oh. All right, then." He hesitated. This obviously did not fit his image of propriety, though neither did refusing the request of a young, female noble. With a shrug, he strode to the base of the wall, caught the rope, and clambered to the window. Willafrida met him at the top and helped him inside.

Grinning like a slave served his master’s dinner, Nightfall put out the lantern, settled his back against the wall, and waited in the shadows.

Prince Edward flushed, feeling like a sneak thief breaking into Alyndar’s castle. The duchess-heir’s room seemed strange and feminine; veils, canopies, and the heavy scent of oils, spice, and flowers only adding to its exotic air. The furniture and smells reminded him of his mother’s private room, where she had gone to spend quiet time alone, away from his father as well as the hustle and responsibility of queendom. Flowers always perfumed the spring or summer breezes wafting through the window, and he had come to associate ginger and deprim with her. She had always welcomed him, even into her special chambers; and there she had taught him the gentleness and breeding behind the many rules his nannies made him memorize. She would have encouraged him to treat Willafrida with politeness and dignity.

Willafrida smiled at Edward, her silky gown hugging the ample curves. His mother had carried extra weight, too, though it had settled at the belly and breasts rather than the lower regions. He had never considered her anything but beautiful, and her happy carriage did not imply she believed herself otherwise. Nevertheless, she used mirrors without gawking and never lorded her looks over anyone. Now, Edward could see the inner quarters of Willafrida’s breasts and make out the nipples impressing the fabric. His eighteen-year-old body responded without input from his mind, and the lust without love embarrassed him. He imagined she could see his excitement through the fabric of breeks and tunic, and he self-consciously pulled his cloak closed.

"You’re as handsome as your servant promised," Willafrida said, admiring his face and body as he studied her.

The words confused Edward. "You spoke with my squire?"

"Yes," she said. “He said you were shy."

Edward had never heard that particular word applied to him before. In fact, he had been scolded for boldness and discarding convention for cause so often, the description nearly made him laugh. Yet, in truth, around women, he did display some quiet uncertainty. "Yes, well. He’s a good and loyal servant."

"So I’d gathered? Willafrida smiled flirtatiously.

Edward felt a knot form in his gut. The idea of leaving seemed pleasant but rude. The comment required no response, but politeness deemed it his turn to speak. If he could not continue the thread of the current discussion, he had the obligation to turn to trivial talk until a new subject was broached. However, before he could find even a minor topic, she took over again.

"You’re going to the Tylantian contests?" Willafrida gestured him to sit beside her.

"Yes, I guess I am." Edward perched on the edge as invited, uncomfortable intruding on a woman’s sleeping pallet. "My squire talked me into it."

"He’s good at that, isn’t he?"

"Good at what?"

"Talking people into things."

“Sometimes," Edward returned, finding the duchess-heir’s comment strange, an obvious attempt at conversation that seemed awkward to him.

"Six of my suitors are already there, trying to win a duchy."

"That hardly seems necessary." Edward glanced around to indicate the citadel. "You have one already. Why would they need to win you another?"

Willafrida shrugged then smiled, lowering her eyes modestly. "I’m nobility, but most of them are just gentry. I think they want at least as high a title as me. You can understand that."

Prince Edward nodded, without commitment. He did not see why station should matter to a man and woman who loved one another. "I suppose so, Lady."

"You wouldn’t have to enter the contests to get a title, of course."

"No, Lady, I wouldn’t," To Edward, the conversation seemed inane, but he stuck with it, seeing merit in learning to chat with women. He wondered if all conversations with the fairer sex would prove as tedious and realized he already had the answer. He had loved spending hours with his mother, discussing emotions and aspirations, reading stories and poetry. His conversations with Kelryn seemed to flow as easily, and the thought of her made him grin. His first meeting with her had proven even more awkward. His throat had closed down, making words impossible, and it had taken all of his sense of honor to tear his gaze from her near-naked beauty. From that moment, he had known she was special. Though he hated the idea that Ritworth the Iceman menaced her as well as him, he had appreciated the excuse and necessity it had created. The injury that marred her grace made him cringe every time she walked, but it had given her reason to quit dancing for a time and join them. And her fast and eager acceptance of his invitation suggested that maybe, just maybe, she had some feelings for him in return.

"… a prince need to do so?"

Prince Edward started from his reverie, embarrassed that he had let thoughts of a woman preoccupy him so much he had become rude to another. Though he had not heard most of her question, he could divine the rest. If he guessed wrong, he hoped she would attribute his error to misinterpretation rather than inattentiveness. “I’m the younger prince. I have no claim to Alyndar’s throne, kingdom, or lands. I need to establish myself elsewhere, and Tylantis’ duchy will serve that need well." Edward gave the proper response by nature, and the doubts did not come until after he spoke the last word. "But mostly I’m going for the camaraderie and the thrill of competition. I have little hope I’ll win."

