Season of Sacrifice (20 page)

“I liked the dragons,” Reade whispered. Duke Coren’s burning eyes forced him to add, “But I was distracted.”

“And would you change that, Sun-lord? Are you man enough to remove distractions and learn the lessons you need to serve your people?”

His people. Reade needed to learn so that he would not disappoint his people. A thrill plucked his spine. If Reade learned all of his lessons, he could spend the rest of his life here in Smithcourt. He wouldn’t have to be a fisherman. He wouldn’t have to go out in a boat and get caught in a storm and never come home to a family that loved him. But only if he learned. Only if he didn’t let Kenwald distract him.

“Oh yes, please,” Reade said, when he realized Duke Coren was waiting for an answer.

“Very well, then. Watch, Sun-lord, and learn.” Duke Coren stepped toward the old herald. “So, Kenwald. You’ve been tutoring the Sun-lord as you were commanded?”

“Aye, Your Grace. He’s been studying hard. He’s a smart boy.”

“A smart boy? Then why did it take him three days to learn the names of the kingdom’s dukes?” Duke Coren’s voice was as cold as sea foam in winter.

“He’s young, of course. Too young to learn the politics of the kingdom. Too young to understand a struggle for power.”

Too young! Reade wasn’t too young to do anything! He was the Sun-lord! “That’s not true, Your Grace! I am
not
too young! Kenwald is lying! It was Kenwald’s fault. He told me about Bringham and Southglen and the dragons!”

Duke Coren moved even closer to Kenwald. “It sounds to me as if the Sun-lord understands a great deal about politics. He understands everything about power.”

“Your Grace, he’s just a little boy!”

Reade glared at Kenwald. Everyone always said that he was just a little boy. Da had said it all the time. Da would make Reade scale fish and hoe the garden, all because Reade was too little to go fishing. It wasn’t fair. But things were different here in Smithcourt. Reade could make his own rules. Reade was the Sun-lord. “I’m not too young!” he repeated.

“So, Kenwald. The Sun-lord thinks he’s not too young to learn your lessons.
All
your lessons.”

“Your Grace—” Kenwald sank to his knees.

“Perhaps I was wrong to trust you, old man. Perhaps you’re too old to remember who holds power in this palace.” The duke towered over the herald. “What precisely were your orders, old man?”

“To teach the Sun-lord?” Kenwald turned his answer into a question, like Reade did when Da had asked him impossible things, questions that had no good answers. “To teach him the Table of Lands and the Lists of Nobles.”

“And what else?”

“To see that he is fit for the Service.”

“And what else?”

The old man trembled, and then words spilled out of him, as if he were a boy called to task by his own da. “Nothing else, Your Grace?”

“Precisely.” Duke Coren smiled slowly, and his fingers flexed inside his leather gloves. He pointed at Reade. “And did you teach him anything else?”

“I-I did not think it mattered, Your Grace.” Kenwald glanced from the duke to Reade and back again. “Sun-lord, if I have given you any displeasure—”

Before Reade could marvel that the old man was apologizing to
him
, Duke Coren’s hand shot out, closing around Kenwald’s throat. Duke Coren pushed the old man back toward the table. Kenwald’s fingers scrabbled at Duke Coren’s fist, and his feet kicked the air, catching at his dusty robes. “Please, Your Grace—” he managed to croak.

“You betrayed your liege, Kenwald! That’s not the way to settle into a life of leisure in your twilight days at court.”

“Ask the young lord!” Kenwald gasped. “Ask him if I said anything about Bringham’s claim to the throne!”

Reade stared in shock. He had wanted to show Kenwald that the Sun-lord was special. He had wanted Duke Coren to pay attention to him. He’d never meant, though, for Kenwald to be
hurt
. Reade did not care about dragons that much!

Duke Coren glared at Reade across the old man’s body. “So, Sun-lord? Did Kenwald tell you anything about Bringham’s claim to my throne?”

