Kerstand nodded, smiling as he grabbed his sword. “Of course.”
Aware Baylec waited for him, Farrell resisted the urge to observe the initial exchange between Thomas and his new student.
“Is that the Prince of Honal we’re supposed to watch over?” Baylec asked when Farrell arrived.
“It is, Master. He didn’t want to be the heir sent to safety. I think he’s worried he won’t see his family again.” He shrugged as he let Baylec begin their preworkout stretch. “Since we’re about the same age and have similar upbringings, I figured I’d try to befriend him.”
“Good luck with him. He seems a bit formal.”
LOST IN his training, he didn’t realize how long they’d been there until Baylec stepped back, planting his staff in the dirt.
Imitating his teacher’s actions, he bowed deeply. Baylec led him over to where Kerstand worked hard under Thomas’s watchful eye. “Are we finished already, Master Baylec?”
“Thomas, mark this date,” he said as they joined the larger group. “Prince Farrell wants to train longer.”
Thomas gave Farrell a wink. “We can arrange that.”
Barking an order, Thomas sent all but Kerstand to the sides. Bringing the two princes together, he smirked at Baylec. “Why don’t you two spar? It’s been too long since you’ve had a sword in your hand, Farrell.”
Baylec handed Farrell one of the swords he kept at the field. After swinging it a few times to remember the feel, Farrell nodded to Baylec, who accompanied him to an open space. Thomas gave Kerstand some last-minute instructions, then motioned for the two to square off.
Farrell bowed to his opponent, then lunged forward to start the exercise. As the two went back and forth, the teachers circled the pair, stopping them on three occasions. Each time, Baylec and Thomas played the roles of their students and demonstrated their good and bad techniques. Finally they stopped giving instructions and the sparring continued.
After almost ten minutes of give and take, Farrell disarmed Kerstand twice and moved him back when they called to stop. Farrell bowed, but Kerstand’s dour expression told him what his new friend thought of the training session.
Master Thomas appeared at Kerstand’s side and clasped the younger man’s shoulder in his callused hand. “Well done, lad. Quite impressive. In a couple of weeks’ time, I’ll have you trouncing this slacker.” He shoved a thumb in Farrell’s direction.
Kerstand’s face brightened. Baylec walked over, extending his arm. “Indeed, Prince Kerstand, you surprised me with your skills. A little refinement and I’m sure you two will be trading victories soon enough.”
Farrell nearly reminded them of his skill level, but he saw Kerstand’s mood improve with each compliment. “Thank you, Kerstand. It’s good to spar with someone who’s not a weapons master. Next time you’ll win a few, I’m sure. I sense Master Thomas is eager to train you for just that purpose.”
“If it motivates you to work harder,” Thomas growled, “count on it.”
Both princes smiled as they gathered their clothes. “Definitely better than a dry, boring meeting,” Kerstand said.
Farrell nodded. “Every time.”
STARING AT the parchment, Farrell rubbed his eyes. “Are you sure all of this is necessary?”
Horgon gave him a brief smile before nodding. “I’m afraid so. As prince, you can’t sneak off and get joined. All this”—he waved at the papers—“is just part of what’s involved. I’ve left the more mundane details out, figuring you don’t much care about things like the color of the invitation or which flowers will be on the altar.”
“Unbelievable.” Farrell shook his head, lifting another sheet from the stack.
“There is good news,” Horgon said.
“What? The ceremony won’t be eight hours long?” He appreciated Horgon’s efforts, but he’d never envisioned the extent of the ceremonial obligations.
“By the Six, yes.” Horgon laughed. “I promise it won’t go a minute over six hours.”
Focused on the document in his hand, Farrell didn’t pay attention to the answer. When the import of what Horgon said hit him, he looked up. “I’m not finding this funny.”
“You need to relax.” Miceral gently rubbed Farrell’s shoulders. “Everything will work out.”
He shook his head. “Work out according to whose plans?”
