Vandaris grinned. “Rooms in an inconvenient corner and a castle steward who likes me. Handy combination, that; I’ll have to remember it for the future. Remind me to thank Orvel.”
“If you aren’t going to see Father, what are you going to do?” Eltiron said. He felt a little uneasy; if Marreth discovered his sister’s breach of custom and courtesy, he would not hesitate to blame Eltiron, however little Eltiron could have done to prevent it.
“I’m going to get my sword squire and my goods and move into my rooms before Marreth has a chance to think of some reason why I can’t,” Vandaris said. “Not that he could stop me, but it’ll be easier on everyone if he doesn’t have a chance to try. I’ll see him when I’m finished.”
“Your sword squire? Father won’t like that at all.”
Vandaris grinned again. “She’s only fourteen; it would take the worst gossip in Sevairn to make anything of it.”
Eltiron felt his face grow hot. He had indeed assumed Vandaris’s squire to be a man, and somewhat older than fourteen, someone whose duties could be supposed to include more than cleaning swords and grooming horses. Knowing that his aunt had guessed his thoughts didn’t help his state of mind; what would she think of him now? “I’m sorry,” he said wretchedly. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“What’s the matter with you?” Vandaris said, frowning. “Every other time you open your mouth, you’re apologizing for something. Morada’s smile, man, it’s not that important!”
“I’m sorry, I—” Eltiron stopped short in midsentence and grinned reluctantly. “I see what you mean.”
Vandaris looked at him sharply, but let the subject drop. “Come down with me and meet my sword squire,” she suggested, rising. “I left her taking care of the horses, but I ought to get her installed in the castle before Marreth has a chance to object.”
Eltiron nodded. Vandaris picked up her cloak, and the two left the room, heading for the stables.
The sword squire was sitting cross-legged outside one of the stalls at the far end of the stable when Vandaris and Eltiron entered. She was a tiny, brown-haired girl who looked closer to twelve than fourteen, and she was industriously polishing the brass rivets on a worn leather bridle. She looked up as they drew near, and she brightened.
“Vandi! Wait till you hear—” She stopped, and her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who’s he?”
“He’s my nephew, Eltiron, and he happens to be Prince of Sevairn,” Vandaris said. “If you expect to live in this castle for any length of time, you’d better learn a few more manners.”
“Well, he doesn’t
look
like a prince,” the girl said in the tones of one paying a high compliment.
“Tari . . .,” Eltiron said warningly.
The girl looked at Eltiron. “Was that the wrong thing to say? I’m sorry; I didn’t realize. I’m Tarilane Corriel.”
Eltiron nodded. He had no idea what he ought to say; squires, in his experience, were seldom seen and never heard. He noticed Vandaris watching him unusually closely, which made him even more nervous. “Um, I’m glad to know you,” he said finally.
“Huh,” Tarilane said. She sounded skeptical, but not unfriendly. “What are we going to do next, Vandi?”
“Haul the bags up to my rooms before Marreth gets wind that I’m here,” Vandaris said. “Come on, brat; we don’t have all day.”
Tarilane gave Vandaris an odd look. “You sure you want to stay here that long?”
Vandaris was already halfway inside the stall. “Why not?” she replied over her shoulder.
“Oh, reasons,” Tarilane said, looking warily at Eltiron. “I heard some people talking.”
There was a muffled sneeze from the interior of the stall, and a moment later Vandaris stuck her head back out into the aisle. “Tari, in this castle you listen to people talking in order to find out what they’re trying to hide and who they’re planning to back-knife. You don’t
believe
any of them. What’d you hear?”
Tarilane made a quick survey of the stable, glanced at Eltiron, shrugged, and said, “They said he isn’t to be trusted.”
“Eltiron?” Vandaris said in surprise. “That’s interesting. Why?”
“Something to do with somebody important who got killed or something a couple of months ago. They said it was the Prince’s fault.”
“Who?” Eltiron burst out. “Who was it?”
“Why do you want to know?” Tarilane demanded.
“If I’m being accused of killing someone, I want to know who I’m supposed to have killed!”
