It was true, not just in Setac’s face and words, Werfol realized, but in how their parents differed. They balanced one another. He’d always felt it.
For the first time, he’d words for why home felt incomplete when only Momma or only Poppa was home.
“Vorkoun needs them both,” their tutor continued. “As does Mondir.”
Werfol nodded to himself. So did he.
But Semyn frowned. “So if any Ansnan came to you with a plan for peace, you would be loyal to them too.”
“I would.”
The truth and highly worrisome. The brothers exchanged looks. Semyn gave a slight nod and Werfol turned his full, golden gaze on Master Setac. “Does Momma know? Don’t lie.”
The tutor’s skin didn’t pale, but Werfol saw him swallow. “Yes.”
That changed everything. Werfol saw the realization in Semyn’s face too. Master Setac represented a larger game than any Momma had played with them before. A grave and important one.
“You’re here to learn about us,” Semyn said bluntly. “All of us. You’re here to judge if the Westietas are truly for peace and report—to whom, Master Setac? The Ansnans—or the Eld?”
“Both,” Werfol guessed. Something flickered in the man’s eyes and he crowed, “And Mellynne! You play for them all!”
“Your family has attracted the attention of the powerful beyond Rhoth,” Master Setac said very quietly. “I have a reputation as an impartial observer—”
“Who knows about magic like Weed’s,” Semyn interrupted. He didn’t look happy, not happy at all, and Werfol felt cold inside. “You’re a spy. Why shouldn’t we kick you out?”
“Because we know our world isn’t what most believe it to be. It is a far more wondrous place, yes, but terribly fragile. There are forces at play in it. Some to preserve its peace. Others to disrupt it for their own gain. Not all, I greatly fear, have declared themselves.” His hands swept out, cupping the air, then reached toward Semyn as if in offering. “Your family is among those seeking peace. I’m your best hope for allies to do just that.”
“It’s what he believes to be true, Semyn,” Werfol said, not because truth didn’t ring in the words and shine from Master Setac’s face until he felt warm inside, but because it was time, his brother had told him, to think before he spoke. A truthseer’s words had power of a sort, one to be used with care and precision, like a sword.
Semyn being very smart indeed.
Master Setac gave a satisfied nod. “It is.”
“Let us return to our lesson, then.”
Which was Semyn’s way of ending the conversation, Werfol knew, before Master Setac had to lie to them or they had to lie to Master Setac. Because for all the bright words and good feelings?
Their new tutor hadn’t told them much at all.
* * *
The estate came to a stop midafternoon, Lila having declared all should have a respite before the busyness of the evening. Ioana, the cook, took to her chair, putting up her feet and promptly going to sleep. Their former staff, accustomed to the thoughtfulness of their employers, ignored her as they cheerfully congregated in the kitchen, delighted to find the cook had set out trays of hot savory pies before her nap.
The fourteen new staff came too, bemused and uncertain. They milled in the kitchen, cautiously nibbling on pie, eyeing the others, especially Lila’s guards.
Lila having gone about her own tasks, it was entirely likely she’d organized this cluster of people in order to clear other areas of the house. Meaning she expected her family in the kitchen too, and Emon was fully willing, given the aroma of the pies and state of his own stomach. He led his small troop through the main door from the lobby, waving his hand brusquely to stop bows. “Any left for us?” he asked with a broad smile.
“Of course, m’lord,” Revis assured him.
Semyn followed at his heels as he entered. Werfol stayed close to his brother, his face hidden behind a lock of hair. Dutton came last, a familiar satchel over one broad shoulder. Weed had protested until reminded they were to meet the new arrivals.
Emon slowed his pace so he could rest a hand on his youngest’s hunched shoulder. “If this is too much—” he began in a whisper.
Weed looked up, eyes a reassuring brown, if a little too serious. “I’m ready, Poppa.”
He resisted the urge to tousle the boy’s hair. “Let’s have it done, so we can all relax. Revis—introductions, please.”