Horgon shifted through the papers and slid a sheet toward Farrell. “Back to the good news. We’ve worked everyone into the ceremony. As you can see from the sketch, your adopted brothers and father”—he pointed to the three peregrines’ images on the page—“and mentors each have prominent roles, though I did need to include representatives from the nations in exile to get the clerics to—”
“Wait!” He waved the paper at Horgon. “This drawing is for the Grand Temple of Honorus. We were supposed to use the small private temple to Lenore in the Yar-del portion of Haven.”
“Yeeess.” Horgon turned to his right. “The high priests and priestesses felt that would prove too small, so they switched it to the Grand Temple. It has more room for the ceremony as well as far more seating. Also, the private temple you wanted is too small to hold Rothdin and your brothers. Did you want your adopted father to come, but not Grohl and Takala?”
“All six?” Farrell looked up again, his voice an octave higher. “You have the heads of all six temples written down. When did that happen?”
The smile faded from Horgon’s face as he threw his hands up. “Farrell, like it or not, you’re the Prince of Haven. You don’t get to elope and have the first available priest join the two of you.”
“All I—we—want is a simple ceremony with our friends and family. This is turning into a union ceremony for a king of Yar-del.”
“Farrell.” Miceral rubbed his shoulders a bit harder. “We got the things that mattered most. Some things we need to concede.”
“Concede?” Now Farrell raised his voice. “‘Concede’ implies there are negotiations involved! This is our ceremony. No one else gets a say!”
“Sorry, son.” Horgon sounded tired but firm. “But the people get a say when their ruler gets joined.”
Not wanting to spend the rest of the day arguing, Farrell tossed the paper onto the table. “Since it doesn’t matter what I want, I’m going to weapons practice. At least there when I get beaten down, it’s because I didn’t defend myself.”
“SORRY, FARRELL.” Kerstand pulled the sweaty tunic over his head. The mat of light brown hair on his chest glistened from his efforts. “What you describe is exactly what I’d expect for my union ceremony.”
“Not you too.” He tossed his linen shirt over his shoulder, where it disappeared with a small pop. “It’s not that I don’t understand why it has to be this way. I just wish I could be normal.”
Laughter filled the small area they used to change. “Normal? Farrell, with no disrespect meant, you might be the least normal person in all the world. What makes you think you’d ever want to be normal?”
Feeling a bit foolish, he shrugged. “Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have to worry that your next decision could affect so many people?”
Kerstand finished wiping the sweat from his torso and sat down. “Your concept of what regular people are like is skewed. Suppose you were allowed to give away all your responsibilities as leader of Haven. What then? Would you give up being a wizard? I think not. I’ve seen how casually you do things with magic. It’s second nature to you. Normal people can’t whisk themselves from one end of the city to another with a thought.
“But even if you could give up being a wizard, do you really understand what normal people do every day? They work, and work hard. They till fields, make shoes, build fences, mine ore, sell goods, and a hundred other tasks that are full-time occupations. They have families who depend on them, much like the rest of us depend on you. So while you might give up the greater responsibility of protecting everyone else, you would still have people whom you’d want to keep safe. The only diffe
rence is, if you weren’t you, you’d be powerless to save them.”
Stunned at the depth of his friend’s comments, Farrell forgot to put on a clean shirt until he shivered in the cool air. “That was… insightful. When did you become so well-versed in the ways of regular people?”
A small smile curled the edges of Kerstand’s lips. “I’ve spent time with those not of the nobility. Their worldview is very different from ours.”
“When you put things like that, I don’t think I want to be normal after all.” Farrell waved his hand to fetch a new tunic from his closet. “Come on. I owe my soon-to-be father-in-law an apology.”
FARRELL QUIETED the churning in his stomach with three deep breaths before he opened his eyes to winter solstice—the Winter Festival. His union ceremony. Awake already, Miceral stared at him with a smile.
“Morning, handsome.” Miceral completed the greeting by bringing their lips together. “Ready to spend the rest of your life with me?”
