When the prayers and songs were done, Tharin took Tobin aside and knelt beside him, pulling him close again. “I was with your father as he died,” Tharin said softly, and he had that odd look in his eyes again. “We spoke of you. He loved you more than anything in the world and was so sad to be leaving you—” He wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat. “He charged me to be your protector, and so I shall for the rest of my life. You can always depend on me.”
He drew his sword and placed it point down before him. Taking Tobin’s hand, he placed it on the worn hilt and covered it with his own. “I pledge by the Four and my honor to stand by you and serve you the rest of my days. I gave the same oath to your father. Do you understand, Tobin?”
Tobin nodded. “Thank you.”
Tharin sheathed his sword and embraced him for a long moment. Pulling back, he stood and shook his head. “By the Four, I wish it was my ashes in that jar and not his. I’d give anything for it to be so.”
Daylight was failing by the time it was all finished. Mealtime came and went, but no one lit a fire or cooked, and everyone spent the night in the hall. A vigil, Tharin called it. As night fell, he lit a single lamp in the shrine but the rest of the house was left dark.
Some of the servants lay down to sleep, but the warriors knelt in a half circle around the shrine, their swords unsheathed before them. Nari made a pallet for Tobin by the hearth, but he couldn’t lie down. He joined the men for a while, but their silence made him feel shut out and alone. At last he crept away to the far end of the hall and slumped down in the rushes near the staircase.
Ki found him there and sat down beside him. “You’ve never seen anything like this, have you?” he whispered.
Tobin shook his head.
“They must have done something when your mother died?”
“I don’t know.” Thinking about that time still sent a shiver through him. Ki must have noticed, for he shifted closer and put an arm around him, just as Tharin had. Tobin slumped against him and rested his head on Ki’s shoulder, grateful for the solid, simple comfort. “I don’t remember. I saw her lying on the ice, then she was just gone.”
He’d never asked what had happened to her. Nari had tried to speak of it once or twice soon after, but Tobin hadn’t wanted to hear it then. He’d put his fingers in his ears and burrowed under the covers until she went away. No one in the house had spoken of it since, and he’d never asked. It had been bad enough, knowing that his mother’s spirit still walked in the tower; it hadn’t mattered to him where her body was.
Sitting here in the dark now, though, he considered what Tharin had said. His mother was in Ero.
Little as he recalled of that terrible day, he knew that the king had been gone by the time he’d been let out of bed. And so had his mother.
Like a tiny seeding stone dropped into one of Arkoniel’s alchemical solutions, the thought crystallized years of half-realized memories into a single sharp-edged conviction: the king had taken his mother away. His grief-clouded mind worried at this like a bad tooth too painful not to touch and prod.
No, Brother whispered in the dark.
“My mam died when I was six,” Ki said softly, drawing him back to the present.
“How?” For all their talking, they’d never spoken of this before.
“She cut her foot on a scythe and the wound wouldn’t heal.” A hint of the old upcountry accent crept back. “Her leg went all black and her mouth locked shut and she died. The ground was froze, so Father left her wrapped in the byre loft ’til spring. I used to climb up and sit by her sometimes, when I was lonesome. Sometimes I’d even pull back the blanket, just to see her face again. We buried her in the spring before the leaves came out. Father had brought Sekora home by then and her belly was already big. I remember staring at it whilst we sang the songs over my mam’s grave.” His voice broke high.
“You got a new mother,” Tobin murmured, suddenly feeling heavy and tired beyond words. “Now I’ve got no mother or father at all.”
Ki’s arm tightened around him. “Don’t suppose they’d let you come back home with me, eh? We’d hardly notice one more underfoot.”
Still dry-eyed and aching inside, Tobin drifted off and dreamt of sleeping with Ki in a great pile of brown-haired children—all of them snug together like a litter of pups while dead mothers lay frozen in the byre outside.
Chapter 34
Arkoniel woke with a stiff neck just after dawn. He’d propped himself in a corner near the shrine, meaning to keep the vigil with the others, but dozed off sometime in the night.