Semyn stepped up. “Allow me, Poppa.”
“By all means.” Emon gestured his heir into the lead.
* * *
Their old staff, and guards, lined up with their pies in one hand and mugs in another, as if to watch a show. The new staff, stiff and worried, began to search for places to put down their treats until stopped by Revis. The cook remained in her chair to one side, eyes closed. This was it. Werfol clung to their practice last night. Semyn would greet each new person first, letting him watch. He would take his turn, doing his utmost not to look for lies or truth.
Which wasn’t easy, he’d warned his brother, because the moment he forgot about not looking, he’d look. Even if he remembered, sometimes he couldn’t help but look. But if he did, and found a liar, he wasn’t to say a word about it. Just signal. It helped, to know that.
It helped, seeing his satchel over Dutton’s shoulder. They’d planned for that too, he and Semyn. Oh, his notebook was inside, tied up with string. Just not his story. They’d carefully cut out every page, even the blank ones, and replaced them with pages from inside a dreadful old book of Master Issan’s that happened to be the same size.
His pages pressed snug against Werfol’s stomach. They’d used Semyn’s carry belt to secure them, as that had a sturdy clasp and wide soft band. Ancestors Blessed, if their plan worked, all would be done tonight.
“Good people,” Semyn began, his voice high but clear and strong. “I am Semyn Westietas and this is my brother Werfol. We add our gratitude to that of our parents for your help. We will strive not to be a burden to any of you.”
Someone chuckled and Werfol frowned in their direction. Were they not in their second-best clothes and well groomed and weren’t their beds better-made than ever before?
Semyn appeared not to notice. “We would like to greet each of you, please.”
A tall thin man handed his mug and pie to a neighbor, then stepped forward to bow. Werfol took note, for this would be the leader, then, of the new staff; either by their wish or his. Before the man could rise, Semyn said smoothly, “You must be our new butler, Sendrick. Well met.”
Sendrick’s eyes widened in surprise and Werfol bit his lip not to laugh. Semyn hadn’t just brought Werfol’s notebook from Momma, he’d acquired her list of these new people’s names and previous occupations for them to study. Putting name to person? That was Semyn’s skill.
“Master Semyn,” Sendrick acknowledged with a second bow and a keener look.
His turn. Werfol held out his hand, not being the heir. “Welcome to our service, Sendrick.” Just in time, he remembered he wasn’t to look.
“Master Werfol. I am honored to be here.”
Was he? Tempted, Werfol ducked his head in what he hoped looked a polite nod.
The rest came forward in no order he could tell, unless it was those hungriest or those who had someone to take their pies. Which looked more and more appetizing the longer the line grew, but Werfol held steady. This moment was important. These people were, for many of them were young and could be staff when Semyn became baron.
Everything went well until the twins. They were the youngest, almost girls, and identical from their black ringlets to the freckles on their upturned noses. Semyn blushed when they spoke, for no reason Werfol could see, then mixed up their names, which made them giggle.
The left one was Tixel, the right Tess; in Werfol’s opinion, impossible to mistake one f
or the other. They were also annoying and he shook their damp hands as quickly as possible.
“Should you need anything, Master Werfol, please ask us,” Tess said.
“We’re ever-so-ready to help,” Tixel added.
Werfol, ready for his pie, squinted at the pair and forgot.
They both lied. Quickly, urgently, he made the sign, but Semyn didn’t seem to notice. Werfol flinched and turned aside, hearing Semyn thank the liars, and couldn’t move, couldn’t think—what was he to do?
The cook’s eyes opened the barest amount. “Breathe, laddie,” she whispered, moving her lips as though demonstrating. “That’s it. It’ll pass.”
Advice like Momma’s, so Werfol took a breath, then another, finding himself growing normal again. Just in time, for the Liar Twins, as he now thought of them, had stepped aside to let a large woman with a big smile greet Semyn.
“I’m Breeta, your new smithy, little masters,” she proclaimed before Semyn could say a word. “I’ll be setting up outside the stable come two days hence. The baroness has offered me space for my furnace.”
