The Still

Chapter 24

Rustin helped me choose the best of my clothing for the morn. It wouldn’t do to be seen wearing the same garments as to dinner, but all I had was a scorched jerkin, soiled breeks, and his hand-me-downs. Somehow we put together a wardrobe that didn’t leave me looking destitute.

He adjusted the ties on my jerkin, nodded with approval. “I’ll buy you some finery, when I see Chela this morning.”

“If you must.” I’d forgotten her.

“Jealous, my prince? Are we to become Lord Raeth and Imbar, then?”

I cried, “How could you say such a thing!”

Taken aback, he shrugged helplessly. “A poor jest. I forget that you … sorry.” He straightened. “I’ll be back ere long.”

Unwilling to go down to the donjon by myself, I found Elryc, sitting with Hester. They’d brought the old woman hot bread, and boiled eggs with her tea, and she was content to eat in her room. My brother and I strode down the marble staircase.

Elryc made sure no one overheard. “Aren’t you afraid to go about, without Fostrow?” His voice was low.

“Think you I need a keeper?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I meant. What if Uncle Cumber plays us false, seizes us for Mar?”

“I don’t think he would.”

“Yesterday you said he had no honor.”

“He has something in its place, then.” I waved it aside. “You worry too much.”

“And you not enough.” At the foot of the stairs Elryc gave solemn greeting to the first functionary he saw, asked where we could find to eat.

The man clapped his hands. Two servants appeared. He sent one to the kitchen, the other to the Earl. From the kitchen, footmen hurried to carry a table and chairs to the sunny side of the hall, and to set goblets and plates.

While we sat abashed, passing comments in hushed tones, a cook in preposterous dress emerged with bearers. Their trays disgorged fruits, rolls, eggs, puddings, steaming oat mash, exquisite pastries, and juices squeezed from oranges, apples, and exotic fruits. Into our mugs they placed small chunks of ice, as if it were winter, and the juice poured over.

I filled my plate and partook of the feast, but had barely swallowed a few mouthfuls when Lord Cumber descended the stairs, in a colorful houserobe embroidered with gold thread.

“I rise late.” It might have been an accusation. He took the place across, and we resumed our seats.

“Forgive me, Uncle Raeth. At home I was accustomed to a simple meal, in the servants’ kitchen.”

“Eat plain food, if you wish, but never a plain meal.” He waved vaguely at the fine-blown glass, the candles, the linen. “All this is what separates us.”

“From whom, sir?” Elryc.

“The rabble. Imbar will be along in a while. No need to wait.”

The day I’d wait my meal on a servant’s pleasure was the day I’d … I sighed. It was Uncle Raeth’s castle, to manage as he pleased.

“Is he a good brother?” The Earl, sharply, to Elryc.

“I-he-of course, sir.”

“No, youngsire, the truth. It’s a whimsy of mine; at table we speak of each other with candor.”

“Only at table?”

“Isn’t that enough? We spend the rest of the day repairing the damage. Is he a good brother?”

I leaned my head on my fist, curious as to how Elryc would placate both the Earl and myself.

“Lately he’s learned better, sir. Before, he was-sorry, Roddy. He can be a bit arrogant.”

“Is that all?”

“And a bully. He makes me cry, for the power of it. But he’s changed, since Mother died.”

“Is he clever?”

“Roddy, should I-” He eyed the valet, who was striding toward us.

“Ask me, youngsire; it’s my table. Sit, Imbar, and we’ll hear the truth about our young heir.”

Elryc fell to toying with his food, but Uncle Raeth waited in merciless silence.

“He’s, well … clever enough to lead me across the castle grounds dressed as a stableboy, so no one noticed. He even had us sniggering and mocking him, as churlish boys would. But he thinks himself more clever still. I mean-he’s always had-I don’t know what I mean.” Elryc’s face grew red.

“Ah, Imbar, I fear we’ve disconcerted him. Is he an astute observer, young Rodrigo?”

All at once I tired of the game, and could think of but one way to end it. “Yes.”

“You’re not so clever, then?”

I played with my fork. “I’ve learned that I’m not. I-made mistakes.”

“And you’re a bully also?”

I raised my eyes. “At times.”

“By the imps’ laughter, Imbar. He raises candor to new heights.”

“And yourself, sir? Do you often bully your guests with these diversions?”

