by Mindy Klasky
Then, Da had found Reade and Maida playing on the beach. Reade had been pretending for Maida, showing her how well he could tie a knot. He convinced her that his sharkstooth held fast, and he laughed when she could not imitate his loops around a driftwood branch. It was all very funny, until Da tugged at the rope and made it come loose. Da had laughed at Reade, and Maida had laughed with Da, and Reade had burst into tears.
Da had sat next to him then, on the sand, beneath a setting sun as red as cow’s blood. Da had put strong arms around him and guided his hands, over and under and around and around. That had been the first time Reade had tied a real sharkstooth, and his heart had pounded like pilchards turning over in the bottom of a boat. The second time was less interesting, though, and by five repetitions, he hardly cared if he ever tied another knot again.
“This is important, Reade,” Da had said. “Someday your life may turn on whether you can tie this knot. You wouldn’t want to be caught far out at sea, depending on another man’s work.”
“This is important, Sun-lord.” The echoing words made Reade blink, and he found himself staring up into an old man’s wrinkled face. “Pay attention!”
It wasn’t fair, old Kenwald scolding him. Reade had been trying. He’d been trying all morning. Kenwald hadn’t let him eat a sweetcake, or even duck into the garderobe. The old herald was worse than Da had ever been. Worse than Mum even. Reade clenched his hands into angry fists. “Why is it important? Why do I have to know all these things?”
“You wouldn’t want to depend on a herald, Sun-lord. Not when all the glory of the Iron Throne might depend on your remembering a noble’s proper title.”
Just like Da, Kenwald was. Well, the old man looked different, with his wrinkled face, and his shaking hands, and his long white beard. Da had never had a beard. But Kenwald made Reade learn things just like Da had done. Da had made Reade learn where the pilchards swam, the names of all the winds, the times that the tides rose and fell….
“Who are the four dukes, Sun-lord?” Kenwald asked.
Reade sighed and said, “There are four dukes in all the land: the Duke of Norvingale, who is called Ferin; the Duke of Southglen, who is called Bringham; the Duke of Eastham, who is called Lymore; and the Duke of Westmarch, who is called Coren.”
Reade was startled by a crashing sound. He whirled toward the door of the solar and saw Duke Coren leaning against the stone arch. The duke’s strong hands came together again and again, slowly, like Sartain Fisherman applauding the largest catch of the season. Reade’s cheeks flushed hot, as red as Coren’s doublet. “Well done, Sun-lord. Well done.”
Reade wriggled down from his high stool and tugged his robes into place. “I’ve learned all the dukes’ names, Your Grace, just like you told me I must. And I’ve learned the names of the Three Kingdoms, and the Four Seas, and the Five Marches. I’ve learned so much my head has grown!”
Duke Coren settled a hand on the boy’s head, tousling his hair. “So, is it true, Kenwald? Has the Sun-lord been a good student?”
The old herald bowed deeply. “Aye, Your Grace. He’s learned all that. It took him a few days to grasp the difference between a duke and a king, but once he caught on, he had no trouble memorizing the lists.”
Reade flushed. He wanted Duke Coren to smile at him again. “I would have learned it faster, Your Grace, but I kept thinking about the dragons in Southglen.”
Duke Coren knelt in front of Reade, grabbing his shoulders. His eyes flashed bright. “Dragons? What have you been told about dragons?”
Reade glanced up at Kenwald. That was funny—the old man was gaping like a salmon plucked from the ocean. “Kenwald told me all about the dragons in Southglen, about how Duke Bringham’s da slew the last one, when the duke was the same age that I am now. Duke Bringham has a dragon painted on his shield, to remember his da.”
“So Kenwald has been telling you about Bringham, has he?”
The old man answered before Reade could. “Your Grace! The boy is making up tales! Someone else must have told him about Southglen!”
That wasn’t true! Kenwald had spoken about dragons. And the dragons had kept Reade from concentrating, from learning the names of all the dukes yesterday. Yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.
Duke Coren’s hand was heavy on Reade’s shoulder. His lips were so thin inside his beard that they almost disappeared. “Sun-lord, I ask you in the name of Culain. Did Kenwald speak to you about Southglen?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And what precisely did Kenwald tell you about that…about Bringham?”
“H—he told me about the dragons, Your Grace. He said that Bringham’s da was a brave man, and that Bringham wears a coat of arms to remember his da. It’s silver, his shield is, silver with a dragon azure. That’s blue, Your Grace.”
“Yes, Sun-lord. It is.”
Reade barely swallowed his smile. There! Now let Kenwald tell the duke that Reade was slow to learn! But when Reade looked up at the old herald, he saw that the man was gripping the table with his brown-spotted hands. The teacher’s head was bowed, and his breath came in funny little pants, as if he’d been running. The old man licked his lips, and he swallowed, loud enough that Reade could hear.
Reade was surprised to find that his own palms were slick with sweat. He said, “Please, Your Grace. I like stories about dragons. I like Duke Bringham’s coat of arms.”
Duke Coren nodded, but something shifted behind his eyes. Reade thought of the sharks that the fishermen sometimes brought up in their nets. “Kenwald distracted you from your studies, didn’t he, Sun-lord?”
“I liked the dragons,” Reade whispered. Duke Coren’s burning eyes forced him to add, “But I was distracted.”
“And would you change that, Sun-lord? Are you man enough to remove distractions and learn the lessons you need to serve your people?”
His people. Reade needed to learn so that he would not disappoint his people. A thrill plucked his spine. If Reade learned all of his lessons, he could spend the rest of his life here in Smithcourt. He wouldn’t have to be a fisherman. He wouldn’t have to go out in a boat and get caught in a storm and never come home to a family that loved him. But only if he learned. Only if he didn’t let Kenwald distract him.
