“Yes, I understand.” As the defensive order, the blues protected all the caravans. Corwin clapped the man on the back, surprising himself by the ease of the gesture. It seemed he’d grown fond of this particular magist. “The moment I hear anything, so shall you. I’ll send word to your house if you’re not presently in the city.”
“Thank you.” Raith bowed again, then handed his horse off to a groom. Before departing, he said good-bye to Signe, Bonner, Dal, and finally to Kate, who had drifted slightly away from the group, as if she hoped to make a quick escape. He whispered something into her ear that made her eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin line. Corwin wondered what it was, but the noise in the courtyard beckoned to him once more.
He turned and strode across the bailey, through the main archway between the east and west wings, and into the cobblestoned courtyard. A large circular fountain, bearing another set of statues honoring Niran and Nelek in its center, occupied the middle of the courtyard. On a normal day, the place was quiet and empty save for a page scurrying to fulfill some duty or a wagon or carriage delivering goods or guests. But today it was full of people; courtiers, nobles, and servants crowded around the edges, all of them with their attention fixed on the group of men standing near the fountain.
Corwin spotted his brother among them, along with all the members of the high council: Minister Rendborne, master of trade; Knox, master of arms; Porter, master of coin; Fletcher, master of the hearth; Nell, master builder; and Alaistar Cade, master of horse, who had once served as second under Kate’s father. If it hadn’t been for the location, Corwin would’ve thought this was a council meeting. Grand Master Storr, head of the Mage League, and Maestra Vikas, head of the gold order, who were not part of the council, were present as well.
What are they doing out here? he wondered, but then his eyes fell on the thing lying in their midst. He recognized the black scales and the dragonish shape of the body.
A dead daydrake.
Corwin passed through the crowd, which parted at the sight of him, and stepped up beside his brother. “Where did you get that?” he said.
Edwin turned his head toward Corwin, the look of surprise on his face quickly giving way to annoyance. “And a welcome home to you, too, brother.”
Corwin was too intrigued to feel guilty about his lack of diplomacy. This was the first time he’d been able to examine a daydrake closely, and although dead, it was no less intimidating. This specimen was roughly the size of a small bear. It lay halfway on its side, mouth opened to reveal the sharp teeth, and with its right foreleg extended out in front of it, the claws spread like curved daggers set up in a row. Its neck had been partially severed from its body. Corwin covered his mouth as its putrid stench reached him.
“What happened?” Corwin turned his gaze fully on Edwin for the first time. Surprise struck him at Edwin’s unkempt state. Blood and dirt smeared his tunic and breeches, and fresh scratches lined his forearms. Nevertheless, Edwin still cut an imposing figure. Tall and elegantly handsome, he sported a lighter shade of blond hair than Corwin’s and his eyes were their mother’s hazel. Sometimes when Corwin looked at them, all he saw was her.
“I came across that thing when I was out riding,” Edwin replied. “It’s the same as what attacked you on the road to Andreas, yes? A daydrake?”
Corwin nodded, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. Some of the travelers they’d passed on the road spoke of daydrake sightings around Marared. That city was a little farther east than Andreas and Farhold, but not much. But this one had made it all the way to Norgard already. “Where were you riding?”
“On the road toward Penlocke.”
South then. Only—“There was just the one?”
“Yes, and a good thing, too, or I might not have come through it at all.” Edwin rubbed his hands together as if trying to clean away the blood. “My pistol shot only wounded it, but when it jumped at me, I was able to use the force of its leap to cut its throat with my sword.”
“You did well, your highness,” Minister Knox said. The large, burly man looked elderly with his gray hair and skin like crumpled parchment, but Corwin knew from experience he was still fit enough to pummel men half his age—as he did often in his arms lessons.
Several of the people around them echoed the sentiment, and Corwin reminded himself that whatever was said and done here would be discussed and passed along until the entire city knew the story, or some version of it.