I’d gone too far, and knew it instantly. But the Earl, though his eyes flashed, was game. “Yes, youngsire. I do, for our amusement.” He examined a dainty iced pastry, popped it into his mouth. “Imbar and I need sources of amusement, now that life shortens.”

My tone was cool. “Would it amuse you to see me King?”

“That I don’t know as yet. Come, finish your fruit, and I’ll show you my garden.”

When I rose, he took my arm, walked with me through a wondrous pair of doors whose panels were made of glass, like a window. They opened onto a huge veranda filled with a thousand flowerboxes bursting with color. “Here you see my zinnia.” One by one, he introduced me to the nearby plants as if they were old companions.

I bore it as best I could, striving to conceal my impatience. Unaware, he chattered on. “I plant all my own bulbs, of course, and tend the seedlings. Imbar thinks I’m mad for not having the servants do it, though he helps design the pattern of colors. Last month was the peak; a pity you couldn’t have been here.”

“I was, once.”

“With Josip, yes. I remember.” For a moment his arm tightened on mine. “You were a tyke, and he carried you on his shoulder.”

“I’d never seen such bright colors.”

“Did it make a gardener of you? No? A shame.” He shook his head. “When I die my Bouris will tear up the tract, I suppose. Make a kennel for his imp-cursed hounds.”

I dived through memories of past lessons. Mother had deemed it important that I know the families of the realm, in all their generations, and the heralds had dutifully taught me. “Bouris is your first son.”

“And my last. He has an elder sister who’s too much like her mother; between them they drove me to other pursuits.”

I examined a rose trellis to save a reply.

“She whelped well, though. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I was hopelessly lost. “Sir?”

“Tresa. Know you not whom you snarled at, all evening?”

I puzzled it out. “Tresa is your daughter’s daughter … your granddaughter?”

“Who else? Are you set on undoing the impression you made last afternoon?”

“Uncle Raeth, please!” It caused him to stare intently. I blurted, “I’m not witty; I can’t help it. I beg you, don’t play on my clumsiness!”

“Don’t ask me to pity weakness.” After a moment he again took my arm. “Notice the bed of marigolds.”

When at last he was done with me, I fled to my room with as much dignity as I could muster.

It was there Rustin found me, an hour later. “What, bathing on your own?”

I stirred, sending ripples across the tub. “Uncle Raeth made me sweat through my clothes.”

“That never concerned you before.” He untied a bundle, laid the contents on my bed with a flourish. “The latest Norlander styles.”

I climbed out of my bath, snatched a cloth, dripped water across the floor. “Let me see.”

“The best I could find. After yesterday, you deserve it.”

“Don’t mock me. I’ve had enough from-”

“I meant it.” He helped me dry my back. “You set our cause forward by months.”

“But today I set it back a year.” I told him about breakfast, and Tresa.

“Sounds like the old ogre’s testing you.”

“Or softening me for the kill.” I sighed, selected a jerkin. “Shall I wear this?”

“Only if you wish to appear handsome. And don’t pout; the old man can hardly set much store by his granddaughter’s opinion.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is not his own.” Rust selected gray breeks that set off the silver in my jerkin. “Still, it wouldn’t do you harm to make amends. Seek her out.”

“Must I?”

“It would be politic.” He untied his own jerkin. “Where do you ring for a servant? I’ll have a bath also.” He grimaced. “Chela’s in pain.”

“She lives?” I was startled. She’d coughed much blood.

“A physicker bound her chest tight, with strips of cloth. He says she must cough, like Elryc, but not otherwise move. No bending or twisting.”

“And she’ll survive?”

“There’s hope. She’s angry I won’t stay with her.”

“Why don’t you?”

He said carelessly, “Because I love you more.” I’d have made less note of it had his neck not gone red. Seeing my stare he growled, “Find Tresa and make your apologies, in case she has her grandsire’s ear.”

A servant came in response to his ring, and I left.

I had no idea where Tresa’s apartments were, or what the Earl’s reaction would be if I sought them unchaperoned. I’d best ask his permission. Downstairs, I stopped a houseman. “Where may I find Lord Cumber?”

I followed the corridor he indicated, and came to a grandiose double door of worked bronze.

“Mind they pick the fresh ones! I want no wilting petals!” The door discharged a liveried servant, and slammed shut.

“Aye, sir.” The houseman gave me the short bow of courtesy, in passing.

Tentatively, I approached. “Uncle?” I raised a hand to knock.

