"Sshh," soothed Allis, kissing him again. "Quietly, Temmin. We wish no more attention than we've already gathered. We should go back now, before we're missed. Listen, the music's started, the dancers are beginning to assemble again."
"I--I can't go in just yet," Temmin said, dazed and uncomfortable.
"Stay outside if you wish," said Allis, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. "We have dances bespoken in this set."
Temmin gripped the bench, as the twins stood before him arm in arm. "What just happened?" he said.
"We will see you inside, Your Highness," said Issak.
The Obbys returned to the ballroom. Temmin took to pacing the little arbor in agitation. Jenks in his underwear, he recited to himself, Jenks in his underwear, Pagg-damned Jenks in his Pagg-damned underwear, to no avail. He strode down the paths leading deeper into the garden, hoping to walk off his arousal, but the paths left by fingers and lips refused to fade. He stopped in frustration under a tree whose low, spreading canopy sheltered him from sight. The party noise seemed tinny, and bright, and quite far away. He braced himself against the trunk with one hand, while he worked himself with the other one.
Kisses. Touches. He imagined where they might have gone, how Allis might have opened his trousers and caressed him, how Issak might have bent his head back and kissed him, how Allis might have knelt between his legs as Alvo had, how her mouth might have felt, how she might have looked up at him just when--
Temmin came in a longing spurt against the tree trunk. He rested his forehead on the smooth bark until his breath came more easily, then cleaned up what hadn't hit the tree with his handkerchief, thinking he must wash it out before putting it in the laundry. He checked himself all over for signs of impropriety, and stepped out from the tree's shelter toward the house.
A man he didn't recognize approached, still far down the path. Temmin took his hands from his pockets and straightened his shoulders. He was just reassuring himself that the stranger had been far enough away during his interlude under the tree, when the man drew a long dagger and ran at him.
Time slowed down, as it sometimes does in dangerous moments.
The man came between Temmin and the safety of the house. Only the King wore a ceremonial dagger at balls now; Temmin had no weapon. He cast about for anything nearby he could use to defend himself, found a palm-sized rock in a decorative grouping beside the path, and pitched it hard, scoring a solid hit on his attacker’s temple. A cut opened; the man checked his stride, but only for a moment.
No more rocks, nothing to use as a shield or as a weapon. Nothing else for it: Temmin set himself in a defensive stance and sent up a prayer to Farr. “I’ll send a case of the best wuisc I can find to Your temple, Warrior, if You get me through this,” he muttered.
Several dark figures rose out of the nearby greenery. Accomplices? Three of them raised small crossbows and let fly; Temmin’s attacker dropped, a bolt placed neatly between the eyes up to its fletching and two more in his ribs.
Another figure stepped into the path. “Your Highness!” said the figure, dropping to one knee and opening his arms. “I’m a Brother. We’re Brothers. You’re safe.”
Temmin’s heart beat so hard he could feel it in the tips of his ears. The Brother got to his feet, and said, “I’m Senior Brother Mardus. Are you hurt at all?”
“No, Brother, just--” scared, he admitted to himself. Aloud, he said, “Startled. Who was that? What in Harla’s name just happened?”
“Another assassin, sir, though not a very good one. Hard to find professionals nowadays outside our service. I assume he was sent by your uncles.”
“An assassin? Who’d want to kill me? I only have one uncle, and he’s dead!”
Mardus clamped his mouth closed. “You had best ask your father about them, sir. It’s not my place.”
Time had returned to its usual flow, but Temmin’s nerves still jangled and rang; he put his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He looked back at the dead assassin, whose eyes still stared up into the low light from the paper lanterns. The fletching bristled between the man’s eyebrows. He was young, rough-looking; his formal apparel didn’t fit well, as if it were borrowed. One eye had filled with blood; it trickled down the side of his face onto the gravel path.
Up came Temmin's dinner.
He retched into the grass, Mardus and another Brother standing respectfully to one side. When he'd finished, Mardus handed him a large bandana with a discreet, "Your Highness"; Temmin wiped his mouth. "I collect you've never seen a dead man before, sir?" said Mardus.
"Not like this, no," said Temmin.