“Oh,
that
who,” Tarilane said. “I thought you meant who did I overhear. I didn’t catch the name, but I’d recognize it if I heard it again.”
“Was it Jermain?”
“That’s it!” Tarilane looked at Eltiron suspiciously. “How’d you know?”
“That’s something you can find out later, elephant ears,” Vandaris said. “You going to stand there all day, or could I maybe get some help?”
Tarilane scowled at Eltiron and ducked into the stall. Vandaris looked at Eltiron.
“You heard anything about this?”
“No, I—” Eltiron swallowed hard. “Jermain was my friend; I thought everyone knew that. How could anyone think I—” He stopped abruptly, not knowing how to finish the sentence and afraid his voice would fail him before he could do so.
Vandaris studied Eltiron intently for a few moments, then nodded. “This visit gets more interesting by the minute, and it’s hardly started. I wonder what Marreth’s got under his belt to surprise me with?”
Eltiron did not reply. His aunt shook her head. “Do you always take gossip this hard? Or is there something in it?”
“No!” Eltiron’s shout echoed through the stable; the horses shifted nervously in their stalls.
“Calm down,” Vandaris said mildly. “I was only asking. Look, I’m in a better position to hear things than you are. Would it help if I listened around for a few days and told you about it later? It’ll give you some idea of what’s being said, anyway.”
“Could you?”
“Dragon’s teeth, man, would I have said it if I couldn’t? I’ll talk to you about it in a day or two, after I’m a bit more settled.” Vandaris slung one of the saddlebags across her shoulder, gave her sword squire a cheerful cuff, and started toward the door of the stable.
Eltiron did not see his aunt at all the following day. Terrel had arranged a seemingly endless series of meetings, during which Eltiron sat and listened to the royal tailors argue about wedding garments, the court secretaries argue about protocol, the castle stewards argue about menus and supplies, and all the lords and ladies in the city argue about precedence. At least that was what it seemed like to Eltiron, who hated the whole business with a passion he had no time to indulge.
The meetings went on into a second day, followed closely by another brief and painful interview with Marreth, but somehow Eltiron found enough time to send Vandaris a message. Vandaris responded in a scrawled note, the gist of which was that she would meet him the next day at the top of the Tower of Judgment.
The Tower of Judgment was the oldest and tallest of the three castle towers, and Eltiron had haunted its top for years. Because of its height, he could see much farther than from either of the other two; sometimes it seemed to him that he could see more clearly as well. In addition, the top of the Tower of Judgment was one of the few thoroughly private places in the castle. Hardly any of the servants or courtiers ever took the time to climb the long, spiral staircase to the tower top, and Eltiron had come to think of it as his own. It was therefore a shock when, on the third day following Vandaris’s arrival, Eltiron arrived at the door at the top of the Tower of Judgment and heard voices on the other side.
He paused uncertainly. Had Vandaris brought someone with her? He set one hand to the door, and a fragment of the conversation came clearly to him.
“. . . overstepped yourself. Did you think I would not learn of it?”
“I never doubted it, my lord.”
Eltiron started and pulled his hand away from the door as if he had suddenly discovered that it was made of live snakes. Neither of the speakers was Vandaris. Eltiron did not recognize the first voice at all; the second was Terrel Lassond’s. But who would Terrel call “my lord” besides Marreth?
“Then you were a fool to try,” the first voice said. “It is fortunate for you that your attempt did not succeed. My plans for Jermain Trevannon do not include his death.”
Eltiron started again and missed Terrel’s reply. He still could not place the other speaker, but the mention of Jermain was enough to make Eltiron abandon all thought of not listening further to the conversation.
“And the other matters?” said the first voice.
“I expect no trouble about the marriage,” Terrel said. “The party from Barinash should arrive in another week, and the wedding will be at the end of the month. Marreth is being . . . intractable about other things.”
“Persuade him if you can,” the first voice said. “Otherwise we must wait until after the Prince’s wedding. I want nothing to interfere with that.”
“I understand. You know, of course, that the lady Vandaris has returned to Sevairn?”
There was a moment’s pause. “No, I had not known.” There was another brief silence. “For now, proceed as we had planned. I will let you know if there is a need for any change.”