Werfol forgot his manners. “Can I help?”
Her smile widened. “Aie, if you wish.” The warm truth of her welcome washed away the lies and he smiled happily back.
Then Werfol quickly looked down to hide his eyes, then up again, hoping he’d managed. “I do. Very much. I like making things.”
“And hammers,” Semyn commented with a laugh.
“Well now. So do I.”
The rest of the new staff passed in a blur for Werfol. No one stood out, other than the father who thanked them for allowing him to bring his son, and the scullery boy who was mute but could sign his words. Not like the signs of the Westietas or Larmensu, but ones they’d learned, and when Semyn and Werfol responded in kind, the boy opened his mouth in a silent laugh of joy and made everyone in the kitchen smile.
Then it was time for hot meat pies and, for the boys, small cups of ale.
Werfol found himself against the wall near the sleeping cook’s chair. She smelled of soap and cinnamon and sweaty feet. He thought about waking her, to thank her for her help, but her little snores were soothing, not that he wanted to sleep now or ever again, and she’d a hard night ahead.
He’d hoped Master Setac would have answers about being a truthseer. Maybe the real answers lay in the person who slept and snored beside him. If Ioana had known Momma as a child, she’d have known Uncle Bannan too. Did she know about his gift? Had she helped him learn to control it?
Maybe if he poked her a little—
But that would be rude and she might be angry with him. Werfol leaned against the chair, listening to the cook snore.
His eyes closed.
Time for a Duel
Being a prince, William had the most famous sword in all the kingdom. It was called “Thunderblade” and there was a lightning bolt down the length of it.
He sat in the closet, holding the sword on his lap, hands clenched over its scabbard. Waiting. Listening.
William didn’t know how he’d gone from the deepest dungeon back to the room he shared with Simon, who wasn’t there but with the physicians. He did know being in the closet felt safer, with the door closed and locked, especially with his mighty Thunderblade across his knees.
Truth be told, he hadn’t practiced with it since the dragon became his protector. He wasn’t even sure it was sharp anymore. But it was big and mighty and famous. Surely a dragon would fear such a sword.
William?
If he didn’t answer, it couldn’t find him. What did a dragon know about hide and seek anyway?
Dear William, why are you hiding? Did I frighten you? I didn’t mean to.
As if they were friends and it wasn’t hunting him.
Darling William. I’m sorry. Don’t you believe me?
A puff of too-warm air found his toes. William pulled back as far as he could, still clutching Thunderblade.
Another puff. The floor creaked as the dragon settled outside the door.
Don’t worry, William. I’ll wait for you.
And William was too afraid to breathe until he smelled cinnamon and sweaty feet . . .
Eleven
Cinnamon and feet? Groggy, Werfol rubbed his nose.
“Weed? You awake?” Semyn sounded worried.
“Of course, I’m awake.” He was standing, wasn’t he?
Dutton loomed over his brother. “Are you all right, Master Werfol?”
Werfol scowled at both of them, though to be truthful, he was surprised to see most of the staff, as well as Poppa, were no longer in the kitchen when he hadn’t seen anyone leave.
Which meant he’d left the kitchen too, in a way. Werfol saw his sudden dismay reflected in Semyn’s face.
“Laddie’s fine,” the cook announced, dropping her feet to the floor with a thud. “Kindly help me outta this.”
Dutton offered his arm. The cook used it to pull herself up, then patted the back of the guard’s hand, giving him a gap-toothed smile. “Ancestor’s Witness, chairs get harder every year,” she claimed. “I’m beholden.” Her dark clever eyes found Werfol.
Who bowed so quickly he made himself dizzy. “As am I,” he replied, certain she’d saved him twice now, if not exactly how.
She looked pleased. “Off with the lot of you,” she ordered, but pleasantly. “We’ve work to do and less time for it.”
