Lynn Flewelling - The Bone Doll's Twin

“May I withdraw, Your Highness?” Moriel asked.

Korin nodded and the boy turned away. Tobin saw him cast a poisonous glance in Ki’s direction as he stalked from the chamber.

“Have you a title, boy?” Porion asked Ki.

“No, Swordmaster.”

“No title!” Korin exclaimed. “Well, that won’t do for a prince of Skala, to be served so! Tanil, my sword.”

One of the young men at the squire’s table hurried forward with a handsome blade. “Kneel and be knighted,” he ordered Ki.

The other squires cheered and pounded the table with their footed drinking cups.

Tobin was delighted but Ki hesitated, shooting him a strange, questioning look.

Tobin nodded. “You’ll be a knight.”

Ki bowed his head and knelt. Korin touched him on the shoulders and both cheeks with the flat of his blade. “Rise, Sir Ki—what was it? Kirothius, Knight of Ero, Companion of the Prince Royal. There. Done!” Korin tossed the sword back to his squire and the rest of the table pounded their cups.

Ki rose and looked around uncertainly. “I’m a knight now?”

“You are.” Porion clapped him on the shoulders. “Welcome your little brother, squires. Give him a full mazer and a good place among you.” This brought on another round of cup banging.

With a last doubtful look over his shoulder at Tobin, Ki went to join the others.

Korin brought Tobin to the long table and set him in a fine carved chair on his right. The feast was long over, the cloth covered with rinds, bones, and nutshells, but fresh trenchers and bowls had been set ready for him.

“And now you must meet your new brothers,” Korin announced. “I won’t trouble you with everyone’s lineage tonight. This is Caliel.” Korin ruffled the hair of the handsome fair-skinned youth on his left. “This great red bear with the scruffy chin next to him is our old man, Zusthra. Then we have Alben, Orneus, Urmanis, Quirion, Nikides, and little Lutha, the baby until your arrival.”

Each boy rose and clasped hands with Tobin, greeting him with varying degrees of interest and warmth. There was something odd in their handclasps. It took him a moment to realize that it was the smoothness of their palms.

Lutha’s smile was the broadest. “Welcome, Prince Tobin. You make our number even again for drills.” He had a sharp face that put Tobin in mind of a mouse, and his brown eyes were friendly.

The feast resumed. Korin was lord of the table and everyone deferred to him as if he were lord of the castle. With the exception of Zusthra, no one at the table looked to be any older than Korin, but all went on as if they ruled great estates of their own already, talking of horses, crops, and battles. They drank wine like men, too. Prince Korin’s mazer was always in his hand and a butler always at his shoulder. Master Porion had taken a place at the far end of the table and seemed to be watching the prince without looking at him too often.

The rest in the company were the children of Skalan nobility and foreign dignitaries. The young men and boys wore elaborate tunics and jeweled daggers and rings. The dozen or so girls at the table wore gowns decorated with wide bands of embroidery, and strands of ribbon or jewels twisted into their hair under gauzy veils. Tobin couldn’t keep track of all the names and titles. He did sit forward and take note, however, when a dark-haired boy was introduced as an Aurënfaie from Gedre. Tobin had over looked him before, for he was dressed like the rest, and wore no sen’gai.

“Gedre? You’re Aurënfaie?”

“Yes. I’m Arengil ì Maren Ortheil Solun Gedre, son of the Gedre Khirnari. Welcome, Prince Tobin ì Rhius.”

One of the older girls leaned in beside Tobin, resting an arm across the back of his chair. She had thick auburn hair and a mix of freckles and pimples across her sharp chin. Tobin struggled to recall her name. Aliya something, a duke’s daughter. Her green gown was embroidered with pearls and showed the first hint of a womanly form. “The ’faie love their long, fancy names,” she said with a smirk. “I’ll bet you a sester you can’t guess Ari’s age.”

Everyone groaned, including Korin. “Aliya, let him be!”

She pouted at him. “Oh, let him guess. He’s probably never even seen a ’faie before.”

The Aurënfaie boy sighed and rested his chin on one hand. “Go on,” he offered.

Tobin had seen a few ’faie, and learned a great deal more from his father and Arkoniel. This boy looked to be about Ki’s age. “Twenty-nine?” he guessed.

Ari’s eyebrows flew up. “Twenty-five, but that’s closer than most get it.”

Everyone laughed as Aliya slapped a coin down in front of Tobin’s trencher and flounced away.

“Don’t mind her,” chuckled Korin, quite drunk now. “She’s gone sour ever since her brother went to Mycena.” He sighed and waved a hand around at the company. “So have we all. All the older boys are gone except for me and those unfortunate enough to be my Companions. We’d all be in the field now if there were a second heir to take my place. It would be different if my brothers and sisters had lived.” He took a long swig from his mazer, then scowled unhappily at Tobin over the rim. “Why, if my sisters had lived, Skala could have her queen back as the moon priests would have it, but all they have is me. So I have to stay wrapped in silk here, safely kept by to rule.” Korin slumped back in his chair, staring morosely into his cup. “An heir to spare, that’s what we’re lacking. A spare heir—”

“We’ve all heard that one, Korin,” Caliel chided, nudging the prince. “Maybe we should tell him about the palace ghosts instead?”

“Ghosts?” Korin brightened at this. “By the Four, we have buckets of them! Half of ’em are Grandmama Agnalain’s old consorts she poisoned or beheaded. Isn’t that so, squires?”

The squires chorused their agreement and Tobin saw Ki’s eyes widen a bit.

“And the old mad queen herself,” Zusthra added, scratching sagely at his thin, coppery beard. “She wanders the corridors at night in her armor. You can hear the drag of her bad leg as she goes up and down, looking for traitors. She’s been known to grab up grown men and carry them to the torture chambers beneath the Palace, where she locks them up in her rusty old cages to starve.”

“What of that ghost of yours, cousin—” Korin began, but Porion cleared his throat.

“Your Highness, Prince Tobin has had a weary journey today. You shouldn’t keep him so late, his first night here.”

Korin leaned close to Tobin. His breath was sour with wine and his words were slurred. “Poor coz! Would you? Would you like to find your bed? You’re in my dead brother’s room, you know. There might be ghosts, there, too, but you shouldn’t mind that. Elarin was a sweet lad—”

Porion was behind Korin’s chair now, slipping a hand under his arm. “My prince,” he murmured.

Korin glanced up at him, then turned back to Tobin with a charming smile that made him look almost sober. “Sleep well, then.”

Tobin rose and took his leave, glad to escape this crowd of drunken strangers.

The stiff-backed servant appeared with Ki on his heels and conducted them back to their room. Porion walked with them as far as their door.

“You mustn’t judge the prince by what you saw tonight, Prince Tobin,” he said sadly. “He’s a good lad and a great warrior. That’s the problem, you see. It weighs heavily on him, not being allowed to go to war now that he’s of age. As he said, it’s a hard thing being the sole heir to the throne when his father will declare no second. Such feasts as these—” He cast a disgusted look back toward the hall. “It’s his father’s absence. Well, when he’s fresh tomorrow he’ll make you a better welcome. You’re to be presented to Lord Chancellor Hylus at the audience chamber in the morning. Come out to the training grounds after that so I can have a look at your skills and equipage. I understand you have no proper armor.”