The Still (44 page)

After a time Rustin returned from town. “Chela looks to recover,” he said. “How go things here?”

“No surprises,” said Fostrow. “Rodrigo is his usual self.”

When he left, I called for parchment, wrote out two notes, laboriously copied them over until I was satisfied. To please Rust, I showed him them before sending Genard with the first.

He folded the scroll, handed it back. “Flowery and pretty, but far better to have no need.”

“I know.” My tone was humble. “I’ll really try, Rust.” I glanced outside, at the advancing day. “Send Genard to gather the horses, and tell Hester. We must be gone. I’ll say goodbye to Uncle Raeth.”

“What of his support you seek?”

“It’s lost, I assume. I’ve begged enough.”

Holding my side, Rustin hovering, I negotiated the two flights to the walled veranda wherein my uncle tended his flowers.

Garden blooms attracted me not at all, but I was so glad to be in sunlight I examined each blossom as if it held significance for me.

“They droop, now that autumn is on us.” The Earl, behind us, his hands and arms brown from the earth.

I turned, made the bow of courtesy.

“Ah, Rustin, he’s healing. We’re overjoyed, of course.” His pinched face gave no support to his words. “Mar’s courier made fast his journey home, I’m sure, with news of your presence.”

I asked, “And you’ve sent along your own word?”

“Not yet. What would you advise?”

“That you help me. Can I have horses, and men-at-arms?”

“To go against our colleague Margenthar? To tackle Eiber’s mighty army before the walls of Stryx?”

“To be a magnet, to which others might adhere, that I might have my throne.”

“He flies to the heart of the matter, eh, Rustin? Tell me, Roddy of Caledon, why should I help you?”

“The throne is rightfully mine. Mother—”

“No, no. You’re telling me why you want the crown. Tell me why I should want you to have it.”

“Does justice not move you?”

“Not a whit, lad.”

I looked for aid to Rustin, but he’d stepped back to let us have at it.

I took a deep breath. “What would move you, Uncle?”

“Mundane matters. Remission of taxes for ten years, for a start.”

“Is there more?”

He threw up his hands. “Aiyee, how can I support you unless you act like a king? You’re supposed to go choleric with rage at the very notion.”

“Inwardly, I seethe. What else do you demand?”

“Nothing that would trouble you.” His manner was offhand. “A few parcels of land in dispute with the Warthen. A barony for my friend Imbar, that sort of thing.”

I tried not to let my lip curl. “Imbar is but a commoner, and a servant at that.”

“That’s why it wants the King to ennoble him,” Raeth said agreeably. “Else, no need to ask.”

Rustin cleared his throat. “The Prince will think on it.”

I shook my head apologetically. “No need, Rust. May we sit, Uncle? I tire.”

The Earl snapped his fingers, and servants materialized. “Chairs, at once, and hot chocolate. Pastries too, while you’re at it.”

In a few moments we were seated. I leaned forward. “As to the borderlands you covet from the Warthen, don’t be too greedy in their choosing, and you may have them. I’ll reimburse him somehow.

“The taxes I won’t remit. It’s not that I don’t cherish your counsel and assistance”—I bowed, and he back—“but I can’t very well tax the rest of the realm and exempt you. Folk would be outraged, and I’d end up collecting nothing. On the other hand, I could assist you in building the new roads we’ll require, where others might have to provide for themselves.”

“A pity, young Rodrigo. Were it not for such harsh edicts I might have supported your—”

“The barony flies against decency and convention, but you may have it, the day after I’m crowned. That’s my concession, Lord Cumber. Were I you I’d prize it, for what other contender would consider such a thing? Lord Mar?”

The Earl’s sardonic manner faltered. “He speaks like ... a king, does he not, Rustin? How odd. I thought him a mere boy.”

I blurted, “I
am
a boy, and want so to be a man. Will you not help me, instead of casting follies in my path?”

His face grew stiff. “I must go. Affairs bid our attention.” He got swiftly to his feet, strode away.

Dismayed, I watched him depart, thinking I’d lost all. But at the entranceway he paused, bowed formally. “My lord Rodrigo. Until tonight.”

“We must leave, Uncle.”

“Tarry until morn. You’ll be well protected.” He disappeared.

Rustin bent over, kissed me once on each cheek. “How can you act such a fool, and be so magnificent scant hours after?” His eyes glistened. He walked away to examine vines hung artfully from a trellis.