“I’m glad you’re all right, Edwin, but I’m surprised there was only one.” Corwin stooped nearer the daydrake for a closer look. “They seem to run in packs, same as nightdrakes.” Still, one could be dangerous enough. And it attacked my brother, Corwin realized. First the Gregors, then him, and now Edwin. If the Rising was behind this, then their purpose was clear—to unseat the power of Norgard.
Nervous chatter broke out all around them, several of the courtiers daring to come closer.
“How can we be safe with these creatures terrorizing the daytime?” someone asked. The question was repeated in a dozen different variations as it swept through the crowd.
Minister Rendborne raised his hands, the right one bearing a large magestone ring that glowed dully in the sunshine filling the courtyard. Whatever vanity the magic allowed him, Corwin couldn’t guess, but the master of trade was easily the most dashing member of the royal council, with striking eagle eyes, golden hued and sharp. He was also the most comfortable with public speaking.
In a loud voice he said, “Have no fear. The Tormane family has always kept us safe and will continue to do so. Have faith in the high king!”
The speech had little effect, despite Rendborne’s enthusiasm and charismatic manner. Most of these people lived in the castle, and either they knew firsthand of King Orwin’s sickness or they suspected it strongly. How could they have faith in a king so infirm that he was rarely seen outside his personal chambers?
The realization of their doubt spurred Corwin into action. He walked over to the fountain just beyond the drakes’ body and climbed onto the edge.
“What Minister Rendborne says is true,” Corwin said in a raised voice, commanding immediate silence. He drew a breath and plowed on. “In my travels I have discovered a weapon that will change the face of Rime forever, one so powerful it may one day end the plague of the drakes, both in the night and the day.”
He paused and turned back the way he’d come, scanning the crowd for Bonner, Signe, and Kate. He spotted them lurking on the edge of the courtyard with Dal. “Miss Brighton, Miss Leth, Master Bonner, please come here,” Corwin called.
A look of horror came over Kate’s face, and Corwin guessed that if he’d been near enough, she might have murdered him where he stood. But she couldn’t refuse him, not in front of so many watching eyes. With Bonner leading the way, the three approached the fountain.
The silence from a moment before shattered as the people recognized Kate. Corwin heard her name spoken over and over again in worried, hostile tones. Kate Brighton . . . the traitor’s daughter . . . Traitor Kate. He heard his own unofficial title uttered as well, the Errant Prince. Anger churned in his stomach. He’d promised Kate he would protect her from this very thing; he’d assured her she would be welcomed back.
“And I mean to see it done,” he said under his breath. Although she might indeed kill him for it later, Corwin called for Kate to come stand beside him on the fountain.
Once Kate was up and visible to the entire crowd, Corwin spoke again in the loudest, most kingly voice he could muster—a voice that no one would dare contradict or disrespect. “Kate Brighton, daughter of the traitor Hale, saved my life on the road from Farhold to Andreas when my caravan was attacked by an entire pack of these daydrakes.”
He paused to sweep his gaze over the crowd. Dozens of eyes stared back at him—ladies in elegantly embroidered day dresses with parasols over their shoulders, noblemen with clean-shaved faces and bejeweled daggers at their waists, servants and guards in their uniforms. He h
eld them all as equal in his gaze.
“I owe her a blood debt great enough to have canceled out any transgressions she herself can be held accountable for.” None of which were hers to begin with, he added in his mind. “Let it be known to everyone assembled here and throughout all of Norgard that Kate Brighton is no longer an enemy to the high king.”
Corwin stopped speaking and waited for the crowd to respond, but only silence and icy stares met his proclamation.
That was until Edwin stepped forward and said, “I, for one, am proud to welcome her back.” He took hold of Kate’s hand, and she stiffened, lips pinched tight as he raised her knuckles to his mouth to kiss them. Corwin gritted his teeth at the sight of it and the bad memories it invoked.
“Thank you for seeing my brother returned safely,” Edwin told Kate with a warm smile on his face. “You are welcome in Norgard, Miss Brighton. Now and forever.”