That attitude clearly surprised Willafrida as boastful certainty seemed a much more common conviction among highborn. For the first time, it took her several moments to formulate a reply. Before she did, someone knocked on the door, the sound deep and reverberating. Edward stiffened, naturally leaping to his feet. Willafrida clasped her hands in her lap and turned her head toward the sound. "Who is it?"

A solid bass wafted through the panel. "It’s Milnar, Lady. Is everything all right in there?”

"Everything is fine, Milnar," she called back. "I’m just getting ready for bed."

"Very well, Lady Willafrida. I’m sorry I disturbed you." Heavy footsteps retreated down the corridor at a rapid pace.

Willafrida returned her attention to Edward. "A guard. They check on me all the time." She patted the bed, indicating Edward should sit again. "You were just telling me you have no claim to Alyndar’s throne."

Prince Edward considered excuses for leaving now, but none seemed good enough this early in the conversation. Apparently, she had called him up only to chat and get to know him. It was way too soon to know whether or not they would prove compatible. "My brother, Leyne. He’s the crown prince.”

Willafrida made a wordless noise to indicate interest. The intensity of the sound suggested fascination with the brother rather than the conversation. Her next question enforced the impression. "Is he married?"

“No."

"How old?"

"Twenty-six.”

Finally, Willafrida turned the conversation back to Edward. "And you?"

“I’m not married either. And I’m eighteen."

Willafrida frowned, obviously surprised at the numbers.

Edward guessed the duchess-heir had a few years on him and it bothered her. Usually, noblewomen married men a few years older or sometimes, in the case of an aging ruler without an heir, decades older. He hoped age differences did not matter too much to women, not because of Willafrida but because of Kelryn. Conversation, comments overheard, and appearance indicated the dancer was a few years older even than Willafrida. Edward’s mother had taught him emotion took first precedence; and, for all his father’s wealth and power, she had married for love. She had come from a rich family, and status had never held attraction for her. She more often escaped than embraced the duties of being queen.

"Does your brother look like you?”

Edward pictured Leyne. He had never thought much about comparing appearances, although he had always envied his brother’s shrewd eyes and knowledge of court procedure. "In a general sense, I guess. He’s bigger than me, and he’s got dark eyes."

Willafrida’s gaze roved up and down Edward’s tall, firm frame as if to imagine someone larger.

The prince assisted the image. "Not taller, just more muscular. He’s the one to watch at the Tylantian contests. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t win.”

"Why would the crown prince of Alyndar need an eastern duchy?"

"My brother surrender a chance to pit his weapon skill against some of the best fighters on the continent?" Edward shrugged. "He’d sooner give up food. Besides, my father is strong and healthy. If Leyne waited for him to die before gaining land and status, he might not do so until his own sons became ready to take the throne." He added jokingly, "Assuming he ever marries, of course."

“Of course," Willafrida repeated, pensive.

The door knob rattled, echoing through the chamber. Before Edward could think to move, the door swung open. A portly, frizzle-haired gentleman approaching seventy stood in the entry, flanked by three guards in Schizian bronze and black.

"Father!” Willafrida sprang to her feet, the sudden movement nearly knocking Edward to the floor.

Prince Edward recaptured his balance and rose politely for introductions.

"What?" the duke stammered. "How?"

“I can explain," Willafrida started, but the duke gestured her silent.

"I don’t want to hear from you right now. Go to your bed."

Willafrida hesitated.

“Go!"

She went, and the duke’s attention locked on the approaching prince. "Stand where you are!"

Edward stopped, halfway across the chamber.

“Who are you, young man?"

Prince Edward bowed respectfully. “Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar, sir."

The title barely seemed to impress the duke. "What were you doing in my daughter’s bedroom.”

"Talking, sir." Edward glanced over at Willafrida who had skittered to the center of her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest.

"Talking‘?" the duke repeated. "Talking! You sneak into my daughter’s locked bedroom like some common assassin and have the nerve to tell me you were talking?"

"We were talking," Edward said again, not entirely certain of the answer the duke wanted or, more likely, expected.

"Prince or other, no man despoils my daughter’s body and reputation. My physician can determine whether you’ve seduced my daughter and ruined her for decent marriage. But first, I will give you a chance to state your intentions."

Humiliation turned Edward’s cheeks red. He knew some relief as well. He had done nothing wrong or disrespectful to the duchess-heir, and surely the physician’s examination would reveal that.

The duke went straight to the point. "Prince Edward, do you plan to marry my daughter?"

"Marry her?" Edward repeated, trying to make sense of the words. "Marry Willafrida?"