“I—” Reade started to say. Before he could answer, though, the old man began to choke. He twisted onto his side, trying to escape from Duke Coren’s hand. Reade could not think of an answer to the duke’s question. He could not even remember what Kenwald had said, what Duke Coren wanted him to reply. “Please, Your Grace!”

“It’s a simple enough question, Sun-lord. If Kenwald has not even taught you how to answer a simple question, then I know that he has failed
me
, regardless of whether he failed you.”

The old herald thrashed on the table, like a fish caught in a net. Reade tried to remember why he had thought it would be fun to taunt the old man, why he had even mentioned Duke Bringham’s dragon. “Please, Your Grace. You must have misunderstood me!”

“Misunderstood you? Then once again, your teacher has not served his function. The Sun-lord should never be misunderstood, not about something as basic as whether a servant has done his job. If Kenwald has not taught you that much then, again, he has disappointed me.”

The old man’s legs stopped jerking in the air. He was giving up.

“Please, Your Grace. Kenwald taught me well! I have no complaints against him!”

“But did you not say, when I came into this room, that you had been distracted—”

“I wanted you to be proud of me! I was just telling a story!”

Duke Coren stared at Reade across Kenwald’s body. “
Just telling a story
?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’m sorry! I just wanted you to listen to me! I just wanted to share a story with you, something special, like the Sun-lord and Culain! Please! It’s not Kenwald’s fault! Let him go!” Reade’s words poured out of him, desperate, begging. He didn’t think that he could ever say enough, speak quickly enough.

“So, Sun-lord. Are you still telling stories? Are you lying now? Or were you lying when you said that dragons kept you from learning your lessons?” Duke Coren gave Kenwald one last shake and threw him onto the table.

The herald curled onto his side, gasping for air. He slid to the ground and hit the floor hard, still choking. Reade’s legs began to tremble, and he saw the trap that Duke Coren had built for him.

“It wasn’t a lie,” he whispered, but his lower lip trembled, and he could not keep his voice steady. Kenwald began to retch, bringing up a disgusting mess onto the flagstones. “Please, Your Grace, you must have misunderstood—” At Duke Coren’s arched eyebrow, Reade quickly tried again. “
I
must have been confusing. Me, it’s
my
fault, not Kenwald’s. Your Grace, I did not want him punished. I only wanted you to tell him not to talk about dragons during my lessons.”

“Well then, Sun-lord. Your desire has been granted. Kenwald will not speak of dragons again.” The duke dug one booted toe into the old man’s side. “Isn’t that correct, Kenwald?”

“Y-yes,” the herald gasped. He retched again before he managed to add, “Your Grace.”

Duke Coren nodded at his title. He started to turn for the doorway, but he stopped himself. Looking at Reade, he settled his black boot across the back of Kenwald’s neck. For just a moment, he stood perfectly still, and then he shifted his weight. The crack of breaking bones was loud in the room. Kenwald struggled for another dozen breaths before the chamber was silent.

“Well.” Duke Coren stepped back, flexing his hands inside his leather gloves. “It’s time for you to work with a new tutor, Sun-lord. You mustn’t fall behind in your studies.”

“I hate him!” Reade exclaimed, as soon as he found Maida in the small garden attached to their nursery. She was sitting beside the small pond in the middle of the green grass.

“Prithee, dear brother, of whom do you speak?”

“Stop it, Maida! Talk like a regular person!”

“But, dear brother, a regular person in the duke’s court speaks as I do. We must prepare for the day when our lord, the duke, takes the Iron Throne.”

“Stop it!” Reade choked back tears, dashing a fist across his face so that Maida would not see the drops in his eyes.

“Dear brother, you must take your studies to heart. Elsewise, Duke Coren might take offense.”

The “elsewise” was too much. Maida’s curls had been woven into two braids and bound together at the nape of her neck with a length of crimson ribbon. Reade dug his hands into the nest of hair and tugged hard.

“Ow!” Maida howled. “Why did you do that, Reade? I’m going to tell!”