This time the crowd broke into applause. It was reserved, not quite enthusiastic, but a start. Edwin had developed the knack for swaying their opinion in the years he’d secretly worn their father’s mantle.
When the crowd quieted once more, Corwin said, “It was Miss Brighton who brought a new weapon to my attention. She used it to kill three daydrakes at once!” He pulled the revolver out of the holster at his side and held it up. “This weapon is what I bring back to Norgard from my travels. It is no ordinary pistol. It’s called a revolver, an invention of Master Tom Bonner from Farhold, created with the help of Miss Signe Leth of Esh. Both have traveled to Norgard to make more of these weapons for us. Master Bonner has done what no other gunsmith in the world has managed. It is a firearm that can discharge multiple rounds without reloading.”
Corwin turned and pointed the revolver at the dead drake. “Stand back,” he commanded.
Edwin and the high councilmembers obeyed, several of them going so far as to cover their ears.
Corwin cocked the trigger and fired, to the shock of the crowd. Then without pausing he did it again and again, discharging all six bullets. The drake’s body rocked back and forth at the impact, blood and scales spraying out as each one tore through it.
When it was over, the crowd broke into cheers. He heard his name shouted in ecstatic tones, the title Errant Prince forgotten. Even Edwin clapped, although the gesture was perfunctory, his expression aloof. Corwin ignored the disappointment he felt at such a tepid response. He should’ve known better than to hope for his brother’s approval.
With the demonstration now over, Corwin stepped down from the fountain.
Edwin turned at once to Signe. “Welcome to Norgard, Miss Leth. But what, may I ask, is your part in this endeavor?”
“May the blessing of Aslar be upon you, your highness.” Signe made a quick bow. “I am honored to be welcomed here. I hold the secret of the black powder used in the bullet casings, my own special formula that makes the revolver possible.”
“I see.” Edwin beamed at her. “That is surprising and excellent news.” He gestured to Bonner. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, Master Bonner.”
Grand Master Storr approached them then, introducing himself to Bonner and Signe with a bright smile. He wore no mask, a privilege of his rank, and the only indications of his own importance were the magestone mace hooked at his belt and his black robe. A thick multicolored band of stripes ran down the robe’s front, representing all the League orders and marking him as grand master. The largest stripe was white, indicating the order from which he’d been raised. He was handsome in an understated way, with wavy brown hair threaded with silver that hung to his shoulders. He had a way of making everyone feel as if they were the most important person in the room regardless of rank or station.
Storr kissed Signe’s hand, then did the same to Kate. “Welcome to you all. Now, I for one would love a closer look at this remarkable revolver.”
A nervous smile appeared on Bonner’s face as Corwin handed Storr the gun. The moment it was in the grand master’s hands, the rest of the high council crowded in for a better look. Soon they were plying Bonner with questions about how it worked.
Corwin slowly retreated, allowing them the chance to fuss over Bonner, who seemed to be enjoying the attention. Signe was enjoying the same as several of the councilmembers speculated that surely her special mixture of black powder was the key to keeping the mechanism from misfiring.
“Are you one of the Furen Mag?” Minister Rendborne asked, and Corwin turned away, not wanting to laugh at whatever ridiculous answer Signe would give him.
Spying Kate on the other side of the group, Corwin moved to join her, but before he could, Edwin appeared at his side. “Congratulations, brother. This round to you then.”
“Round?” Corwin cocked his head. “Whatever do you mean?”
A cool smile parted Edwin’s lips. “Surely someone has told you by now.”
“Told me what?” Corwin placed his hands on his hips, annoyed at Edwin’s patronizing tone. Not that his brother could help it. Ever since they were little, he’d had that tone whenever he addressed Corwin, as if such were a requirement from an older brother to a younger.
The smile retreated from Edwin’s face. “To be honest, my only regret is that Mother didn’t live to see it.”