"Do you plan to marry my daughter?"

Edward replied honestly. "Well, no, sir."

The duke’s face darkened to purple. He gestured to his guards. "Take him away and lock him up." He turned on his heel and strode from the room as the guards advanced.

Edward did not resist.

The booming voice of the Duke of Schiz and the wail of the oath-bond aroused Nightfall from a half-doze. He scrambled up the ladder, watching in stunned silence while the duke’s guardsmen arrested his prince for no more reason than entering his daughter’s bedroom. The situation made no sense to Nightfall. His mother’s nightly strings of bedtime clients had ill-prepared him for considering the mere act of being found in a woman’s sleeping chamber a crime serious enough to deserve jailing. Yet Edward’s quiet acceptance of his punishment suggested guilt.

Nightfall waited only until the guardsmen closed the door behind themselves and Edward. He listened for the sounds of returning footsteps and heard nothing over the ear-filling clamor of the oath-bond. Finally, he slithered through the window and to the side of Willafrida’s bed, resisting the urge to clutch his stomach in agony. The oath-bond felt like a burning knife, twisting through his guts. "Where’s your dungeon?"

Willafrida stiffened, obviously not noticing the intruder until he spoke. “Our dungeon? It’s deep. Below the ground floor. But why?"

Nightfall suspected he might have only a few moments before the duke returned to confront his daughter alone. He stumbled from the room, batting the door without bothering to see if it fully closed. Willafrida could handle that. He had graver matters to attend.

"Sudian, wait." Willafrida’s desperate whisper chased him down the corridor, but Nightfall dared not stop. Movement toward the goal of rescuing Edward dimmed the oath-bond’s alarm enough to let him function. If he turned back, he felt certain it would overwhelm him, driving him to twitch and writhe until it robbed him of soul as well as vigor. Finding the hallway empty, he charged toward a corner tower at random. He hit the door running, scarcely managing to trip the latch as he did so. The panel slammed open, crashing into a waiting guardsman so hard it sent him tumbling down the stairs, armor ringing against stone.

Nightfall cursed his lack of caution and his luck. Obviously, the guard had not expected trouble from the second story and so had positioned himself to block the exit from an intruder coming from below. Seeing no merit to trying to find another stairway now, Nightfall pounded down the steps, the oath-bond seething. On the next landing, he found the fallen guard sprawled, another crouched at his side. Glad for the distraction, Nightfall charged past, leaping down the stone stairway into the gloom below.

The conscious guard shouted. "Hey! You there!" He changed his tactic to a warning to those below. "Intruder headed down! Enemy on the stairs!"

Nightfall landed with his usual cat lightness, the oath-bond too persistent to allow him to use his talent to further soften the fall. He crouched, assessing the scene at a glance. Two guards blocked the pathway between two sets of three cells flush with the wall. The cages’ barred sides rose into roofs that ended five hands’ lengths from the stone ceiling that served as the floor to the level above. After the last pair of cells, the pathway ended and shorter branchways headed off in each direction, in turn ending at the walls. Only one figure occupied a cell, the farthest one on the right. Nightfall did not pause long enough to conclusively identify the prisoner. He raced down the walk.

In response to their companions’ warning, the two guards in the dungeon rushed forward. Nightfall darted through the gap between them. Both grabbed for him at once. One missed cleanly. The other caught a grip on his cloak. Arching his shoulders, Nightfall let the fabric slip free and continued running. Behind him, he could hear the guards calling strategies that seemed obvious. They would prove far more hunched and ready for his escape than they had been for his sudden entrance. Nightfall did not care. The closer he got to the prisoner he felt certain was Edward Nargol, the more the pain faded. He skidded around the corner, peering through the bars.

Grimy hands clenched the steel, and sad, dark eyes peered back at Nightfall through the gaps. A man with limp, brown hair and an openmouthed expression shy several teeth seemed as surprised to see Nightfall as the squire to find a stranger where his master should stand. The oath-bond’s threat intensified with abrupt and suffocating intensity. For a moment, Nightfall froze, fighting back the pain enough to function. He glanced back around to the main pathway. Four guards swept it in two groups of two, moving with readied caution. Shortly, they would trap him against the wall.

Damn. Nightfall scarcely dared to believe he had cornered himself for an unknown hoodlum. He watched, calm, as the sentries came toward him. Nightfall still carried the last of his throwing daggers in addition to three others he had been given in Alyndar. Pain drove him to hurl himself upon the guards en masse, to bite, claw, and stab in a wild frenzy until they killed him. Nightfall delved deeper to the more familiar and personal part of his brain and the cold pocket of calculation he drew upon in times of desperation.