“Quit yelling, Maida! In the name of all the Guardians—”

“You swore!” Maida gasped. “I’m going to tell Mum—” She broke off her own threat.

Reade sat down beside the pond. He waited a long time before he said, “I don’t think we’re ever going to see Mum again, Maida.”

“Yes, we will. After the Service.”

Reade didn’t even bother to answer. Instead, he picked up a pebble and skipped it across the water. It only made three jumps before it skittered onto the grass at the far side of the pool. “Sharks and fins!” Reade cursed, the way the fishermen swore back home.

“Reade!”

“I can say what I want to, Maida. They don’t care if I swear. It’s just their stupid lists I have to memorize.”

“The lists aren’t stupid! Nurse was talking just this morning to the girl who brings our breakfast, and she said—”

“Nurse was talking to Cow-girl?”

Maida laughed, but she hid her teeth behind her palm, like all the grown-up women in Smithcourt. Reade wished that Maida had not learned that lesson; it made him feel very alone. Maida said, “That’s not nice, Reade!”

“What did Nurse say?”

“She was telling Cow—she was telling Jamela that there isn’t much time before the Service. She was worried that you wouldn’t learn the lists, and she said you’ll need to recite them in the Service.”

“All of them?” Reade thought of Kenwald trying to teach him everything he needed to know. Maybe the old man had only pretended to be hurt. Maybe that was just another one of the lessons. Maybe Kenwald had waited for Reade to leave the solar, and then he got to his feet. Maybe Kenwald and Duke Coren had planned the whole thing, so that Reade would study harder.

“I think—” Maida began.

“Ach! There you are!” Reade jumped at the harsh voice. When he looked up, Nurse was rushing across the garden. Following the rules of Smithcourt, she wore huge skirts that wrapped around her ankles, like a cat that wanted to trip her. By the time she reached the children, she was out of breath, and her hands fluttered over her heart. She snorted as she tried to fill her lungs.

“You naughty children!” she finally wheezed. “Terrible children! Who said you could come to the garden?” She kept on scolding before Reade or Maida could make up an answer. “Well, don’t just stand there like two buttons on a gown! Hurry up! Duke Coren is waiting for you. You mustn’t keep His Grace waiting!”

Her breathless snorts turned to a cry as Reade stood up. “Ach! Look at you!” Reade looked down. Mud streaked the front of his doublet. Nurse swatted at the dirt with the flat of her palm, hard enough to rattle his teeth. His bavin dug into his chest.

“Come along, both of you. There’s no time to change your clothes. Oh, you dirty children, what have you done to me?” On and on she went, grabbing Reade’s hand in her left and Maida’s in her right. She dragged the twins out of the garden, back to the nursery and through the tangle of dark castle hallways. With every turn, she fussed a little more, telling them that they must not keep Duke Coren waiting, that they needed to hurry, that they mustn’t be late.

Finally, Nurse dragged them to a stop in front of a pair of high, carved doors. “Oh, you wicked children…. Here we are.”

“Where?” Reade asked.

“Why, at Duke Coren’s chapel!” Reade started to ask another question—he’d never heard of the chapel—but she just repeated, “The
chapel
. Where His Grace prays to the Seven Gods. Don’t tell me you poor lambs have never been in a chapel before!”

Why would the duke pray inside a
building
? Prayers were supposed to be said outside, under the branches of the Tree, or in the Sacred Grove. The Guardians didn’t like buildings. They’d listen to prayers much better if they were comfortable, if they were outside.

Before Reade could ask any questions, Nurse grimaced and licked a finger. She rubbed at his face, scrubbing as if she wanted to remove his skin. He tried to squirm away, but she held him in place with her other hand. “Just a moment, young lord. You’ll not be seeing His Grace with garden dirt on your face.”

“I’ve seen Duke Coren lots of times.”

“Don’t talk back to me, young lord.” Nurse darted a glance at Maida. “And you, young lady. Straighten your hair.” Nurse fussed for a moment longer, and then she stepped back, still wheezing. “Well, there you go. Into the chapel.”