Corwin flinched, struck as he always was whenever Edwin mentioned their mother. Although he’d spoken the words in a pleasant, conversational tone, Corwin didn’t miss the barb, the never-ending blame Edwin placed on him for her death.
“See what?” Corwin said through gritted teeth.
“The uror, brother. The sign has finally appeared.”
At Edwin’s words, the ground seemed to shift beneath Corwin’s feet, and he widened his stance, steadying himself. All at once the enthusiastic greeting of the crowd outside made sense. They weren’t welcoming home the second-born prince of Norgard but the next possible heir, the man who could be the high king.
Only uror would tell. It was finally here.
15
Corwin
THERE WAS MUCH TO DO. A dozen decisions to make and words to be spoken, but in the hours that followed his arrival at Norgard, only one thing occupied Corwin’s thoughts.
The uror.
He’d been convinced it would never come. The first year after his sixteen birthday, he’d woken every morning expecting it to be the day the sign would appear. He’d been told since birth that it would come, that he and his brother would have to prove their worth to follow in their father’s footsteps.
But day after day came and went with no sign of it. And as one year became two, he would go to sleep each night with the weight of his unworthiness pressing on his chest. By the time the third year came, he began to accept in his heart that it was never going to happen. That acceptance was half the reason he left Rime. There seemed no point in staying. Not with all his failures.
I failed as a son.
When the panic started that day in the marketplace, the wilder burning everything in reach, Corwin’s mother had ordered him to climb the rail outside the seamstress shop, but he’d argued with her. He wanted to help, not flee. She’d insisted, and he’d finally obeyed, climbing all the way to the roof. But when he turned to help her up after him, it was too late. All he could do was perch there on the edge and watch while the frenzied crowd crushed her beneath their feet.
I failed as a brother.
“Why did you let her die?” Edwin said that night. “Corwin, why didn’t you save her?” They were questions he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He didn’t need to. All of Norgard bore witness to his shame. He heard them whispering about it when they laid the queen’s body on the pyre and anointed her skin with holy fire.
I failed as a friend.
“Dal!” he had screamed, searching for him among the blackened, smoking debris. “Dal!” When he finally found him there’d been so much blood, so much damage. “I’m sorry, Dal. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know.”
I failed . . . Kate.
“Please
let him go, Corwin,” she had said, falling to her knees before him. Shudders wracked her body, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Mercy, please. Send us into exile. If you ever loved me, please do this. Don’t let him die today. Don’t let him die.”
With sheer force of will, Corwin stopped the flood of memories. He couldn’t handle them right now.
While the soldiers loaded the dead daydrake onto a cart to send to the League Academy for dissection and study, Corwin led his companions into the central wing. He needed to get them settled into their new quarters. Or old ones, he reminded himself, taking a quick glance at Kate. A stoic expression sat across her features and her spine formed a rigid line, but he could see the fragility beneath that hard exterior.
Doubt rose up in him. When he’d sent word to the castle of their impending arrival two days ago, he’d made an impromptu decision to request the old Brighton quarters be prepared for Signe and Kate. The three-bedroom suite had been unoccupied since Hale’s arrest and execution, no other courtier willing to reside in the home of a traitor. Although the Brighton family had owned a house in Norgard’s Glentrove district north of the castle, Hale and his wife and daughter had resided primarily in the castle. Hale’s duties as master of horse required him to spend so much time in the royal stables, and the quarters had been Kate’s home. But now Corwin wasn’t sure that his decision had been wise. Suppose it was too painful for her?
Damn, he inwardly cursed. He’d failed again. Why didn’t I ask her? It was too late to take it back it now, though. The castle housekeeper, Mrs. Paden, approached them the moment they stepped through the door.
Bowing stiffly to Corwin, she said, “I have both the Brighton quarters and the bachelor suite adjacent ready for your guests, your highness. I will escort them there myself, if you wish.”
Corwin heard Kate’s sharp intake of breath from behind him and winced. “Yes, that would be fine. Thank you, Mrs. Paden.”
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