The guards turned the corner. Nightfall took a careful, backward step, aware one more would press his back to the wall. To his right, the farthest wall of the dungeon hemmed him. To his left, the bars of the prisoner’s cage loomed. He saw only one other route, a small and desperate possibility he could not ignore. As the guards charged him, Nightfall scrambled up the bars. He flung himself up and over the cell roofs, skittering from cage to cage in a dashing crawl.

"Hey!" a guard shouted. "Get him." Their footsteps pounded a wild cadence in pursuit. Nightfall leapt from the last cell, hit the floor running, and sprinted back up the tower steps. Heavy footfalls resounded through the turret, seeming to come from all directions at once. Lowering his head, Nightfall jumped over the moaning guard on the first landing, whipped up to the second floor, and caught the door handle. He ripped open the panel and raced through the corridor. The oath-bond tore and hammered at him.

This time, he found a young maid in his path. He swerved as he ran past, but his shoulder struck her, jolting her to her knees. She let out a short scream that impressed the need to work swiftly. Catching the latch to Willafrida’s room, he tripped it and pushed. The door slammed open, revealing the duchess-heir sitting alone on her bed. Nightfall closed the door. "He wasn’t there."

Willafrida stood. "I tried to tell you that. My father wouldn’t lock up a prince in a dungeon."

Every sinew in Nightfa1l’s body seemed stretched to the point of breaking, as if his body might explode to open his soul to the magic. "Where is he!"

"I don’t know exactly," Willafrida admitted. "Calm down. He’s safe."

Nightfall believed her, and the oath-bond settled to a persistent, but no longer excruciating, roar. "You’re sure they won’t hurt him?"

"And cause a war between Alyndar and Schiz? Are you insane?"

Nightfall forced himself to think through the dense fog of agony dampening logic. He suspected the maid’s scream would bring more soldiers or family soon, and Willafrida’s safety would be foremost in her father’s mind. The woman in the hall might have seen which room he entered and cue the pursuing guardsmen. "What will they do with him?"

"Keep him safe until they can get someone to vouch for him. They’ll send a message to Alyndar, probably."

Nightfall knew a sudden clutch of fear accompanied by a single, sharper thrust from the oath-bond that was mercifully short-lived. It would take at least a month for an envoy from Alyndar to travel, during which time Prince Edward would miss the Tylantian contests. Worse, they might have to return to Alyndar, the tenets of the oath-bond unfulfilled, Nightfall’s time limit wasted in waiting and travel.

Voices in the corridor warned Nightfall of approaching danger. He cleared the distance to the window in a single bound. "Please, when I get down, toss the grapple after me." Without awaiting confirmation, Nightfall sprang to the ledge and skittered down the rope ladder. A moment later, the grapple cut a gleaming are through the moonlight and thumped to the ground nearby. Grabbing it, Nightfall slipped beyond a tended hedge of leafy bushes, safe for the moment.

Willafrida’s certainty of Edward’s security appeased the oath-bond enough to allow Nightfall coherent thought, though it remained a generalized, gnawing ache. He had only one solution. He needed to affirm Prince Edward’s identity and intentions by himself, without the courtly breeding that might give him the words and knowledge he needed to succeed. He would have to play the situation by the moment and hope the right attitude would come naturally. The distracting, harassing throb of the oath-bond would only make his task more difficult.

First, Nightfall mow, he needed to look calm and in control, a competent representative of the country of Alyndar. He brushed dust from his clothing, using collected moisture on the branches to wash out streaks. He wrapped the rope in neat figure eights around the grapple, placing the package on the ground. He added all hut one of his knives, tucking that in a well camouflaged boot sheath. He had learned enough from Edwards lectures to know it would not do to visit a duke’s home armed. He emptied his pockets of assorted objects he carried without specific thought to what he might do with them until a problem arose. Long years of poverty and danger had encouraged such behavior. Breaking free a thorny branch, he combed his red-brown hair, arranging it neatly around his collar. He pushed all of his things beneath a bush, memorized the location, and rose. He gave his clothes one last pat, then headed boldly for the front of the duke’s citadel.

Nightfall tried t0 look official and confident, but pain turned his walk into a listing shuffle. Nevertheless, Nightfall kept his head high and his eyes alert as he wound along the cobbled walkway to the stone porch and knocked on the carved, oak door. Lanterns lit windows on every floor from rooms that had been dark when Edward and Nightfall had first arrived.

After several seconds, the door swung ajar to reveal a plump woman in a baggy dress and an apron. "Hello. What can l do for you, sir?" She seemed nervous for a servant attending a door, apparently aware of the excitement in the household but not wholly informed of its source. He understood rumors circulated quickly among house workers, but the events of moments ago surely had not yet dispersed widely.

Nightfall cleared his throat. "I’d like to see the duke."