“-something of a young fool, but he did have that manner about him. What say you, Imbar?”

My hand froze, an inch from the bronze.

“I say you gain nothing. Why provoke Duke Mar?”

Uncle Raeth coughed. “Why not? He’s a great boor, as well you know.”

“But the boy’s a lesser one, and will come to nothing. Mar might yet defeat Eiber. What then-”

“Then we’ll send our congratulations, and a pretty present. We’re too strong to besiege, unless he raised all of Caledon to war.”

Imbar sighed. “Do as you wish. When have you not?”

“If I knew what I wished, we wouldn’t be speaking of it.” The old man’s voice was testy.

“Why’d you let him in the gate? Did you see a shade of Josip in him?”

A pause. “As years pass you grow more spiteful, Imbar. Am I the same? Josip is long dead.”

“And no longer a bone of contention, but the question remains.”

“No, he’s not another Josip, though he’s pretty enough. Can I not respect him in a fashion, for-”

“You? Respect?”

“As I say, spiteful.”

“You’re my model, Rae.”

A pause. I glanced to either side, ready to flee or knock if steps approached.

A creak, as if of a protesting chair. “Well, no matter. You’re right about Mar. No need to alienate the regent; Lord Rodrigo hasn’t the chance of a demon in a Ritehouse to push him aside.”

I closed my eyes in despair.

“Still … he has that something. Definitely his father’s son.”

“Will you hold him for Mar, or send him away?”

A cackle. “You’d have him in my cells, for your pleasure?”

“Him? A whipping perhaps, to teach him manners, but no more. It’s the other with whom I’d have words.”

“Rustin? An odd one; from the look of him you’d never know his father gave up the keep without a murmur.”

“I’d wipe that haughtiness from his face in a nonce.” Imbar’s voice held spite, or something more. “But the Prince, you won’t risk Cumber for him?”

“You worry as if it were to be yours, not Bouris’s. You know I’ve made provision for you.”

“Rae, I wasn’t for a moment-”

The old man’s voice softened. “I know. Come, help me with these damned leggings. The Prince? Cumber comes first. Yet … a pity to disappoint him. We’ll see. I doubt I’ll hold him for Mar.”

I crept away, disconsolate, to seek Rust’s counsel.

At the stairs, the same servant who’d directed me to Raeth’s quarters stopped me. “My lord, if it pleases you-” He glanced about. “The Lady Tresa would have a word.”

I followed him, to an oaken door, knocked.

A token curtsy, and Tresa turned aside.

“I’m here. What did you want?” Inwardly I flinched; I hadn’t meant to sound so gruff.

“To apologize, my lord. For last night’s confusion.” She blushed. “I thought you remembered me from the burial.”

“I was but nine.”

“And I barely eleven.” Tresa smiled, and for a moment her face was one I could like.

“I don’t recall any of the guests. It wasn’t only you.”

“That’s nice.” She frowned. “Why is that, do you think?”

“It’s a private matter.”

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged, as if helpless.

I’d made it worse. Exasperated, I blurted, “Because my father was gone, and Mother was weeping, and she held my hand tight, and I needed to piss. Too many people crowded round, cooing their sympathy. I just shut them out, and pretended Father rode me on his back.”

“Did you like to do that?”

“Shut people out?”

“Have your father ride you-”

“Of course. Is there anything else?”

“No, my lord, not if you’re impatient to-”

“Who said that?”

“I assumed, from your manner-”

“Don’t judge my manner, madam, until you know me well.” I retreated to the door. “I accept your apology. Good day.”

I took the stairs three at a time. Only when I was safely out of sight did I slow my pace.

It was midafternoon before Rustin returned to our room.

I demanded, “Where were you?”

“Out.” His tone had an edge.

“With Chela?”

“For a time.”

I decided to let Rust wallow in his ire, but before long a servant summoned us down to the donjon.

Earl Cumber’s face was grave. “I think you’d better hear his words directly.”

Standing before my uncle was a crier, in Mother’s colors. He started when he saw us. “You have him here?”

“No. He has himself. Tell us again,”

At this call to his profession, the crier drew himself up, closed his eyes as if in a trance, reopened them when his words flowed.

“Margenthar, Duke of Stryx, to the Earl and good people of Cumber, greetings. Know ye that the fugitive Rodrigo Prince of Caledon has taken Prince Elryc his brother from his lawful guardian, to roam we know not where. And that my words shall be cried in every town square, and posted, that they may receive them, for the brother of the princes, Lord Pytor of Caledon, lies gravely ill at Verein, and-”

“Rust, he’s threatening-”

“Quiet!”