At least I wasn’t the only one who fell asleep, he thought, looking around the hall.
The lamp in the shrine still burned, and by its dim light he could see dark forms sprawled on benches and in the rushes by the hearth. He could just make out Ki and Tobin near the stairs, slumped together with their backs to the wall.
Only the warriors had stayed awake, spending the night on their knees to honor the man whom they’d followed for so long.
Arkoniel studied their worn faces. Nyanis and Solari were new to him; from what he’d heard from Nari and Cook last night, both had been loyal liegemen, and so perhaps future allies for Rhius’ daughter.
He looked over at Tobin again; in this light he could have been any urchin from the slums of Ero, sleeping against a wall. Arkoniel sighed, recalling what Iya had told him of her own visions.
Too uneasy to sleep again, Arkoniel went outside and wandered onto the bridge to watch the sun come up. A few deer were grazing at the edge of the meadow, and several others had picked their way over the river’s stony banks to the water’s edge. A tall white heron stalked the shallows, looking for its breakfast. Even at this hour the day promised to be hot.
He sat down at the middle of the bridge and let his legs dangle over the edge. “What now, Lightbearer?” he asked softly. “What are we to do, if those who protect this child keep being taken away?”
He waited quietly, praying for some answering sign. All he could see, however, was Sakor’s fiery sun staring him in the face. He sighed and began composing a letter to Iya, trying to convince her to come back from her long wandering and help him. He hadn’t heard from her in months, though, and wasn’t even sure where to send it to reach her.
He hadn’t gotten very far with this when he heard the gate open behind him. Tharin strode out to join him on the bridge. Sitting down beside the wizard, he stared out over the meadow, hands clasped between his knees. His face was pale and deeply lined with grief. The morning light leeched the color from his eyes.
“You’re exhausted,” said Arkoniel.
Tharin nodded slowly.
“What do you think will happen now?”
“That’s what I came out to talk to you about. The king spoke with me at Rhius’ pyre. He means to send for Tobin. He wants him in Ero with Prince Korin and the Companions.”
It was hardly a surprising turn of events, but Arkoniel’s gut tightened all the same. “When?”
“I’m not certain. Soon. I asked him to give the boy some time, but he didn’t give me an answer on that. I don’t imagine he wants Tobin out of his reach for too long.”
“What do you mean?”
Tharin didn’t answer at once, just stared out at the deer. At last he sighed and said, “I knew you as a boy when you and Iya guested in Atyion. Since you’ve been here I’ve seen the man you’ve become. I’ve always liked you and I believe I can trust you, especially where Tobin is concerned. That’s why I’m about to put my life in your hands.” He turned and looked Arkoniel in the eye. “But if you prove me wrong, by the Four, you’ll have to kill me to put me off your trail. Do we understand one another?”
Arkoniel knew this was no idle threat. Yet behind the man’s harsh words he also heard fear, not for himself but for Tobin.
Arkoniel held up his right hand and pressed his left over his heart. “By my hands, heart, and eyes, Sir Tharin, I swear to you I will lay down my life to protect Rhius and Ariani’
s child. What is it you want to say to me?”
“I have your word you’ll tell no one else?”
“Iya and I have no secrets, but I can vouch for her as I do myself.”
“Very well. I’ve no one else to turn to anyway. First of all, I believe the king wanted Rhius dead. I think he may have even had a hand in getting him killed.”
Arkoniel had little experience of court, but even he realized that Tharin had just placed his life in Arkoniel’s hands twice over. Tharin must have known it, too, but he didn’t hesitate as he went on. “Ever since the princess died Erius has pushed Rhius into the worst of any battle. Rhius saw it, too, but he had too much honor to say so. But some of the orders we followed were just foolhardy. There are hundreds of good Skalan warriors who’d still be upright and drawing breath in Atyion and Cirna if the king had shown a bit more sense in his placement of attacks.
“The day Rhius was killed, Erius ordered us into marshland on horseback. We were ambushed as we tried to get out the other side.”