"Thank you, sir.” She curtsied. "But Duke Varsah isn’t seeing anyone this late. Could you return in the morning?"

The oath-bond’s threat intensified, giving the answer Nightfall already knew. "This can’t wait. I need to see him now."

“I’m sorry, sir. But…" The woman trailed off, glancing to her left where, apparently, someone approached.

Nightfall heard the click of mail and smiled. The guards, he guessed, would be inordinately interested in what he had to say.

"Is there a problem?" The man’s voice preceded him into view, then he appeared. Nightfall recognized him at once as the first floor sentry of the tower, the one who had tended his fallen companion. The drawn face held a half day’s growth of stubble, and mousy hair poked from beneath a leather and metal cap. Large blue eyes studied Nightfall from a pall of obvious astonishment. He said nothing more. The woman stepped aside to let him handle the situation, a feat he was managing poorly.

Nightfall met the guard’s surprise with impatience. "I need to see Duke Varsah now."

Gradually, the guard broke free of his trance. He addressed the woman first. “Escort this man to the meeting room, please. I’ll speak with the duke.”

The woman opened her mouth as if to protest, presumably on the basis of policy. Then, apparently realizing the guard had placed the burden of punishment on himself, turned to Nightfall instead. "Come with me, please, sir."

Nightfall followed the woman through a wide entry hall into a room with three doorless exits, each on a different wall. A massive, block fireplace held unlit logs. Above it, the mantle held an assortment of knickknacks, most figurines of warriors in various types of combat in the center, a small battle raged, complete with archers and spearmen. A portrait hung over it all, of a stately man in mail and a rich cloak in a frame constructed from metal and notched daggers. A plush chair faced two matching couches, and a rectangular table stood in the center of the arrangement. The latter held a chessboard, each jade or alabaster icon set in its starting position. The woman gestured toward one of the couches, and Nightfall sat, mentally valuing each item in the room to keep his mind from the inescapable throb of Gilleran’s magic.

Within moments, a few faces peered at him from every doorway, then disappeared. Nightfall sat back and smiled, enjoying the show. He noticed a few guards among them whispering to confirm their guest as the same man who had led them on a strange and reckless chase through the dungeon, though surely his motivations, for the hunt as well as the returning, evaded them. Shortly, the servants went reluctantly back about their business, leaving only the sentries. Then, he overheard hissed snatches that told him the guards worried more for hiding their incompetence than for informing their duke. No harm had come of Nightfall’s run through the dungeon, so they would not report it. The rapidity and ease with which so many came to agreement made him certain they had grown accustomed to covering up their mistakes and duty failures. Nightfall guessed he would soon understand why avoiding Varsah’s disapproval took precedence over truth.

The guard who had met Nightfall at the door came, escorting a stout, elderly gentleman with a jowly face and frizzled hair slicked back with perfumed oil. "Duke Varsah," the guard presented.

Nightfall called on every detail of Edward’s descriptions and lectures, wishing he had paid closer attention. Even street orphans knew to stand and bow in the presence of nobility. He did so.

Duke Varsah gestured Nightfall to sit, then claimed the chair. The guard took up a position at his left hand. "What can I do for you.. .?" He left a long enough pause at the end to indicate a polite request for an introduction.

This time, Nightfall caught the appeal. "My name is Sudian, squire to Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar."

“Ah," the duke said. The guard nodded. From the entryways, Nightfall saw other heads bob and heard quiet whispers.

“I believe my master is here, sir."

“He is,” the duke admitted.

Nightfall met the duke’s eyes solidly. "You need to free, him, Duke Varsah.”

"Why?"

The question caught Nightfall off-guard. He recalled Willafrida’s comment about vouching for Edward and I hoped it would prove as easy at it seemed. "Sir, in every way, he’s as good and moral a man as this world has."

The duke’s brows fanned down toward his eyes. "If that’s so, then there’s little hope left for our world. A man who would sneak into a woman’s bedroom, without the permission or even the knowledge of her father-" He broke off with a sharp, wordless sound, clearly feeling he had no need to finish the sentence.

Nightfall wished that he had. It would have clarified so much. In his world, where families felt lucky to have a single sleeping chamber, it seemed nonsensical to worry about a harmless liaison between nobles, no matter in which room it occurred. Those thoughts notwithstanding, he took it as given that such was improper behavior and worked from there. "Willafrida called for him, sir. Would a good man refuse a lady’s invitation?"

The brows snaked lower. "My daughter did no such thing."

"With all respect due." Nightfall had come to enjoy the phrase. In his mind, the amount became a spectrum on which most men deserved a pittance. "I was there, sir."