“Depends. Do you promise to keep me that long?” Farrell kissed his partner again, then rolled on top of him.
“Someone has a lot of energy.” Miceral tossed back the sheets and carried Farrell as he climbed off their bed. “Might as well keep to our morning training schedule. Some exercise will calm you.”
“It’d better, because right now I doubt I can stand still long enough to exchange vows.”
FARRELL CLUTCHED his knees, panting hard. Their training felt more intense than normal, which probably explained the smirk on Miceral’s face.
“Hopefully, you’re not too tired to exchange vows.”
Sticking out his tongue, Farrell shook his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, old man.”
Before Miceral could respond, a loud knock filled the room.
“Who could that be?”
Farrell shrugged, heading toward the exit. “Don’t know. I didn’t invite anyone.”
Miceral tossed him a towel. “You’re the wizard, can’t you….” He waved his hand with a laugh. Ignoring the sarcasm, Farrell wiped his face and found a shirt before heading to the door. As he got closer, a second knock rang out.
“Hold on!” he said. “Don’t people know this is a big apartment?” Trying not to be annoyed, he opened the door.
“Kerstand.” He stepped back to let his friend pass. “The ceremony’s after lunch.”
“It’s Kerstand, and he’s dressed already.”
“Let me get my shirt and I’ll join you.”
“I know,” Kerstand said. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay. What did you need?” He smiled, leading their friend through their private rooms. “Excuse the mess. I didn’t have a chance to set things back.”
Farrell waved his hand in a circle twice and snapped it forward. The thick, spongy black rug rolled up, lifted off the ground, and vanished. Next the furniture slid back into place.
“That’s a handy trick,” Kerstand said absently.
“It saves us from asking Erstad to expand our apartment again,” Miceral said, coming from their bedroom. “I don’t need another lecture on how much space we already have.”
“Can’t you do it?” Kerstand turned toward Farrell. “I mean, you’re a grand master wizard. Why can’t you do what he does?”
“I can do it. The question is, can I do it as well.” He retrieved a pitcher of water by the door and offered his guest a cup. “It’s like painting a picture. Most of us can do it, but only those who have the talent and who practice are good at it. When Erstad makes new rooms, the walls are straight, the floors are even, and the dimensions are proper. Mine?” He shrugged, handing Kerstand a drink.
“So why all dressed up at this early hour?” Miceral motioned their friend toward a chair.
Looking uncomfortable, Kerstand nodded to himself before he spoke. “I need some advice about a girl.”
Farrell turned to Miceral, and the two burst out laughing. “Kerstand, you’re a good friend, but you need a better source of information on girls than Miceral and I.”
Kerstand rolled his eyes but still laughed. Seeming more relaxed, he shook his head. “I don’t need advice on what girls are like. I have enough experience to know men have no idea what woman think. It has to do with her being a commoner.”
Farrell smirked. “Now I see where your information came from.”
Flushed, Kerstand nodded. “The issue is she claims she has nothing to wear suitable to be in ‘a prince’s presence,’ and when I offered to buy her something, she refused, saying she didn’t want my charity.”
“That’s hard,” Miceral said. “Maybe she’s using her lack of clothing as an excuse so she doesn’t have to say no and hurt your feelings.”
Kerstand’s shoulders slumped. “You’re probably right. This is a mistake.”
“Blessed Serita, Kers, you give up too easily.” Farrell stood up, shaking his head. “Wait here.”
He went into his closet and searched without success. Frowning, he tried to recall where he put what he was looking for. “Stupid.”
Arms out, he “saw” the image of what he wanted and intoned a fetching spell. Smiling, he returned to their sitting room carrying a long, shallow wooden box.
“This was my… my master had me make this for Queen Zenora. She despised formal occasions almost as much as finding suitable clothing. For reasons I’m still not clear on, Heminaltose had me make a dress for her as a lesson in nondefined magic.” Opening the box, he showed them a bit of white cloth. He quickly shut the top. “The dress has no set size or style. All one needs to do is think of the dress you want, and this will become whatever is desired.”