“As you wish. But I would not like to underestimate her. I haven’t met her myself, but from what I hear she could be a dangerous opponent.”
“I will keep your advice in mind, should I feel a need for it. Now, I believe there is one more thing.” Behind the tower door, Eltiron shivered at the sudden, smooth menace in the unknown voice.
“Yes?” Terrel’s voice was expressionless.
“The little matter of Jermain Trevannon. I have no use for unreliable assistants; too much depends on our success. You appear to have forgotten that. Allow me to remind you.”
Eltiron heard a choking cry, quickly muffled. “Fare you well, my lord Terrel, and remember, in the future, not to cross me,” the unfamiliar voice said over the sound.
Suddenly Eltiron realized that the conversation was at an end; in another moment, someone would come through the door and find him. He pulled back and looked desperately around. The top landing of the Tower of Judgment was small and bare, and there was nowhere he could hope to hide if he remained. He turned and plunged down the stairs, hoping to get out of sight around the curve before the door opened.
Three quarters of the way down the first spiral of stairs, Eltiron paused, listening. He heard the tower door open and close again, and realized that he might still be seen descending the stairs, or crossing the courtyard outside the tower. Besides, he still had to meet Vandaris. On the other hand, neither Terrel nor his companion would think it strange to meet Eltiron coming up the stairs; his liking for the tower top was well known. Without stopping to think further, Eltiron turned and began to climb.
He had retraced over half his steps before he finally saw Terrel coming slowly downward. The Chief Adviser’s face was white, and when he saw Eltiron his smile was strained as well as faintly mocking. He hesitated just long enough for Eltiron to notice, then stepped aside to let him pass. “Your Highness,” he said.
Eltiron nodded without stopping. “I hope you enjoyed the view, Lord Terrel,” he said with cold politeness as he went past.
Terrel’s eyes narrowed, but he did not reply, and after a moment Eltiron heard the echoes of his footsteps fading gradually as he descended the tower. Eltiron sighed in relief; now there was only Terrel’s unknown companion to get past. The tower door reappeared around the curve of the stairs above him. Eltiron’s steps slowed; when he reached the top landing, he stopped completely. This is ridiculous, he told himself. You’re a prince; you have every right to be here if you want to be, and there’s no way he can guess that you heard anything. Eltiron took a deep breath and opened the door.
His first reaction was a strong feeling of relief; there was no one on the tower top at all. Eltiron relaxed a little and stepped out onto the flat roof of the tower, pulling the door shut behind him. As he did, the impossibility hit him like a blow: There was no one on top of the tower. He had heard two voices, but only one man had passed him on the stairs, and there was no other way to get down from the tower top. There
had
to be someone there.
There was no one. Eltiron paced the entire surface of the tower top and peered over the battlements, but he found nothing. After two circuits of the tower top, Eltiron sat down with his back to the stone of the parapet and his face toward the tower door, hoping fervently that Vandaris would not take much longer to arrive.
CHAPTER 4
J
ermain rose and moved away from the table as the Captain entered. As soon as he had room to draw his sword without hindrance should he need to, Jermain stopped and studied the newcomer. The Captain moved with the confident ease of an experienced fighting man. He’s good, thought Jermain, and he must have either birth or brains as well or he wouldn’t have been made a captain so young.
“Your Highness,” said the Captain, bowing deeply to Crystalorn. He gave Jermain a brief, appraising look, then turned and bowed politely to Amberglas. “My lady.”
“Not yours, exactly,” Amberglas said. “Fortunately, it doesn’t matter; but then, a great many things don’t—what color wind is, for instance, or how far rain falls, or whether the fourth King of Gramwood’s mother-in-law served soup in a Dangil china bowl of an Ilmar tureen. That is, if she bothered to serve soup, which some people don’t. So perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
The Captain blinked. “I agree,” he said after a barely perceptible pause. “I hope I have not offended you.”
Amberglas smiled. “Not at all. Why are you here?”
“I have come to conduct the Princess Crystalorn back to her retinue,” the Captain replied.
“That’s obvious,” Crystalorn said, eyeing the Captain with disfavor. “It
would
have to be you.”