The duke’s face pinched further, becoming ugly. “My daughter would never call a man to her room. That’s an insult l won’t tolerate, especially from a servant. Why did you come? To besmirch the name of my daughter? To try to make her unmarriable?"

The duke’s responses bewildered Nightfall, and he tried to return the incident to its proper perspective. "Sir Duke, I came to clear the name of the most moral and honest man I’ve seen or heard about. Nothing more.”

Duke Varsah made a noise that implied he believed otherwise.

The solution seemed simple to Nightfall. "What does Willafrida say about the matter, sir?"

"What?" The duke’s features returned to normal, more, Nightfall guessed from the discomfort of their previous position than from any change in attitude.

Nightfall pressed. "Sir, Willafrida was there as well. Surely she told you what did and didn’t happen.”

The duke clenched his hands, glaring. "This isn’t a matter to involve my daughter. I will not even insult her purity by asking. There’s no need."

Nightfall stared, his own rage growing, not daring to believe what he had heard. "Perhaps, sir, if you spoke with your daughter more often, she wouldn’t feel the need to call men into her room."

Duke Varsah’s jaw drooped, and he sputtered, no coherent words emerging for a moment. Apparently no one had ever spoken to him in this manner, and he had never had to deal with punishing such rudeness. “Servant, l could have you executed."

Nightfall met the angry glare with level coolness. "And incur the wrath of Alyndar. Do you really want to war with a kingdom?"

The guard remained nervously in position, awaiting a direct command. The others in the doorways ceased their whispered discussions and became more visible.

Varsah pursed his lips, weighing Nightfall’s bluff. “Over a servant? I think not."

Nightfall remained notably calm, his composure a disquieting contrast to Varsah’s fury and threats. He had seen Alyndar’s dungeon as well as the duke’s and little doubted it would prove easy to escape in comparison. He sincerely doubted the duke would carry forth on his warning of execution in his, own living room. Even if he did, Nightfall was ready and willing to discover whether his dagger and skill would get him out the door. "Sir, I’m not a normal servant. I’m Prince Edward’s personal squire. I hold his life in my hands on a daily basis. Do you think I was chosen on a whim, without careful forethought?"

"Perhaps not," the duke admitted grudgingly. “But I can tell you’re ill-mannered and lowly bred."

Many sarcastic ways to answer the taunt entered Nightfall’s mind, but he dismissed them. This was a time for diplomacy not antagonizing. In truth, Nightfall doubted Varsah could find a man less cultured or of baser stock. "Duke Varsah, my only wish is to free my master. What do I need to do?"

The duke sat back, folding his arms across his chest. His manner suggested a willingness to discuss the matter but a heldover hostility that could surface at any time. "First, we need to determine if Edward dishonored my daughter. If not, my next step depends upon his attitude. He claimed he had no intention of marrying her. I’ll have to see some explanation and remorse for breaking into a woman’s room at night. If I don’t, his father and I will discuss his punishment. If I do find that my daughter’s been violated, his father and I will have a different discussion. One that involves restitution, discipline, and, possibly, a wedding.”

Nightfall considered a moment. The last had promise. Voluntary or not, Edward’s marriage to Willafrida meant landing, he believed. Yet, Nightfall refused to place his trust in that last possibility. Edward choosing to marry a duchess-heir fell into a vastly different category than being forced into an intolerable union. Surely King Rikard would not let Nightfall out of the oath-bond based on a strategy that had gotten Edward in trouble, shamed the younger prince and his breeding, and gotten him married as a punishment. That thought sparked another. Perhaps King Rikard would sanction any action that got Edward land and out of Rikard’s charge. At one time, that would have sufficed for Nightfall. Now, it bothered him. He could always take another chance at uniting Willafrida and Edward; the danger of their romance might heighten its excitement. But Edward deserved a chance at something better than a wedding at weapon point and a jackass for a father-in-law. Despite Nightfall’s thoughts, he responded directly to the duke’s words. “Sir, that seems fair enough. I’ll wait here while Willafrida is asked whether my master forced anything on her." Nightfall hoped the young woman would speak honestly and not lie to snag a prince of such beauty.

"The duke dismissed the suggestion. “The court physician will examine her in the morning."

The duke’s words seemed wholly unrelated to the topic. "Examine her, sir? There’s a way to tell such a thing?"

Duke Varsah stared, equally incredulous. "Of course. Physicians can tell if a woman’s virginity is intact. Purity is required as a condition of most noble weddings."

Nightfall wondered if the rule extended to the men as well as the women. If so, it explained much about Edward and, especially, his reaction to Kelryn.

Varsah’s manner hardened again, though less extreme than previously. "Poor Willafrida. I had hoped never to have to subject her to such a thing until her wedding day. That alone makes Edward deserving of punishment, whether innocent or guilty. Even if they merely talked as he claimed, his crime began when he invaded a lady’s room."