Once out of the kitchen, the boys turned to head upstairs but Dutton clamped a hand on each of their shoulders and marched them into the small dining room. He closed the door and stood in front of it, arms crossed. “Talk.”
Werfol and Semyn exchanged looks.
“I’m not the enemy.”
Which was true, but wasn’t as well. “Where’s my satchel?” Werfol demanded.
Semyn answered. “He gave it to Poppa.”
“Meaning you aren’t my guard at all,” Werfol accused.
“Not if you answer to our parents,” Semyn put in.
Dutton sighed and left the door, pulling out a chair from the table. He sat, shifting his sword aside with the ease of long practice, then waved them, rather impatiently, to seats of their own. “You aren’t fools, either of you. Don’t think me one. You know full well your parents—the baron and baroness—expect me to act in your best interests. And yes, Werfol, if that means giving your notebook back to your lady mother, back it goes.”
“No! You aren’t a fool, Dutton. We don’t think that.” Though he was a very large nuisance, Werfol thought. “You don’t know everything—”
“Then tell me what I should know.”
“Momma mustn’t ever touch it again,” Semyn replied, in a voice that didn’t sound like Semyn at all.
Oh, and didn’t that voice bring Dutton forward, eyes flashing. “Why?”
He doesn’t know, Werfol signed to Semyn.
“Ancestors Bloody and Baffled. ‘He doesn’t know’ what? Besides every sign you do, child, and then some.”
Semyn pressed his lips together.
Dutton turned to Werfol. “Well?”
“Momma has secrets too.” Werfol looked up pleadingly. “They aren’t ours to share.”
“So now you see the harm in them, do you?” But Dutton didn’t appear angry. After a moment’s thought, he went on, “Avoiding the baroness and her secrets being a good and safe notion, tell me what you can. And no,” before Werfol could speak, “that doesn’t mean I’ll keep your secrets if they concern your safety or theirs.”
“Very well—”
“Semyn!”
His brother shook his head. “We’ve gone as far alone as we can, Werfol. Dutton, Master Setac admitted to us that he’s here to spy on our family for what he called the powerful beyond Rhoth.”
The guard let out a soft grunt. “He told you?”
“We made him. And it was the truth,” Werfol said fiercely. “I saw.”
“He said Momma knew,” Semyn added. His foot pressed hard on Werfol’s under the table. Warned, the truthseer held his breath and endured the discomfort as his brother went on to lie. “That’s why I took Werfol’s notebook from Momma. We’ve been writing notes in it about Master Setac. All we know about him. What he eats, says.”
“How he changed the classroom.” Werfol shrugged at Semyn’s look. “It could matter. What if he plans to build something dangerous?”
Dutton tilted his chair back, the tense lines of his face easing. “So your secret is that you’ve been spying on a spy. What about your dragon, Werfol?”
Semyn’s “Metaphor,” came out with Werfol’s “It’s a code—for danger,” he continued, louder and glaring at his brother. “We have all kinds of codes. Like ‘Liar Twins’.”
“And ‘toad’,” Semyn shot back, which wasn’t fair, so Werfol kicked him under the table. “Ow!”
“When you’re done?” Dutton waited, looking from one to the other of them, until satisfied. “Ancestor’s Witness, whatever’s really going on, it’s plain you don’t trust me,” this with a wry smile. “Or Master Setac, or anyone but each other. Your mother’s taught you well.”
It was another of those sentences, Werfol decided, that didn’t mean what it said. Dutton was hurt, and his words weren’t about them, or not just about them, but something else. Or someone. Werfol glanced at Semyn.
His brother’s gaze didn’t leave the guard. “The question that matters, Dutton Omemee, is do you trust us? Or do you assume, like everyone else, that we are children who know nothing of the world, who have no duties of our own, and no responsibility to protect those we love?”
Werfol wanted to stand up and cheer, but knew he had to stay still and let Semyn do what he did best, lead others. He could cheer later.
Dutton lowered his head and closed his eyes. Semyn shook his head when Werfol would have spoken, signing give him time.
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