“What?” Reade asked.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Maida said.

“Oh no. Not Nurse.” The old woman huffed. “His Grace was quite clear. I’m to wait for you here. Only the two of you go into the chapel.”

Reade swallowed hard. He didn’t want to see Duke Coren again today. He didn’t want to be reminded of Kenwald. Maybe he should beg Nurse to come with them. Before he could say the words, though, he pictured the old herald lying on the solar floor. No. Better not ask anyone to break Duke Coren’s rules.

“You’ll be
fine
, children. You’re only seeing the duke. You don’t need to be afraid of him. And just remember, I’ll be out here the entire time.” Nurse smiled, and then she stepped to one side. “You can do this, little ones. You’re my Sun-lord and my Sun-lady.” She nodded, as if she saw some response that she approved of, and then she pulled at the heavy door, grunting out loud.

Reade hesitated for a moment, and then he reached down for Maida’s hand. He should help her into the chapel. He should hold her hand so that she wouldn’t be afraid. He took three steps forward with his sister, and he tried not to jump when the door clanged shut behind them.

Smoke. Fire. An aisle that was grey with sweet-smelling fog. Maida sneezed twice.

Reade squinted through the gloom. There were benches on either side of him, marching across the stone floor. Metal pots sat at the end of each bench, pouring out sweet smoke. Against the walls stood iron posts covered with candles, so many that Reade could feel the heat like little ocean waves. Beeswax dripped from some of the posts, sounding like heavy raindrops as it hit the floor.

At the front of the room, barely visible through the fog, Reade could just make out Duke Coren. He stood on a platform, on top of four steps. An altar was behind him, and on the altar sat a wooden box.

Duke Coren still wore his crimson tunic. His black boots were invisible in the fog, so that it looked like he was floating above the stone stairs, in front of the altar. He raised a gloved hand and beckoned with one finger. “Sun-lord,” the duke said. “Sun-lady.”

Reade understood the order, and he dragged Maida forward. All the smoke made Reade’s eyes water. He raised his free hand to wipe his face. When he looked up at Duke Coren again, he was surprised to see the man shaking his head. Instead of talking to Reade, though, the duke spoke to Maida.

“Sun-lady. I suppose your brother told you about his lessons this morning.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Reade could feel Maida’s hand shaking in his.

“And I suppose he told you that I was very, very angry.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And he told you that I punished Kenwald, for failing to teach the Sun-lord properly.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And how have your own lessons gone?”

“Your Grace?”

“Have you been learning from your own tutors? Have you been learning everything that you need to know for the Service?”

“I—I think so, Your Grace.”

“You think so.” Duke Coren repeated Maida’s words. Reade knew that it was hot in the chapel. He knew that sweat was slipping down his backbone. But he felt chilled by the duke’s voice; gooseflesh rose on his arms. “You
think
so. And therein lies our problem.”

Maida was shaking so hard that she could not have answered Duke Coren if he had asked her another question. Reade put his hand on his chest, settling his fingers around his bavin, and then he stepped forward. After all, Mum had said that he must protect Maida. He had to be like Da. He needed to clear his throat, though, before he could be heard. “Wh—what problem do we have, Your Grace?”

The duke pinned Reade with his eyes, like a stinging eel grabbing its prey. “I was thinking, Sun-lord, after I left the solar. It occurred to me that for all your studying, for all your working with your tutors, you and the Sun-lady still don’t know what is expected of you at the Service. You don’t know what you will be called upon to do, and so you do not realize how important your studies are.”

“We’ve studied, Your Grace!”

“You’ve studied. But you’re not prepared.” Duke Coren took a step toward the twins, and Reade’s belly turned over as the man’s boot heel echoed on the stone platform. “I thought it was time to rehearse the Service. We thought it was time that you learned exactly what your people will expect of you.”

Reade barely managed to ask, “We?”