“-if the said princes are not returned to the guidance of the Regent Margenthar, their young brother may pass to his death with no parting words. And if any person shall come upon the fugitive princes, they must seize-”

“Demons take him!”

“Will you-”

“He’s made us Pytor’s ransom!” My fists were knotted so tight my palms ached. “If he harms one hair of Pytor’s head …”

Uncle Raeth silenced the crier. “You have the gist of it. What think you?”

“That I’ll spear him to the wall. Better, I’ll cut out his liver.”

“Roddy!” Rustin’s voice was like ice.

“He threatens Pytor!”

The Earl watched us, unperturbed.

Rustin sighed. “I’m sorry, my lord Cumber. His wrath does have merit.”

Uncle Raeth’s hand fluttered in a wave of consent. “Of course. I find it fascinating.”

I wheeled on him. “Don’t mock me about Pytor’s life!”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own donjon.” He beckoned, and his valet rose from his unnoticed couch, across the room. “Shall we sympathize, Imbar? Mar has them in a vise: their lives for Pytor’s, it would seem.”

“They’ll ignore the Duke, I wager. Regardless of the risk to the brother.”

“What choice have they?” Raeth.

“To go back.”

I said, “I can’t!”

“Mar is a doting uncle; he’ll raise them well, but how can our boy understand, Imbar? He’s so full of loathing and contempt that he’s blind to Mar’s charms.”

Words failed me. With a curse, I fled the hall, bolted up the stairs to our chamber. Inside, I threw myself on the bed, pounded the pillow over and again in rage.

Out of breath, Rust came upon a moment after. “A brilliant leave-taking, my prince.”

I hurled my pillow at him, wishing it were a rock.

He batted it aside. “Are you perchance irked? One would never know.”

“Stop that!” I leaped from the bed, charged him with fists flailing. “Mock me again and I’ll-”

He spun me around, dragged me to the washbasin. I struggled; he kicked my feet out from under me. “Control your temper, my prince.” He emptied the wash pitcher on my head.

I sat stupefied, dripping, my shirt plastered to my chest. “You bast-” I stopped just in time; his open palm reared to chastise me. I wiped water from my eyes, with a soggy sleeve.

“You wish to be King, Roddy? Then set your feelings in check. Let no man know how to wound you. Be circumspect.”

“Did you hear what the crier said?”

“Think you the Earl is awed by the working of your face, the knotted fists, the rage you cannot control? Think you he’d have you for his King?”

“Forget the throne.” I turned away. Only a sniffle escaped me. “I want to go home.”

“To Mar?”

“To Stryx.” I fell on my bed.

“Out of that wet shirt.”

I complied, to save the trouble of arguing. My eyes were damp; I rolled on my stomach, that he might not see.

“I’m sorry, Roddy.” He sat, stroked my back. “Perhaps I spoke too harshly.”

“Will you hit me if I say I hate you?”

“No.”

For some reason, I couldn’t say it. Instead, I gave out a muffled sob.

Rustin sat at my side, stroked my flank.

For a long while my relief contested with rage, but by the time Fostrow knocked at the door, I was calmed.

“Dinner is soon,” said the soldier. “And you’re expected. Hester and Elryc will eat in their rooms. I’m uneasy, lads, if you don’t mind my saying it. Lord Cumber has but to say the word, and you’re a bird in a cage.”

Rust asked, “Where would you have us go, that the danger is less?”

“I don’t know.” Fostrow sighed.

The Earl served us in the great hall as before. I had no chance to speak to Lady Tresa. I did, however, use Raeth’s own greeting as an opening.

“My lord Earl, accept my apology for this afternoon.” I spoke in an offhand manner, as if apologies came naturally. “I was upset for my brother, and spoke out of turn.”

“Ah, Imbar, see how gracefully he makes matters right. Think nothing of it, my boy.”

“But I do. A king must be above such rages.” I walked with him to our seats. “How may I make amends?”

For a moment he pondered, then a roguish glint lit his eye. “Take our Tresa riding tomorrow, and let her show you our fair city. I hear you get along like a pair of twins.”

I flushed, held my thoughts to myself. “Gladly, Uncle Raeth.” The meal was sumptuous. We waded through course upon course, amid tedious small talk. With nothing better to do, I let myself be mesmerized by the flickering taper.