Thrusting the container toward his friend, he nodded. Kerstand slowly opened the lid, letting out a low gasp. Smiling to Miceral, Farrell let his friend take the box.
“I imprinted a dress the tailor showed Lisle but she didn’t select.” Farrell paused as Kerstand held up a simple but elegant pale blue gown with white lace. “There are matching shoes in the box. Once she touches it, the dress and shoes will automatically adjust to her size. Explain the dress to her, and tell her I’m loaning it to you for the festival. That way you didn’t buy it and it’s not charity.”
Kerstand folded the dress, carefully laid it back inside, and shut the top. “Thank you. Not sure she’ll say yes, but she’ll have one less excuse for turning me down.”
DESPITE THEIR suggestion that Lisle take the day off, she arrived for work just after Kerstand left.
Even with the ceremony several hours away, Farrell and Miceral began to get ready. Lisle set out their clothes, then left while they washed up.
Farrell went to the bath chamber and filled the tub. Before getting in, he dug out his old shaving kit from the back of the closet. Normally he used magic to remove the stubble, but today he wanted to get ready the “normal” way.
Miceral entered just as he stepped in the tub. Immediately his attention went to the razor and soap on the counter. “That’s a switch. Any reason you’re going to risk cutting your throat like the rest of us instead of doing it the easy way?”
“Today I want to be just a regular person, not a grand master wizard.”
Miceral opened, then closed his mouth. Picking up a cloth, he moved over to the tub. “You don’t have to do this for me. I love you exactly as you are.” Gently rubbing the soapy cloth over Farrell’s back, Miceral won a sigh of enjoyment for his efforts.
“This is about me today, not that I was worried you’d disapprove. With time, I worry I’m losing my ability to relate to people who can’t do most everything they want with a wave of the hand. On this day, I don’t want to be more than anyone else. Besides, if I truly mess it up, I can fix it with a wave of my hand.” This last point he brought home by waving his hand in front of his face. “Gods of Nendor, Ral, that feels so good. Promise me when we’re joined you’ll keep doing it.”
“Are you kidding?” Miceral sat back, looking exaggeratedly shocked. “Once I have you lulled into saying ‘I do,’ I’m go
ing to show my true colors. No more back rubs, no more hugs and kisses. None of it. I hate that stuff. That was only to trick you into joining with me.”
Rolling his eyes, Farrell splashed water at his partner.
“Hey!” Miceral sat back, taking the washcloth off Farrell’s back. “Don’t start splashing me. If I jump in, we might not make our ceremony.”
Wicked thoughts flashed through Farrell’s mind. It might be worth being late. It wasn’t as though anyone could start without them. Before he could suggest they have a bit of fun, Miceral rinsed the soap off Farrell’s back and stood up. Mildly disappointed, Farrell knew he needed to be good. He dunked his head to get his hair wet, washed it, then dunked it again.
“Done.” He quickly emptied the tub, refilled it with clean water, and dried off.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he eyed the shaving brush and razor. He struggled to work up a lather. Frustrated, he glared at the soap, ready to banish it to Neblor with a thought. Miceral came up behind him and took the brush from his hand. Without a word, he added a bit more water to the soap cup, twirled the brush around, and gave it back to Farrell with a kiss on the cheek.
Building on Miceral’s efforts, he soon had enough lather to shave. The brush tickled his face more than he remembered. Determined to see it through, he eyed the razor suspiciously. Gingerly, he pulled the blade across the stubble. It ended up being a slow, deliberate process, but he managed to finish without cutting himself. Satisfied, he moved to Miceral’s side to wash his back as a thank-you.
When they finished, Farrell walked into his closet and emerged with a long rectangular wooden box. He laid it on the bed, pushed back the lid, and revealed several crowns, ranging from plain gold to ornate and jewel-encrusted. “I suppose I ought to wear one today.” He looked to Miceral for confirmation. “Unless you think it is too presumptuous.”
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