me?”
“No. I cannot.” He raised his hands, as if to shrug. “I won’t sacrifice myself in a hopeless gesture.”
I hesitated. “Sir Willem, if I have three other votes, will you cast the fourth?”
“It depends on the circumstances, whether it’s sure—”
“Answer!” My tone snapped like a whip.
He looked away, waited, but eventually his gaze found its way back to mine. At last, “Prince Rodrigo, if thou hast three votes in Council, I will vote to crown thee King. I so swear.”
“Done.” I offered my hand, and he took it.
I strode to the outer door, followed the corridor to the nearest turn before I sagged against the wall.
Rustin threw his arm across my shoulder, squeezed.
I shrugged off his hand. “Don’t. We failed; all I got was coin and a useless promise.”
“Outside.”
We found a secluded spot, under the courtyard wall. He said, “Now you have coin, should we need to flee. And you know where Willem stands. Not only that: his key. Did you notice?”
“He keeps it round his neck, with his others.”
“And his promise is far more than you had before.”
“Bah.” I kicked at the earth. “Without the Still—”
“And of most import ...” Rustin, eyes dancing, waited for my full attention. “He saw you act the King. That’s worth more than the rest put together.”
Uncle Mar summoned me as the sun set, before the Rite of Mourning. My inclination was to ignore his call, but Rustin persuaded me to respond. I found Mar in his opulent quarters on the first floor of the castle. The door was ajar: servitors and henchmen bustled about the outer halls.
“Ah, there you are. Giles, leave us while I have a word with my nephew.” In a few moments we were alone in the sumptuous anteroom to his sleeping chamber. It was a well-aired room, his favorite place of business. Handsome murals adorned the vaulted ceiling, and colorful tapestries softened the walls.
The Duke surveyed me affably. “This afternoon we got off on the wrong foot, lad. You must be reeling with shock. I could have been more gentle.”
“Thank you.” It was all I could do not to snarl.
“Would you forgive me?” He clapped my shoulder. “We’ll have to get along, you and I.”
I ached to throw off his hand. “Why, Uncle?”
A look of surprise. “Well, perhaps not me, you’re right. The Council’s made no appointment yet. But someone will be regent until you’re of age.”
“Why?”
“Think, Roddy. Tantroth prowls his frontier, and beyond Eiber lurks Hriskil and his Norlanders. Think you they’d linger a moment outside our borders, knowing a stripling held the throne?”
“Our guards are—”
“For that matter, do you imagine our yeomanry would rally to a standard set to earth by a beardless boy? No, we need the confidence of the common folk to defend the realm.” He paused for breath.
“Uncle, Mother is dead. I’m to be King.”
“Undoubtedly. We all want that. But, Roddy ...” The Duke threw open a tall window, breathed deeply of the dusk. “Will you have a kingdom to rule, or no? Would you rather be a half king, an exile, like poor Freisart of Kant?”
“Is that a threat, sir?”
“Confound it, boy.” He strode across the chamber to shake me like a puppy. “Don’t fight us on this, we’re doing it for your own—”
“Us?”
“The Council. It’s arranged. Your poor mother’s been dying for years. We’ve talked—”
“Plotted behind her back!” I stood on tiptoe; we were nose to nose.
“Nonsense! We’re the Council of State; could we risk going unprepared?”
“To thwart her wish?”
He bellowed, “To save your throne!” With an effort, he lowered his voice. “Roddy, always you unravel my temper. You lost your mother today; I must make allowances. But look you: I also lost my sister!” His eyes glistened.
I said nothing.
“Children we were together, Elena and I, so little time past. She was elder; the land would be hers to rule. I had no quarrel with that,
“No. I cannot.” He raised his hands, as if to shrug. “I won’t sacrifice myself in a hopeless gesture.”
I hesitated. “Sir Willem, if I have three other votes, will you cast the fourth?”
“It depends on the circumstances, whether it’s sure—”
“Answer!” My tone snapped like a whip.
He looked away, waited, but eventually his gaze found its way back to mine. At last, “Prince Rodrigo, if thou hast three votes in Council, I will vote to crown thee King. I so swear.”
“Done.” I offered my hand, and he took it.
I strode to the outer door, followed the corridor to the nearest turn before I sagged against the wall.
Rustin threw his arm across my shoulder, squeezed.
I shrugged off his hand. “Don’t. We failed; all I got was coin and a useless promise.”
“Outside.”
We found a secluded spot, under the courtyard wall. He said, “Now you have coin, should we need to flee. And you know where Willem stands. Not only that: his key. Did you notice?”
“He keeps it round his neck, with his others.”
“And his promise is far more than you had before.”
“Bah.” I kicked at the earth. “Without the Still—”
“And of most import ...” Rustin, eyes dancing, waited for my full attention. “He saw you act the King. That’s worth more than the rest put together.”
Uncle Mar summoned me as the sun set, before the Rite of Mourning. My inclination was to ignore his call, but Rustin persuaded me to respond. I found Mar in his opulent quarters on the first floor of the castle. The door was ajar: servitors and henchmen bustled about the outer halls.
“Ah, there you are. Giles, leave us while I have a word with my nephew.” In a few moments we were alone in the sumptuous anteroom to his sleeping chamber. It was a well-aired room, his favorite place of business. Handsome murals adorned the vaulted ceiling, and colorful tapestries softened the walls.
The Duke surveyed me affably. “This afternoon we got off on the wrong foot, lad. You must be reeling with shock. I could have been more gentle.”
“Thank you.” It was all I could do not to snarl.
“Would you forgive me?” He clapped my shoulder. “We’ll have to get along, you and I.”
I ached to throw off his hand. “Why, Uncle?”
A look of surprise. “Well, perhaps not me, you’re right. The Council’s made no appointment yet. But someone will be regent until you’re of age.”
“Why?”
“Think, Roddy. Tantroth prowls his frontier, and beyond Eiber lurks Hriskil and his Norlanders. Think you they’d linger a moment outside our borders, knowing a stripling held the throne?”
“Our guards are—”
“For that matter, do you imagine our yeomanry would rally to a standard set to earth by a beardless boy? No, we need the confidence of the common folk to defend the realm.” He paused for breath.
“Uncle, Mother is dead. I’m to be King.”
“Undoubtedly. We all want that. But, Roddy ...” The Duke threw open a tall window, breathed deeply of the dusk. “Will you have a kingdom to rule, or no? Would you rather be a half king, an exile, like poor Freisart of Kant?”
“Is that a threat, sir?”
“Confound it, boy.” He strode across the chamber to shake me like a puppy. “Don’t fight us on this, we’re doing it for your own—”
“Us?”
“The Council. It’s arranged. Your poor mother’s been dying for years. We’ve talked—”
“Plotted behind her back!” I stood on tiptoe; we were nose to nose.
“Nonsense! We’re the Council of State; could we risk going unprepared?”
“To thwart her wish?”
He bellowed, “To save your throne!” With an effort, he lowered his voice. “Roddy, always you unravel my temper. You lost your mother today; I must make allowances. But look you: I also lost my sister!” His eyes glistened.
I said nothing.
“Children we were together, Elena and I, so little time past. She was elder; the land would be hers to rule. I had no quarrel with that,
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