Uncle Raeth pointed to my glass. “You see, Imbar? He drinks as sparingly as his father.”

“One night isn’t proof of-”

“I’ll wager I’m right. Lord Rustin, does your, ah, confidant overdrink?”

“No, my lord.”

It was true. Perhaps I lacked some manly attribute; my cousin Bayard and his cronies had no hesitation at drinking themselves into stupor. More often than not, I was moderate in my wine.

“There you are, Imbar. I recall Josip diluting his glass ’til it were nearly clear. Once, I said …”

His tale went on and on. Resigned, I pretended to listen. The candle in front of my plate seemed to dim. I squinted, wondering if I was drunk after all.

“Josip was much annoyed, and warned me not to …”

Abruptly the flame went out.

I startled, almost dropped my goblet in my lap.

“A lovely boy, though sometimes his sense of humor was …”

Castles were drafty, and candles were always blowing out. But I’d felt no wind. I stole a glance to the window; it was locked.

A servant took light from another candle to relight the one that had guttered, but all at once several more died.

Uncle Raeth stopped in midword.

Not waiting for a servant, I reached for the nearest candle, to hold it to the next.

“Let it be, lad!” Something akin to fear was in Raeth’s tone.

I hesitated. All at once, the candle I held throbbed as though it had a life of its own. With a yelp, I let it fall. It drowned in my sweet chestnut sauce.

As if suffocated by a demon’s breath, the remaining candles blew out. But for the flicker from the hearth, we were in dark.

“Morovi, ignite the torches!” The Earl, his voice sharp.

“Aye, my lord.”

From the hearth, a hiss, as of water. The blaze steamed, sent out sparks.

My neck hairs stood stiff. I stumbled to my feet, hand on my dagger.

The servant Morovi ran to the hearth with an unlit torch. The fire banked and died.

Lord Cumber snapped, “Everyone stay still! Morovi, to another room, and bring back fire. Hurry.”

“Yes, my lord.” A crash. “Sorry, sire. Someone put a chair …” More sounds of blundering and muttered curses.

“My guests, this happens from time to time. No need for alarm. The place has a Power, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Roddy, sing out! I can’t find-”

“I’m in front of my chair, about-arrkh!” I stumbled against something sharp. Recoiling, I lost my balance, fell to my knees. My face struck a lap; hands shoved me away harshly. I toppled to my side.

Someone stepped on my hand. I gasped, yanked loose numb fingers. My head whacked the table. Half-dazed, I found a leg, slid myself under, curled tight.

Running footsteps.

“Rodrigo!” Rustin’s tone held panic.

The door burst open. A torch flickered. “My lord?” Behind Morovi, other servants, and Fostrow, his sword drawn.

Earl Cumber said, “See if our candles stay lit! Be quick!”

I sucked at my aching fingers.

“Careful, man, you’ll set the cloth ablaze!”

“Sorry, sire, I … there.” A pause. “Now the next.”

Dim shadows.

“They seem to be holding.”

A muttered curse. A chair flung aside. “Roddy!”

“I’m all right.” I uncurled, tried to crawl out from my haven. “I was afraid I’d be trampled. Help me up.” Shakily, I got to my feet.

Rustin gaped.

“Someone stepped on my hand.” I flexed my fingers. “I can’t feel-”

“Fostrow, help me!” Rustin.

Lord Cumber stared at me with a fixed expression. “Give him a chair.”

“Why do you make a fuss? I’m not-”

“Look at your jerkin.”

“Did I dirty it? I’m-” My words dried.

The shirt was red with blood. “I must have cut-” I slipped into the chair.

The Earl clapped his hands. “Lords and ladies, clear the hall. Be quick, and don’t think I jest. You too, Tresa.”

“Please, Grandfather, let me stay a bit.”

“No. He’s-well, all right, but you’ll have blood on your hands. Morovi, cloths and water.”

With clumsy fingers I untied my jerkin, tried to peel it from my chest. I cried out.

“Easy, my prince.”

“Is it deep?” The Earl.

“It’s oozing. I can’t tell.” Rust poured water into a cloth, dabbed ineffectually at my chest.

Bare from the waist, I shivered at his cold touch. Incongruous with my fear of death was acute embarrassment, at being tended in view of Tresa. As if to make matters worse she took the cloth from Rust’s hand, knelt beside me. “Are you faint, Rodrigo?”

