Read Online The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) by Karen Azinger - Free Book Online

stares. Command had its privileges and its burdens. His true
friends were few, his responsibilities many. The marshal eavesdropped as he
walked, regretting that he hadn’t paid closer attention to Trask and his
cronies.
    Six knights trooped into the hall,
a dusting of snow on their maroon cloaks. The marshal’s gaze snapped to their captain,
Sir Lothar, his weather-beaten face sporting a long mustache, his dark gaze
full of questions. The marshal crossed the hall to greet the newcomers. “Well
met.” Sir Lothar clasped the marshal close, his voice a low whisper, “Are the
rumors of treachery true?”  
    “Too true.”
    “And the king?”
    “Locked in his grief.”
    They parted with a knowing look.
The marshal said, “Come and share meat and mead with me. There is much to
discuss.” He led Lothar to the high table. Most of the chairs were already
taken, filled with captains come to pay court to the king’s three remaining
sons. The princes dominated the table. Ulrich and Godfrey sat in the center,
supping on ale and lamb and roasted potatoes, while Prince Griffin sat sprawled
at the far end, his hands curled around a tankard. All three were fierce
warriors and able swordsman, captains in their own right, commanding strongholds
along the Domain. Big blond men, well muscled and bold, the princes echoed the
king’s bearish physique. They struck an uncanny resemblance, especially Ulrich.
The king’s first-born wore scarred fighting leathers, the hilt of a blue steel
sword looming over his right shoulder. For half a heartbeat the marshal
hesitated, like staring into the past. Yet there was something missing, some
indefinable quality that made the son a pale imitation of the father.
    Ulrich broke the spell, his booted
foot pushing an empty chair toward the marshal. “So the one-eyed eagle comes
down from his aerie. It seems even the knight marshal must eat.”
    A forced chuckle circled the high
table, the sound of men currying favor.
    The marshal shrugged his cloak over
his shoulder, taking a seat across from the prince. Lothar took a chair next to
the marshal.
    Ulrich’s stare fixed on the hilt of
the marshal’s great sword. “So it’s true, you’ve taken up a dead man’s blade?”
    He didn’t explain; he wasn’t sure
he understood it himself. “Good steel should never be wasted.”
    “But you’ve always been a saber
man. Why take up the great sword when there’s gray in your hair?”
    So the princeling flexed his
muscles, reaching for Lionel’s place. The marshal flashed a predator’s smile,
rising to the challenge. “I wanted a sword with greater reach. You understand
the value of reach?”
    The prince never broke eye contact,
but he eased back in his chair. “We’ve seen little enough of you these past few
days, and even less of the king. What draws you to the tower top?”
    “Snow, rock and more snow.”
Gesturing for a squire to bring a plate for himself and Lothar, the marshal tugged
the leather gloves from his hands, tucking them into his belt. “It’ll likely be
a long winter.”
    Ulrich grinned, the right side of
his mouth twisted by an old scar. “But if the signal towers hold true, it’ll be
a winter full of war. A chance for honor and glory, else why call the captains
to council?”
    Griffin, a leaner version of Ulrich, answered
from the far end of the table. “For the sake of treachery, brother.”
    Ulrich scowled and Godfrey shook
his head but Griffin’s
hooded gaze never wavered. “And then there’s the question of the crown.”
    Prince Griffin’s words hung across
the table like a battle axe.
    The marshal glared, “Prince Lionel’s
grave is still fresh-turned.”
    Griffin held his gaze, “Yet it is the duty of
king’s to have an heir…and our lord father is ever fond of duty.”
    Ulrich intervened, wielding his
birthright as the eldest. “Rest assured, brother, the king will name an heir,
else why has he summoned us to council?”
    The marshal knew the princes