“What makes you think the king had anything to do with that?”
Tharin gave him a bitter smile. “You don’t know much about cavalry, do you, Wizard? You don’t send horsemen into such ground in the summer, with no decent footing and no cover. And not when there’s a good chance of the enemy being well entrenched on the other side and all ears for your approach. An arrow took Rhius in the thigh before we got anywhere near solid ground. I was struck in the shoulder, and another shaft killed my horse under me. I fell and he charged on—It was a damn massacre. There must have been two or three hundred foot soldiers and archers, and if they weren’t waiting just for us then someone was making damn poor use of their forces. Even with the arrow wound, Rhius fought like a wolf, but Laris told me a pikeman killed the duke’s horse and took him down. Rhius was pinned under the beast and the enemy was on him with axes before—Before I could get to him.”
A tear rolled down and clung to the stubble on Tharin’s cheek. “The life was running out of him by the time I found him. We got him away, but there was nothing we could do.”
More tears fell, but Tharin didn’t seem to notice. Something told Arkoniel that he’d grown accustomed to weeping. “Rhius felt Bilairy coming for him. He pulled me down close and spoke so only I could hear. His last words in this life were, ‘Protect my child with your life, by any means. Tobin must rule Skala.’”
Arkoniel’s breath caught in his chest. “He said that to you?”
Tharin looked him in the eye, holding his gaze. “I thought then that it must be death addling his thoughts. But looking at your face right now, I think I’m about to change my mind. Do you know what he meant?”
Trust your instincts, Iya had counseled before she left. Those instincts had always told him to trust Tharin. All the same, Arkoniel felt like a man about to leap off a high cliff with only mist below. The secret was a danger to whoever carried it.
“I do. It’s all Iya and I have worked for since before Tobin was born. But you must tell me truthfully, can you still serve Tobin knowing no more than you do right now?”
“Yes. Only—”
Arkoniel studied Tharin’s stricken face as the man groped for words. “You’re wondering why Rhius didn’t tell you more … before?”
Tharin nodded, mouth pressed in a tight line.
“Because he couldn’t,” Arkoniel said gently. “Rhius never doubted your loyalty; you must believe that. One day I’ll be able to explain everything to you and you’ll understand. But don’t ever doubt the duke’s faith in you. He proved it with his last breath, Tharin. What he passed to you was the most sacred trust of his life.
“What Tobin needs now is protection, and allies later on. How many troops could we summon today if we needed them?”
Tharin rubbed a hand over his beard. “Tobin’s not quite twelve, Arkoniel. That’s too young to command, too young even to inspire much of a following without a powerful lord to back him.” He pointed back at the keep. “Nyanis and Solari are good men, but Rhius was the warlord who led. If Tobin were sixteen or seventeen, say—perhaps even fifteen—it might be a different story, but as things stand, the only close kin he has with any power is the king. Still—”
“Yes?”
“Between you and me, there are those among the nobles who won’t stand by and watch any child of the female line of Skala come to harm, and others with good cause to remember who Tobin’s father was.”
“You know who these nobles are? Whom Tobin can trust?”
“There are few people I’d stake my life on, the court being what it is these days, but I’ve spent my life at the duke’s side and in his confidence. I have a fair sense of how the wind blows.”
“Tobin will need your guidance there. What about the soldiers who owed their loyalty to Rhius?”
“The common men are tied to the lands they work. By right, they serve whoever holds those. Until Tobin is of age to lead, I imagine that will be whoever the king wants it to be.” He shook his head. “A lot can change between now and then, I’m afraid. Erius is sure to appoint his own regents and stewards for the estates.”
“Too much has changed already for the child,” murmured Arkoniel. “All the same, he’s fortunate to have a man as loyal as you to stand by him.”
Tharin clapped Arkoniel on the shoulder and stood up. “Some serve for loyalty or glory, some for pay,” he said gruffly. “I served Rhius for love, and Tobin, too.”