The impact of Varsah’s words struck hard. If the physician would perform his check for the first time, it meant Edward would take blame for any indiscretion of Willafrida at any time. Recalling the outfit and pose she had struck when she believed Nightfall the suitor who sent the mysterious flowers, he doubted she would pass the physician’s test. Edward would take blame and punishment for another man’s entertainment. "If you ask her about what happened, she won’t have to suffer the physician’s test."

The duke stiffened, sitting forward in the chair again. "My daughter is innocent. There’s no need to question."

Nightfall turned the remark back on itself. "Surely then, sir, she would not lie."

Duke Varsah’s voice gained volume. "She’s a sweet girl. She might protect him out of kindness. Or embarrassment. The examination will tell the whole story. If Edward violated her, she becomes unweddable to any noble on the continent. Alyndar will need to marry her to one of theirs, and it won’t be to the rapscallion who violated her."

Now Nightfall recognized the whole story, and it confirmed his lack of faith in human nature. The duke of Schiz had found a way to turn an incident into a godsend and a promiscuous daughter into a proper princess. It was not his daughter’s welfare, nor Edward’s impropriety, that bothered Duke Varsah. He had seen gold, land, and title; and he leapt for those with vigor. Marriage to a prince was not enough; he had set his sights on Prince Leyne Nargol of Alyndar. Annoyance churned through Nightfall. He had not noticed the oath-bond in some time; apparently the duke’s assurance of Edward’s safety had appeased it temporarily. Now, it rose with Nightfall’s anger, inadvertently fueling it. "No. Oh, no." He sprang to his feet. "You’re not using my master to win your daughter a kingdom."

"You’re talking nonsense!" Varsah shouted. The guard edged between duke and squire. The other sentries blocked the exits, hands clenched around hilts or polearms.

"My master will not take the blame for every thorn that pricked your daughter.”

Varsah leapt to his feet, features purple, as if he planned to pummel his guest to death with his own hands. If the guard had not stood between them. Nightfall guessed things might have degenerated into a brawl; but the duke stopped short, still too far to hit. "Take him away! Just get him out of my sight!"

Nightfall’s thoughts raced, assessing the layout and situation in an instant. He believed he could fight his way through, but not without casualties, possibly on both sides. If he failed, he either died or went on trial for murder in addition to insubordination. The former, he felt certain, would hold a more massive penalty. If he went willingly, they would almost certainly imprison him until Varsah calmed down enough to decide punishment or a representative from Alyndar discussed terms for the release of prince and squire. Although he never doubted Rikard would happily sacrifice him, Nightfall knew he could escape more easily and with less violence from the duke’s dungeon than his guard-surrounded meeting chamber. From the inside, he had a better chance of finding Edward, and Willafrida’s conscience might drive her down to check on him. She could find out where the duke had imprisoned the prince.

Nightfall assumed a passive, submissive position, head low, arms away from his body and out-turned. He would not give them reason to use force on him, no matter the pleasure that might bring Duke Varsah. He would rather place them in the position of protecting him from the enraged noble than the other way. The irony soothed him.

The guard in the room gestured Nightfall away from the furniture. When he obliged, sentries took a brisk formation around him. One stood in front of him, his back an eager target for a blade Nightfall would not draw. Another took a position behind their prisoner, and the remainder fell in at either side. As a unit, they marched out a different door than the one Nightfall had entered through and headed down a short corridor to a tower.

Although Nightfall’s cooperation should have made the guardsmen lax, they seemed more edgy than comforted. He credited their attitude to the wild chase he had taken them on through the dungeon and opposite tower. He hoped the guard who had fallen down the steps had not been seriously injured, not from any sympathy for a stranger’s welfare but from the concern that the guards might avenge their fellow with brutality or Duke Varsah, if ever informed of the incident, might try to claim he had intentionally harmed the man. No official in Alyndar would doubt the duke’s accusations against Nightfall. Edward was another matter. He hoped it would take more than the physician’s examination to convince Rikard that his raving idealist of a son would rape any woman. If swayed, however, he would place the blame directly on Nightfall. Though he knew little about court law, Nightfall doubted Duke Varsah could really maneuver a wedding between his daughter and the elder prince. But the duke apparently believed so; and, for now, that was all that mattered.

To Nightfall’s surprise, the contingent led him up, rather than down, the tower steps. His imagination brought images of his body tossed from the parapets or of a hidden torture chamber in the highest corner of the citadel. He pushed these ideas away. Whatever happened, he would find a way to handle it. He always had. Now, he felt sorry he had ever considered bringing Edward and Willafrida together. He would not wish a father-in-law like Varsah on anyone. Well, maybe Finndmer But he wouldn’t deserve Willafrida or a dukedom. Hell, he didn’t deserve the swamp land he sold me.