“Aye, Sun-lord. High Priest Zeketh and I.” Duke Coren lifted one gloved hand and gestured toward the altar. Reade followed the duke’s finger, and caught his breath as a man appeared from out of the shadows. Maida was even more surprised—she cried out loud and grabbed at Reade’s arm.

Appeared from nowhere…. That was impossible. Even the Guardians couldn’t appear from nowhere. They needed songs to make them become visible. They needed prayers.

“Sun-lord, Sun-lady, I present to you High Priest Zeketh.”

The high priest took another step toward the twins, and Reade realized that he had not just appeared behind the altar. No. High Priest Zeketh was wearing black robes, all the way from his neck to his feet. Even his curling dark brown hair was underneath a black hat, a funny hat with four sharp corners at the top of it. High Priest Zeketh had been standing behind the altar the entire time, with his back to Reade and Maida. The twins had not been able to see him until he turned around, until his face and his hands stood out against the black cloth in the dark, foggy chapel.

Figuring out the man’s trick made Reade a little braver, and he managed to say, “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

He tugged on Maida’s hand until she whispered, “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Good afternoon, Sun-lord. Sun-lady. I am honored by your presence.” The high priest’s voice was deeper than any person’s Reade had ever heard. It sounded like thunder rolling far off the Headland, like the storm that had brewed the night that Da disappeared forever. Reade remembered Duke Coren saying that the high priest had more power in his beard than Alana Woodsinger had in her entire body.

Well, it
was
a very long beard, curling halfway down the man’s barrel chest. Without thinking, Reade pulled his woodstar out of his dirty tunic. The bavin pricked his fingers, but Reade felt better holding on to it. The high priest might be stronger than Alana Woodsinger, but Reade welcomed any power he could get.

Duke Coren stepped forward. When he stood beside the high priest, Reade realized just how tall the new man was. Duke Coren only came up to his shoulders—shoulders that were as broad as any fisherman’s. Duke Coren waited for Reade to swallow hard, and then he said, “High Priest Zeketh wants to ask you some questions, questions that will be a part of the Service.”

Reade forced himself to look into the priest’s eyes. They were as black as the man’s robes, and they were set close together on his face. They narrowed as High Priest Zeketh stared first at Reade, then at Maida. It seemed like he was looking inside of the twins, seeing past their robes and their hair and their skin. Reade swallowed hard and tried not to take a step away.

The high priest finally nodded, and he raised a hand—a hand as big as a ham—to gesture at the chapel. “Welcome to this house of the Seven Gods, Sun-lord, Sun-lady. We light your way with candles and send your prayers skyward on the breath of incense.” Incense. That must be the name for the sweet fog, the smoke that made the back of Reade’s throat itch. “Do not be afraid. You’ll find the Service is not frightening. I’ll only ask you a series of questions, questions that you must answer from the truth that is at the bottom of your hearts.”

“Questions?” Reade repeated. He had
tried
to learn. He had tried to study hard. He had tried to memorize everything old Kenwald taught him. Old Kenwald, whose neck had sounded like chicken bones when it crunched against the floor….

Reade wanted to turn around and run for the door of the chapel. He wanted to leave behind the smoking pots, and the dripping candles, and the fog that tickled his nose. He wanted to leave High Priest Zeketh and Duke Coren and even Maida. Nurse was waiting for him outside. She would take him back to the nursery and feed him milk-sweets. She would give him bread and honey. She would fold him against her hip, and smooth his hair, and tell him that everything was going to be fine.

But Reade had to stay. He had to prepare for the Service. He had the power of the Sun-lord. Maida had the faith of the Sun-lady. Duke Coren had the strength of Culain. Reade would not be afraid.

“Aye, Sun-lord.” The high priest took a step forward, towering over the twins. “You must listen to my questions and answer with your heart of hearts, for you and the Sun-lady are special. You are powerful and glorious to all the land. You are peace for Smithcourt. You are the power of the Iron Throne.”

Reade’s head whirled as he listened to High Priest Zeketh. Reade knew he wasn’t special. Da had always said that Reade was just one little boy, and he had better learn to live with that.