“Love.” Arkoniel looked up, struck by something in the man’s tone. “I’ve never thought to ask before. You have an estate somewhere. Do you have a family of your own there?”
“No.” Before the wizard could read his face, Tharin turned and strode back to the keep.
“That a good man,” Lhel whispered unseen, her voice mingling with the rushing of the water below his dangling feet.
“I know,” Arkoniel replied, comforted by her disembodied presence. “You know about Lord Rhius?”
“Brother tell me.”
“What am I going to do, Lhel? The king wants him to go to Ero.”
“Keep Ki by him.”
Arkoniel let out a bitter chuckle. “Is that all? I’m glad to hear it. Lhel?”
But she was already gone.
Chapter 35
The morning after the vigil Tobin woke filled with a strange stillness. Ki was still asleep against his shoulder, head pressed against Tobin’s cheek. Tobin sat very still, trying to fathom the strange emptiness under his ribs. It wasn’t the same as what he’d felt when his mother died; his father had died a warrior’s death, falling with honor in battle.
Ki was heavy. Tobin shifted to ease his weight and Ki jerked awake. “Tob, are you well?”
“Yes.” He could still speak, at least. But the sense of stillness inside him felt like a lightless hole, or the cold deep spring by Lhel’s house oak. It was as if he was staring down into that dark water, waiting for something. He just didn’t know what it was.
He got up and went to the shrine to pray for his father. Tharin and the nobles were gone, but Koni and some of the others were still there on their knees.
“I should have kept the vigil with you,” he mumbled, ashamed at having slept.
“No one expected that, Tobin,” Koni said kindly. “We shed blood with him. You could make the offerings for the shrine, though. Fifty-one wax horses, one for each year he lived.”
Koni saw the root that Brother had left and moved to sweep it away. Tobin stopped him. “Leave it.” There was an acorn next to the root now, too.
He and Ki spent the morning sitting on the toy room floor with his chunks of beeswax. He’d never made so many figures at once and his hands were soon sore, but he wouldn’t stop. He let Ki knead the wax to soften it for him, but insisted on shaping all the horses himself. He made them as he always had, with arched necks and small pointed heads, like the Aurënfaie horses he and his father rode, but this time his thumbnail pinched out short strokes for the manes, making them cropped for mourning. r />
They were still at work when Solari and Nyanis came to the door in their riding cloaks.
“I’ve come to take my leave, Prince Tobin,” Nyanis said, coming to kneel beside him. “When you come to Ero you must count me among your friends.”
Tobin looked up from his wax and nodded, wondering at how faded and dull Nyanis’ hair had become since he’d last seen the man. When he was little he’d always liked to watch the firelight shining on it as they played goose stones by the fire.
“You can always depend on me, too, my prince,” said Solari, touching his fist to his breast. “For your father’s sake, I shall always consider myself the ally of Atyion.”
Liar, Brother hissed, hovering just behind the man. He told his captain he would be lord of Atyion himself in a year.
Stunned, Tobin gasped out, “In a year?”
“In a year, and always I hope, my prince,” Solari replied, but as Tobin looked into the man’s eyes, he knew Brother had spoken the truth.
Tobin rose and gave both men a bow, just as his father would have.
As they went off down the corridor Solari’s loud whisper echoed back to him. “I don’t care what Tharin says. The boy’s not—”
Tobin stared at Brother. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but the ghost seemed to be smiling.
Nari wanted to fuss over Tobin, even offering to sleep in the bed with him again as she had when he was little, but he couldn’t bear it and pushed her away. Arkoniel and Tharin kept their distance, but always seemed to be close by, quietly watching.
The only company Tobin could bear was Ki’s, and over the next few days they spent hours together outside the keep. Riding was forbidden during the four days of official mourning, as were hot meals or fires after sundown, so they walked the trails and the riverbanks instead.
The feeling of inner stillness persisted; Ki seemed to sense it and he stayed uncommonly quiet. He never questioned Tobin’s lack of tears for his father, either, though he shed enough of his own.