“No. Yes.” I wasn’t sure. “May I drink?”

“Water.” She wore a delicate scent of attar.

“Well? Is he dying?” The Earl, with a touch of asperity.

“Would that displease you?” Imbar.

I didn’t want her so close.

“Yes; he hasn’t yet tasted the raspberry torte. Well, Tresa?”

“It scraped across the ribs. A gash, no more.”

“Hold still!” Tresa. “Grandfather, a stitch or two would help.”

“No!” My cry echoed.

“If the tear reopens …”

“I don’t care! Don’t put a needle through me.” My voice broke. “Please!”

“Calm yourself.” Tresa, her voice soothing. “We’ll bind you tight. You’ll live.”

I sought Rustin’s hand. “I’m sorry; I saw a man sewn once, and …” I didn’t finish, but squeezed for reassurance.

For an instant Tresa cradled my head in her bosom. Then, briskly, she tore cloths into long strips. “Whiskey, please, Grandfather.”

“Will brandy do?” He handed across a bottle.

“Grit your teeth, this will sting.” She splashed a glassful on my wound.

My eyes bulged. I squeezed Rustin’s hand so tight my muscles ached.

Tresa set about wrapping my chest.

At last the fiery sting began to ease, and I could think of other things. “Why did the candles gutter?” Surreptitiously, I wiped my eyes.

Imbar’s voice was as silk. “Yes, Rae. We’d all like to know.”

The Earl shifted his weight “The Power of Cumber. Not all of us are blessed with faculties like your Still.”

I waited, but no more was forthcoming. “When the Power comes, you blow out candles?”

Raeth seemed discomfited. “When certain moods come upon me, candles gutter. I can’t predict it, and have little control.”

“What moods, Rae?” Imbar, again.

“It’s nothing we need discuss.” The Earl’s tone was waspish. “I’m sorry, truly I am. But who did it?”

I stared at my binding. “Surely, it was an accident. Someone’s utensil, held careless in the dark.”

Rust and Fostrow exchanged glances. The soldier asked, “Who was closest, when the light was lost?”

“Someone pushed me aside,” said Tresa.

I forced myself to think. “I was sitting next to the one with the buck teeth. Beyond him … I don’t remember.”

“But we do, Imbar. Crinan, was it not?” The Earl raised an eyebrow.

“And Crinan is late of Margenthar’s court,” said Imbar. “But any of us might wish to earn favor with Duke Margenthar.”

“Or Tantroth.” Uncle Raeth sounded gloomy. “Too many choices. Without question by torture, there’s no way to tell.”

Rust stood over me, dagger still drawn. “Apply it, then!”

“How admirable, that you’d protect our prince. But I’d lose too many dinner partners.” Raeth’s tone was dry.

I put my head in my hands. “I hurt, and I’m tired. Let’s think on this of the morrow, before I leave.” I waved away Tresa’s supporting arm. “I’m well enough to walk.” My tone was brusque. “Thank you for your attentions.”

It was a dismissal. She colored. “As you wish, my lord.”

“Is there a couch I can sleep on?” Fostrow looked about.

I reddened, not wanting him to see me bed with Rustin. “The door bolts.”

“The door can be forced. Someone wants you dead.”

“There’s no need. Tell him, Rust.”

Rustin looked at the soldier, made a helpless gesture. “Our rooms connect. I’ll be near him tonight.”

When Fostrow left, mercifully silent, Rustin unsheathed his sword.

I shuddered. “Lie close.” I waited anxiously until he slid himself into bed. “Rust, why was I such a coward over the sewing?”

“You were afraid of the hurt.”

“I lowered myself in Earl Cumber’s eyes, when I needed his esteem.” I was silent awhile. “I won’t do it again.”

“I know.”

“No, hear me. I made a vow that I’d be coward no more. I meant it, as to large things. Death, and swords, and arrows.”

“A noble aim.”

“But isn’t it as necessary to conquer small fears as large? If I can face a sword, I can face a tailor’s needle.”

He chuckled. “Shall I call Tresa to resume her work?”

“Don’t mock me. I can’t let fear turn me aside again.”

“You ask much of yourself.”

“I must, if I would be King. And, Rust … I would.”

We lay silent a long while. At length, his hand crept to my loincloth. Stirring, I thought briefly of Tresa, of Chela. Their time would come. For now, I must have my Power.