"Don't be embarrassed," Mardus murmured. "Every man here has done the same, at least once." He took the bandana from Temmin's shaking hands, and folded it into a pouch hanging across his chest.
"What happens now?"
"You go back into the ball, sir, and we sweep the grounds. You will stay in the same dancing set the rest of the night, please, though you may choose different partners. The men in the set will be ours."
"Brothers dance?" said Temmin with a little smile.
"The dancers are officers from the Royal Guard. They've been among the dancers the entire time, sir." Mardus grinned. "Spares us Brothers the indignity of dancing with women." He shooed Temmin back to the house.
Ellika waited on the terrace; when she saw him, she ran up and took his arm. "I've been looking for you--you look terrible--you smell terrible! Did you throw up? Here--rinse your mouth with this lemonade and spit over the terrace, no one is looking. Did you have a fight with Allis already? That didn't take long!"
"No, and I'm not in the mood to be teased."
Ellika took a second look at his ashen, serious face, and said, "I'm sorry. No teasing. What happened?"
"Do you know anything about us having uncles on Papa's side?"
"Uncles? Papa didn't have any brothers, just Aunt Sofalla and Aunt Tessia. What's this about?"
"I don't know," said Temmin.
When they returned to the Keep, much earlier than Ellika would have liked, Temmin found himself summoned to the King's study, despite the late hour. Teacher stood leaning against the mantelpiece, such a habitual position that Temmin wondered if the advisor weren't glued to it by the elbow.
"You're all right?" said Harsin. "A glass of wine? No? Very well. I've received a preliminary report from Brother Mardus. Needless to say, the Royal Guard will be under extreme scrutiny for this security breach. Mardus says in his note you acquitted yourself well."
Temmin shrugged, embarrassed. "I winged him with a rock. Nothing else for it. I'm just glad Alvo and I used to practice hitting old bottles."
"You've had archery lessons, surely," said his father.
"Arrows aren't rocks. Listen, Papa, who are these brothers Mardus mentioned? The only uncle I know about is Uncle Pat."
Harsin sighed and sipped his wine; he looked tired, and the fire picked out the gray in his hair and beard. "I'm the youngest of four brothers, and the only legitimate one," answered his father. "Their names are Perin, Tallin and Ruvin. All of us are half-brothers--different mothers."
"Temmin the Fifth was a ladies' man, let us say," observed Teacher. Harsin rolled a quelling eye toward the mantelpiece, but Teacher continued. "Your father was something of a last-minute surprise. Your grandfather's first wife died in childbirth, and the baby not long after. The King took his time remarrying. His three illegitimate sons were recognized and brought into the Keep."
"Then my father remarried," said Harsin, "and here I am, and my sisters, too. Perin never forgave me for removing him from the succession--he was fifteen when I was born, and fully expected to ascend to the throne."
"Worse," said Teacher, "Temmin the Fifth sent all three brothers away from the Keep into the countryside as soon as your father was born, against my advice. Tallin was twelve, and Ruvin was just five."
"No wonder they were upset," said Temmin. Unexpected homesickness struck him behind the eyes; he blinked hard and look
ed away.
"Don't waste too much pity on them," said Harsin. "They left the Keep lords, all of them, with substantial holdings. They had respect, influence and wealth enough for anyone, but they began plotting against me. Several assassination attempts."
"To be fair, Ruvin was a cat's paw until he reached his majority," said Teacher.
"When our father lay on his deathbed, Perin led an open rebellion against the throne. Tallin and Ruvin joined him--why not? It isn't as if any of them had any brotherly feeling toward me. None of them really knew me. We put the rebellion down, but they escaped. They're in exile, and still attempting through proxies to kill me--and you, Temmin. If I die, you become king. But if we both die, my oldest remaining brother takes the throne. Perin is 56 now, Tallin's 53 and Ruvin's 46. They're running out of time, and when you have a son, the odds are completely against them or their children ever becoming King. Your mother is at the end of her childbearing years. Unless I set her aside and take another wife, which I will not do, you will remain my only son. You've been their main target since you were born, and we've stopped many, many attempts on your life. It's the main reason you were kept in Whithorse. You were safer there. Every man and woman at the Estate would gladly die for you, and some did."