I idled away the final hours of the afternoon, playing chess with Elryc, chatting with Fostrow as an added gesture of amends. He’d said nothing of the note I handed him.

Rustin was absent through the long evening. When the sky darkened I was concerned. When I got ready for bed, Fostrow sitting quietly in the corner, I was most anxious, lest some ill had befallen him.

Rust’s knock came at last, as the candle dripped past the tenth hour. I threw open the door. “Why do you go off without telling us? Where have you—”

“Enough.” He brushed past.

“We’ve been all day without word—”

He spun, his eyes blazing. “Will you be silent? I don’t answer to you!”

I couldn’t help a sneer. “Was she so good you had to run back to her?”

He took my shoulders, backed me to the wall. I winced as the jar pervaded my knitting wound. “Where I’ve been is my business. Ask not.”

“Why do you anger so?”

“You’re a stupid boy, and demanding. Why do I follow you, when I esteem you not?”

I framed a mean reply, but abruptly his eyes filled, and my harsh response died unuttered. He fled to his adjoining room.

“He’s moody,” I told Fostrow. “Pay no heed.”

The soldier yawned. “Bar the door, my lord. I’ll sleep on the bench.” He departed.

I tried the door between our chambers. It was barred, from Rust’s side.

The Earl of Cumber requested our company at his breakfast table. Rustin and I dressed with trepidation. This morning his mood was civil, but distant. I wore the fine new robe Rust had bought me, over my best clothes. We debated whether I should bear the crown, and decided not.

“My lords.” The Earl rose. His table was set for an elegant repast, but for once his shadow Imbar was absent. He said, “Shall we have at it, Lord Rustin? Tresa tells me our prince believes in forthright discourse.”

With a weak smile, I poured my tea. I’d heard nothing from Lady Tresa since my apology.

“I’ll be frank: I believe the lad would be a decent king. Imbar was dubious, at first, but this morning he agrees. Of course, one must doubt what Rodrigo could accomplish without the Still of Caledon.”

I said, “The Vessels haven’t been swallowed in the earth.”

“But you don’t have them.”

“I’ll find them, if I have to rack Uncle Mar. But their loss isn’t as bad as it might seem; they can’t be used against me, if I’m crowned.”

Raeth snorted. “I find that less than reassuring. Even if you’re crowned, will you have the strength to hold your realm without the Still?”

My voice was heated. “Long enough to find my Power.” I rested my arms on the breakfast table, leaned close to him. “Uncle Raeth, I will do what I must to become King. Your support will make it easier, but I’ll go where I must. I’ll raise armies, best my foes, even ...” I faltered.

“Say on, lad.” He was attentive.

“Even conquer myself.” I hadn’t meant to speak of what it cost to preserve myself for the Still, or admit I needed Rustin’s help to become a man. But, speak I did, of these things, and more.

When I stumbled to a halt, Raeth raised an eyebrow, addressed Rustin. “As we agreed, Imbar and I. The boy would make a good king.”

I said eagerly, “Then you’ll support—”

“He’s a bit too impetuous, of course. As you see.”

I colored at the rebuke.

“Shall I support you, young Rodrigo? No.”

My heart plunged.

“Not openly. I can’t afford a rift with Mar while he’s regent, and won’t countenance one. But between us ...” He toyed with his napkin.

I gritted my teeth, determined to wait him out.

“It would depend on certain assurances.” His eyes met mine. “I would have to know, you see, that the promises you gave could never be treated lightly.”

“You’d have surety for my word?” A repugnant concept. “You’d doubt a nobleman’s—”

“Oh, don’t take it personally. We who hold power lie routinely. Perhaps churls do as well. But lords of Caledon have an advantage in dealing with our sovereign; his lie costs him dear.” A pause, for emphasis. “I’d have you swear on the True. An oath of my own devising, that assures me you’ll have no reservations, play no tricks, that your intent and meaning is identical to mine.”

I found it hard to keep my voice from trembling. “And the content?”

“Certain lands of Cumber, occupied these many years by the Warthen of the Sands.” A scroll appeared from under the table, with a map drawn. “The barony of which we spoke, and at least partial remission of taxes, for five years. I’m firm on the point.”

I waved assent to the scroll, wondering what I was giving away. “And I agree to the barony. All except the taxes. I won’t begin my reign by fomenting civil war.”

“Then we have no agreement.”