Nightfall counted five landings when the upper cone of the tower steepled over his head, the rafters littered with frayed twigs and speckled with bird feces. One of the guards opened the door, and the other eight ushered their prisoner through it. It opened onto a room with a table surrounded by several chairs, and three doors broke the contour of the wall on the opposite side.

"Together or separate," one man asked a broad-shouldered brunet who was obviously the leader.

The large one considered for several moments. "Together, I guess. Better politics."

A short, stocky guard with a crooked nose raised doubts. “Are you sure the duke wanted him brought here? The dungeon…?"

The leader shook his head. "Better politics. We can always move him later. It’s easier to increase than lighten sentence, once done."

One of the sentries who had not spoken loosed a ring of keys from his belt and placed one into the lock of the central door. Nightfall studied it from habit, getting a feel for the general contour. He doubted he could relieve one of the guards of his colossal set of keys without the missing weight becoming obvious, but he did not believe the lock would prove all that difficult to pick anyway.

The leader patted Nightfall’s clothes from neck to ankle, then checked each obvious pocket. By the time he finished, the guard had opened the door and the others had taken defensive but nonthreatening stances. The room contained simply crafted furniture, including a bed, nightstand, and a table that held bins for washing. Prince Edward stood, staring out a semicircular window at the town. He turned.

"In,” the leader said to Nightfall.

Nightfall could not imagine any room looking less like a jail cell. This chamber seemed more comfortable than most of the inn rooms they had shared over the past few months. He entered docilely, and the door swung shut behind him. The oath-bond died to a level just above baseline.

"Sudian." Edward smiled, then his face furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Great to see you again, too, Master," Nightfall good-naturedly belittled Edward’s greeting.

"Well, of course I’m glad to see you." Edward moved to the center of the room. "I just don’t like the circumstances. I’m a prisoner, you know."

Nightfall could think of no direct reply that wouldn’t sound either patronizing or inane. "They haven’t harmed you, have they, Master?"

"Certainly not. They’ve taken fine care of me."

Nightfall politely stepped around Edward to look out the window. The ground lay five floors below them. He poked his head through the hole, gauging the distance. He could fit through easily; Edward would have to wriggle and shove. The regular blockwork of the tower would make scaling it a routine effort for him, but he doubted Edward could manage it at all without equipment. He turned. "Let’s go."

"Excuse me, Sudian?"

"I’ll climb out through the window. Then I can get the grapple up here, and you can come down." Although he had deliberately purchased a lightweight grapple, he did not feel certain he could toss it five stories. He did believe he could climb partway and accomplish the throw from there, if necessary. At the worst, he could clamber back to the top and place the grapple in position.

"You mean run? Escape?"

Nightfall blinked, his intention surely obvious. "Well, yes, Master. Of course."

Edward sat on the edge of the bed. "I can’t do that!"

"You can’t?"

“No."

"Why not?"

Edward entwined his fingers in his lap, his attention fixed on his hands. "I did something wrong. I’m imprisoned here until my father and the duke decide punishment."

Nightfall froze, shocked. This complication he had never considered. “But you didn’t do anything to Willafrida."

“I sneaked into her bedroom. That was wrong."

"But…” Nightfall started and stopped. This line of discussion would get him nowhere. They needed to slip away before sunrise or else they would not have another chance until the following night. By that time, Duke Varsah could decide he wanted Nightfall executed or tortured and a note would be on its way to Alyndar. "But, Master. We can’t stay in one place." A good reason presented itself in an instant. "The Iceman will find us.” He paced, wringing his hands, trying to look as frightened and agitated as possible.

Edward looked up. "He can’t find us here."

"He will, Master. I’m sure of it. By morning, every gossip in town will have some story of what happened here. Ritworth will hear." He added in sudden afterthought. “And he can fly." He made a broad arc with his arm to indicate a swoop through the window. "And what about Kelryn? You promised to protect her, too."

"Sudian, it’s all right. We’ll just explain to Duke Varsah, and he’ll protect us all."

"No!" Nightfall spoke before he thought his reply through, but the obvious horror worked as well as any gauged response. "You promised, Master. You promised no one would know about my… my…" He whispered, honestly concerned someone might overhear. "… my curse."

"You mean, birth-gift," Edward corrected.

"The curse is Ritworth. And others like him. There’s no gift in that. Master, please. Please don’t make me beg."

Edward studied his squire with sympathetic eyes. "All right," he said at last. "We go, but it’s against my better instincts. There’ll be long-term ramifications…"

Nightfall was out the window before Prince Edward finished the sentence.