"People died for me?" said Temmin, stepping forward. "Who?"
His father waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. You're safe here in the Keep, and in the King's Woods. No one can get in from the far side of it but the Travelers."
"I'll explain later, Your Highness," murmured Teacher. "It has to do with the story we're studying."
Temmin moved closer to the fire, chilled. "Where are they--your brothers?"
"I cannot find them," said Teacher, "which means they are either extremely careful about reflections, or they are not within the Kingdom's boundaries."
"That's how it works, eh?"
"Outside Tremont and its territories, I have no power at all. It is tied to the land."
“We have agents looking for them outside the kingdom, as well as Teacher’s regular searches,” said Harsin.
“All right, so no one knows where they are. Why does no one talk about them?” said Temmin.
"Their names were wiped from the family rolls," said Teacher, "and it is generally believed best not to speak of them. The former princes were recognized, and their training for leadership begun, but their places in the succession were never announced, and they were rarely spoken of outside the Keep except as the King's bastards."
Temmin supposed Mattie was a bastard. He didn't like thinking of her that way; he didn't really know her, but it didn't sound right. "Mattie was a surprise," he said aloud. "How do you know I don't have a brother?"
"I know," said Teacher. "If a potential Heir is conceived, I know immediately. I knew the moment you were conceived. Your father may have countless daughters--I never know about the daughters--but you are the only son."
“Thank you for the explanation, Teacher,” said Harsin, with a stern glance that Teacher ignored. Harsin turned to Temmin. “You look exhausted, son. Go to bed.” Temmin nodded, gravely shook his father’s hand, and took his leave.
Once in his room, he let Jenks prepare him for bed. “Papa said people died for me at the Estate. Why wasn’t I told?”
“You were a child,” said Jenks, shaking out his nightshirt. “It was better that way. It’s better now.” Temmin began to speak, but Jenks stopped him. “You’re a Prince, sir. Many people have died and will die for your sake. And that’s all you’ll get from me.”
As Temmin drifted off to sleep that night, his last thoughts were of the dead assassin, blood pooling in his unseeing eye.
Temmin slept late the next day, but went out on his usual ride; while he had no marketing of his own to do this Paggday, he had the day off with everyone else. "No hangover, Jebby! There's a rare thing after a party. I wouldn't even have minded one today, what a night," Temmin said to his horse. The gelding snorted. They walked at a leisurely pace through the King's Woods, down a tributary path of the War Road. He knew the Woods were safe, but he still half-expected to see Brothers secreted in the underbrush.
The morning chill lifted. Mist rose thready from the meadows he glimpsed through the trees; birdsong and the murmur of streams rushing down to the Shadow River were the only sounds. A beautiful day, the kind of day that made him wish to ride until dark, and sleep where he stopped. He certainly hadn't slept well the night before. He knew the assassination attempt was political, but in his young heart he could not get over it: why would anyone want to kill him?
Into this green restfulness came a discordant sob. Temmin pulled Jebby up short, listening. It came from just ahead on the trail; he urged Jebby toward it, until they came to a downed log just off the path, and a girl sitting atop it, crying tears enough to join the Shadow in their own little salty stream.
Temmin dismounted. "Miss? Are you all right? Miss?" He crept forward, wary of frightening her.
The girl hid in her bonnet, but at his voice, she lifted her tear-stained face. "Your Highness?" she said. It was the pretty maid with the curly hair: Arta Dannikson, he remembered. His father's advice came to mind--"She won't deny you, I guarantee it"--and he flushed. "Why are you here?" she quavered.
"Why are you here? These are the King's Woods."
"I know," she said miserably. "I know I shouldn't be here. I sneak off sometimes to be by myself, and I needed to be by myself. Please don't tell Mr Affton!"
"For the last time, Dannikson, I'm not going to tell anyone! That's twice I've had to rescue you from the wrath of Affton, you antic girl," said Temmin. He handed her his handkerchief; she hesitated, took it, and wiped her turned-up nose. "Now, what's amiss?" he said. "Why would a pretty girl come out here, against the rules, to cry her eyes out?"