I stood. “I’m sorry, Uncle.” I moved toward the door. “We’ll avail ourselves of the safe-conduct you offered, as soon as we’re packed. I bid you—”

“Confound it, sit, and stop routing me at my own game. What would Imbar think if he saw me bested by a mere boy? Faugh!” A wave of disgust. “These pastries are specially made by a most talented baker. I taught him myself. I’ll live with your demon-inspired taxation.” He bit into a sweet.

I gaped. “You’ll support me?”

“Try the ones with cherry filling; they’re especially good. Not openly. You’ll flee Cumber, with a few of my troops in somewhat lazy pursuit. I’ll loan you funds, at a rewarding rate of interest, and a small complement of guards.”

“How many?”

“Say, five hundred men-at-arms.”

I sat stunned.

“I can’t raise more without being too obvious. A few personal servants, to do your cooking and the like. Twenty goldens a month will pay their expenses, and leave enough for you to progress in style.”

I managed, “We’ll make do.” Five hundred men were a force to be reckoned with. A glance at Rustin. His eyes showed triumph, but also pain. Puzzled, I set it aside for later. “I must have your vote in Council to put aside the regency and ratify my crown.”

“Name three firm votes, and mine will be fourth. For less, I dare not risk war with Mar.”

Rustin said, “He’ll need the promise of your vote to convince the others.”

“Then he won’t be King. I like the lad, but I won’t risk Cumber for him. How many votes have you?”

“I’ve one—”

“Two.” Rustin, too late.

“One firm, and perhaps others. May I at least tell Soushire?”

“No one. Especially not her; the woman eats garlic cloves whole. How can I have faith in her judgment?” The Earl wiped his mouth. “Are you prepared to swear now?”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath, and sat straighter. “Raeth, Lord of Cumber, I do promise by the True of Caledon that I shall uphold fully and without deceit this vow: that as King I shall grant the petition you present me today—”

“Promptly grant.”

“Promptly grant, to redress inequities in lands heretofore divided between Cumber and the Sands. Further, that I shall, the day after my coronation, ennoble and make Baron your counselor Imbar.”

“That there is no trick or deceit, or hidden meaning, or attempt to cavil or avoid these commitments fully.”

“All of that I swear, by the True.” My hands shook; I steadied them over my tea.

“That you will keep secret every aspect of my support, until revealing it shall do me and Cumber no harm.”

“By the True I so swear.” My palms lay flat over the cup, as if it were the Chalice.

“And one other thing; you’ll take my granddaughter to live at Stryx. Cumber’s too small a place for her.”

I frowned, before I considered the insult he’d see in it.

His lips turned upward. “She’s a decent sort. A pity you don’t like each other.”

“It’s not that ...” I ran aground.

“Well.” He pushed away his plate. “Now I’ve an investment in you, Tresa’s to see your wound. I won’t have you suppurate and die filled with pus.” He wrinkled his nose. “Upstairs with you, as soon as we’re finished.”

I acknowledged his orders with a nod.

“Now, as to your brother.” He raised an eyebrow. “He’s welcome to our hospitality, while you go about seeking your crown.”

“It’s best if we’re together.”

“Best he have a clean bed and decent food, which you can’t provide. We’ll keep good eye on him.”

“Thank you, but Dame Hester has the care of him. She’ll want—”

“The boy stays here. Damn, Rodrigo, why do you force my fist from its velvet glove? Won’t you allow me a touch of subtlety?”

My lip curled. “Oh, no, Uncle, too many candles will gutter if he stays.”

It took him effort, but the Earl kept a firm check on his temper. Eventually he said quietly, “It has nothing to do with passion, you twit. Lord Rustin, explain to our prince that I’m tending my self-interest.”

“You’d control me through my brother? That’s more vile yet.” I was too angry to care what havoc my words caused, until Rust scraped back his chair, wandered around the table, rested a gentle hand on my shoulder, squeezed a warning. Slightly calmed, I added, “What control would you gain, Uncle? Is not Elryc my rival? Would it not be a service to find him no more?”

“Odd.” Uncle Raeth stroked his chin, a sardonic smile playing about his lips. “You showed no disaffection while you played chess with him last afternoon.”

“Perhaps I dissembled.”

“Then leave him with me, and remember the favor you’ll owe should you be rid of him. Ah, that displeases you? Then perhaps I gain power over you after all, by requiring his presence.”