Lynn Flewelling - Hidden Warrior

Orun’s grand house stood in the maze of walled villas clustered on the New Palace grounds. Bisir met them at the door and ushered them into the reception hall.

“Good morning!” Tobin greeted him, glad to find one friendly face here. But Bisir hardly spoke and wouldn’t meet his eye. It was as if a single night back in his master’s house had undone all the good his time at the keep had accomplished. He looked as pale as ever, and Tobin saw new bruises on his wrists and neck.

Tharin had seen, too, and an angry flush came over his face. “He has no right—”

Bisir shook his head quickly, stealing a quick glance toward the stairs. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord,” he whispered, then, aloud, “My master is in his chamber. You may wait in the reception chamber, Sir Tharin. The Chancellor will speak with the prince alone.” He paused, clasping his hands nervously, and added, “Upstairs.”

For a moment Tobin thought Tharin was going to storm up with them. The man’s dislike of Orun was no secret, but Tobin had never seen him so angry.

Bisir stepped nearer to Tharin, and Tobin heard him whisper, “I’ll be close by.”

“See that you are,” Tharin muttered. “Don’t worry, Tobin. I’ll be right here.”

Tobin nodded, trying to feel brave; but as he followed Bisir upstairs, he drew out the ring and seal and kissed them for luck.

He’d never been upstairs before. As they continued down a long corridor toward the back of the house, Tobin was amazed at the opulence of the house. The carvings and tapestries were of the best quality and the furnishings rivaled anything in the New Palace. Young servant boys scattered out of their way as they passed. Bisir ignored them as if they didn’t exist.

He stopped at the last door and let Tobin into the enormous chamber beyond. “Remember, I’ll be right out here,” he whispered.

Trapped, Tobin looked around in surprise. He’d expected a private sitting room or salon, but this was a bedchamber. An enormous carved bedstead dominated the center of the room. Its hangings—thick yellow velvet edged with tiny golden bells—were still closed. So were the draperies at the windows. The paneled walls were hung with tapestries of green woodland scenes, but the room was as hot as a smithy and heavy with the aroma of cedar logs blazing and snapping on the enormous stone hearth.

Even Prince Korin’s room was not so lavish, Tobin thought, then started as bells on the bed hangings tinkled softly. A plump white hand emerged and drew back one of the heavy curtains.

“Ah, here is our little wanderer, returned at last,” Orun purred, waving Tobin closer. “Come, my dear, and let me see how you weathered your illness.”

Propped up against a mass of pillows, Lord Orun was wrapped in a yellow silk dressing gown; a large velvet bed cap of the same color covered his bald head. A crystal lamp hung from a chain, casting shadows that made his face seem more sallow than ever, his heavy flesh slacker on his bones. The counterpane was strewn with documents and the remains of a large breakfast lay on a tray beside him.

“Come closer,” Orun urged.

The edge of the mattress was nearly level with Tobin’s chest. Forced to look up at the man, Tobin could see the grey hairs in his guardian’s large nose.

“Do have a seat, my prince. There’s a stool just behind you.”

Tobin ignored it, letting his scorn show as he set his feet and clasped his hands behind his back so this man wouldn’t see them trembling. “You sent for me, Lord Orun, and I am here. What do you want?”

Orun favored him with an unpleasant smile. “I see your time away hasn’t improved your manners. You know why you’re here, Tobin. You’ve been a naughty boy and your uncle has heard all about your little escapade. I wrote him a long letter as soon as we discovered where you’d gone. Of course, I did my best to shield you from his displeasure. I put the blame where it belonged, on that ignorant peasant squire you’re lumbered with. Though perhaps we shouldn’t blame poor Kirothius too much. I daresay he suits you well enough out there in the wilds, but how could he be expected to keep proper watch over a princess’ son at court?”

“He serves me well here! Even Korin says so.”

“Oh, you’re all very fond of the boy, I know. And I’m sure we can find some suitable situation for him. In fact, in my letter I even offered to take him into my household. I can assure you, he’ll be properly educated here.”

Tobin clenched his fists, recalling the bruises on Bisir’s wrists.

“As to why you’re here, well, surely you wish to pay your respects to me after such long absence?” Orun paused. “No? Well, no matter. I’m expecting the king’s reply with this morning’s dispatches and thought it would be pleasant to read the good news together.”

This was far worse than anything Tobin had imagined. Orun was much too pleased with himself. He probably had spies among the king’s entourage and already knew the answer. Tobin’s heart sank even lower; Ki wouldn’t last two days in this household without getting into serious trouble.

Clucking his tongue in feigned concern, Orun lifted a delicate painted plate from the tray and held it out to him. “You’re looking very pale, dear boy. Have a bit of cake.”

Tobin fixed his gaze on the counterpane’s embroidered edge, resisting the urge to knock the plate across the room. Bed ropes creaked as Orun settled back, and Tobin heard his guardian’s satisfied chuckle. He wished now he’d accepted the stool but was too proud to move. How long until the dispatches arrived? Orun hadn’t said, and the heat was making Tobin dizzy. Sweat prickled across his upper lip and ran down between his shoulder blades. He could hear cold rain spattering against the shutters and wished he were outside again, running with his friends.

Orun said nothing, but Tobin knew he was being closely watched. “I won’t put Ki aside!” he gritted out, looking up defiantly.

Orun’s eyes had gone like black flints, though he was still smiling. “I sent the king a list of prospective replacements, young men of suitable background and breeding. But perhaps you’ve someone to add? I don’t wish to be unreasonable.”

No doubt Orun’s list had been a very short one, made up of favorites who would carry tales. Tobin knew who was at the head of it, judging by the Toad’s smug demeanor last night.

“Very well, then,” he said at last, glaring up at Orun. “I’ll have Lady Una.”

Orun laughed and clapped his soft hands, as if Tobin had made a particularly brilliant joke. “Most amusing, my prince! I must remember to tell your uncle that one. But seriously, young Moriel is more than willing, and the king did already approve him once—”

“Not him.”

“As your guardian—”

“No!” Tobin nearly stamped his foot. “Moriel will never serve me. Not if I have to go naked and alone into battle!”

Orun settled back against his cushions again and picked up a cup from the tray. “We’ll see about that.”

Despair crept over Tobin. For all his brave words to Ki and Tharin, he knew he was no match for the man.

Orun sipped softly at his tea for a moment. “I understand you wish to visit Atyion.”

So Moriel was already at work. Or perhaps it had been Alben. He’d heard Orun favored the dark, arrogant boy. “The estate is mine now. Why shouldn’t I go? Korin said I might.”

Orun smirked. “Assuming our dear prince recalls anything he said last night. But you’re not planning to go today, surely? Just listen to that rain. It’s certain to last for days this time of the year. I wouldn’t be surprised if it begins to freeze soon.”

“It’s only a day’s ride—”