"It's nothing to concern yourself over, sir," she said to her boots.
"I choose to concern myself," he said, sinking down onto the log.
She scooted self-consciously to one end. "There's really nowhere else to go to have a good cry. I share my room with three other girls, and there's no privacy anywhere at the Keep."
"Don't I know it," Temmin grumbled.
"It's just a beautiful wood. Even when I'm sad I feel better here."
"Why are you sad? Come on, out with it, Arta."
"My sweetheart ain' my sweetheart any more," she wailed, lapsing fully into a mid-Valmouth accent. "He says he don' love me!" Arta buried her face in the borrowed handkerchief.
"A pretty girl like you? Why would he say that? Your sweetheart's the redheaded footman with all the freckles--Wallek, is it?"
"Fen Wallek, yes, sir," she said into the handkerchief.
"What did you fight about?" She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, sending the curls around her forehead bobbing in an uneasy dance. "Come now," he said. He gently pried the used handkerchief from her hand and gave her a fresh one, silently thanking Jenks for making him carry two at all times. "You can tell me," he coaxed, keeping hold of her hand. "I should think by now you'd trust me a little."
"I can'," she sniffled. "I'm afraid to."
"It's all right. Nothing will happen to you, I promise."
She wiped her nose again, and glanced blearily from under her plain straw bonnet. "We fought over you, sir. Miss Ellika, too, but he started it."
"Elly? Me?" said Temmin.
"Someone saw us in the service hallway, sir. Word got around we were alone, an now people think--things--about me an you." Arta noticed her hand clasped in Temmin's, and slipped it free.
"What sort of things?"
She gazed at him in disbelief. "What sorta things d'you think? Oh!" She clapped her hands over her mouth.
"We only danced."
She dropped her hands. "Sir, that was enough! An the gossip ain'--isn't--" she hastily corrected as she remembered her training-- "about us dancin. No one saw that, or I'd've gotten the boot. Bein seen alone was enough! It's never good when the family notices one of us--whatever family we're wi
th."
"No," he said, thinking of Tellis, and Mattie. "I imagine not. What happened with Wallek?"
She bit her lower lip, looking off into the forest. "Fen asked me about the gossip. I told him there was nothin to gossip about, but he said he didn' believe me, and no one else did, either. I said, everyone knows about you danglin after Miss Ellika, as if a redheaded junior footman would come to her notice. But he has, sir," she said, turning to Temmin, her face wretched. "We were to go today to get our promise rings in town, and instead he told me the princess asked him to move furniture for her. I said, let the on-duty men do it. An he said, no, she asked for me by name, an I can' say no. An I said, of course you can say no!"
She warmed to the memory, the wretched look giving way to wrath. Words came rushing out, angry and hurt. "He's always goin on about how beautiful she is, she's so graceful a dancer, she's a fairytale princess, his ideal, and on and on! An she is, she's all that, but really! He's a junior footman, not the Duke of Valmouth! I said, who d'you think you are, Fen Wallek, that a princess would pay you any mind? An he said, you're just jealous because she's prettier than you! An I said, if you're stupid enough to dangle after a princess, you git, then don' expect me to declare for you! An then he said--he said--why would--I want you to!" She broke down in sobs again.
Temmin took her hand again, and this time she didn't pull it away. "Now, then, you know you're a very fetching girl! He's a lucky man, that you love him!"
"I don' know I do any more," she sniffed through the last of her tears. She looked sideways at him. "You really think I'm pretty?"
"I can't imagine anyone who'd think you weren't," he said. He thought of her in his arms, her light steps as they danced, the scent of her hair, and her happy, eager face turned up to his. He slipped an arm around her, and stole closer to her along the log. Maybe his father was right. Maybe this would be for the best. She wouldn't say no. And then he'd go to Allis and not think about the rest. He put a tentative finger under her chin, tipped her face until their eyes met. She looked so serious, lips parted. He could kiss her right now, and she wouldn't say no. He slipped his hand round her neck, fingers tangled in the hair at her nape, drew her close, and kissed her.
Lovers and Beloveds Page 11