“Oh yes, please,” Reade said, when he realized Duke Coren was waiting for an answer.
“Very well, then. Watch, Sun-lord, and learn.” Duke Coren stepped toward the old herald. “So, Kenwald. You’ve been tutoring the Sun-lord as you were commanded?”
“Aye, Your Grace. He’s been studying hard. He’s a smart boy.”
“A smart boy? Then why did it take him three days to learn the names of the kingdom’s dukes?” Duke Coren’s voice was as cold as sea foam in winter.
“He’s young, of course. Too young to learn the politics of the kingdom. Too young to understand a struggle for power.”
Too young! Reade wasn’t too young to do anything! He was the Sun-lord! “That’s not true, Your Grace! I am not too young! Kenwald is lying! It was Kenwald’s fault. He told me about Bringham and Southglen and the dragons!”
Duke Coren moved even closer to Kenwald. “It sounds to me as if the Sun-lord understands a great deal about politics. He understands everything about power.”
“Your Grace, he’s just a little boy!”
Reade glared at Kenwald. Everyone always said that he was just a little boy. Da had said it all the time. Da would make Reade scale fish and hoe the garden, all because Reade was too little to go fishing. It wasn’t fair. But things were different here in Smithcourt. Reade could make his own rules. Reade was the Sun-lord. “I’m not too young!” he repeated.
“So, Kenwald. The Sun-lord thinks he’s not too young to learn your lessons. All your lessons.”
“Your Grace—” Kenwald sank to his knees.
“Perhaps I was wrong to trust you, old man. Perhaps you’re too old to remember who holds power in this palace.” The duke towered over the herald. “Wh
at precisely were your orders, old man?”
“To teach the Sun-lord?” Kenwald turned his answer into a question, like Reade did when Da had asked him impossible things, questions that had no good answers. “To teach him the Table of Lands and the Lists of Nobles.”
“And what else?”
“To see that he is fit for the Service.”
“And what else?”
The old man trembled, and then words spilled out of him, as if he were a boy called to task by his own da. “Nothing else, Your Grace?”
“Precisely.” Duke Coren smiled slowly, and his fingers flexed inside his leather gloves. He pointed at Reade. “And did you teach him anything else?”
“I-I did not think it mattered, Your Grace.” Kenwald glanced from the duke to Reade and back again. “Sun-lord, if I have given you any displeasure—”
Before Reade could marvel that the old man was apologizing to him, Duke Coren’s hand shot out, closing around Kenwald’s throat. Duke Coren pushed the old man back toward the table. Kenwald’s fingers scrabbled at Duke Coren’s fist, and his feet kicked the air, catching at his dusty robes. “Please, Your Grace—” he managed to croak.
“You betrayed your liege, Kenwald! That’s not the way to settle into a life of leisure in your twilight days at court.”
“Ask the young lord!” Kenwald gasped. “Ask him if I said anything about Bringham’s claim to the throne!”
Reade stared in shock. He had wanted to show Kenwald that the Sun-lord was special. He had wanted Duke Coren to pay attention to him. He’d never meant, though, for Kenwald to be hurt. Reade did not care about dragons that much!
Duke Coren glared at Reade across the old man’s body. “So, Sun-lord? Did Kenwald tell you anything about Bringham’s claim to my throne?”
“I—” Reade started to say. Before he could answer, though, the old man began to choke. He twisted onto his side, trying to escape from Duke Coren’s hand. Reade could not think of an answer to the duke’s question. He could not even remember what Kenwald had said, what Duke Coren wanted him to reply. “Please, Your Grace!”
“It’s a simple enough question, Sun-lord. If Kenwald has not even taught you how to answer a simple question, then I know that he has failed me, regardless of whether he failed you.”
The old herald thrashed on the table, like a fish caught in a net. Reade tried to remember why he had thought it would be fun to taunt the old man, why he had even mentioned Duke Bringham’s dragon. “Please, Your Grace. You must have misunderstood me!”
“Misunderstood you? Then once again, your teacher has not served his function. The Sun-lord should never be misunderstood, not about something as basic as whether a servant has done his job. If Kenwald has not taught you that much then, again, he has disappointed me.”
The old man’s legs stopped jerking in the air. He was giving up.
“Please, Your Grace. Kenwald taught me well! I have no complaints against him!”
“But did you not say, when I came into this room, that you had been distracted—”
“I wanted you to be proud of me! I was just telling a story!”
Duke Coren stared at Reade across Kenwald’s body. “Just telling a story?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’m sorry! I just wanted you to listen to me! I just wanted to share a story with you, something special, like the Sun-lord and Culain! Please! It’s not Kenwald’s fault! Let him go!” Reade’s words poured out of him, desperate, begging. He didn’t think that he could ever say enough, speak quickly enough.
“So, Sun-lord. Are you still telling stories? Are you lying now? Or were you lying when you said that dragons kept you from learning your lessons?” Duke Coren gave Kenwald one last shake and threw him onto the table.
The herald curled onto his side, gasping for air. He slid to the ground and hit the floor hard, still choking. Reade’s legs began to tremble, and he saw the trap that Duke Coren had built for him.
“It wasn’t a lie,” he whispered, but his lower lip trembled, and he could not keep his voice steady. Kenwald began to retch, bringing up a disgusting mess onto the flagstones. “Please, Your Grace, you must have misunderstood—” At Duke Coren’s arched eyebrow, Reade quickly tried again. “I must have been confusing. Me, it’s my fault, not Kenwald’s. Your Grace, I did not want him punished. I only wanted you to tell him not to talk about dragons during my lessons.”
“Well then, Sun-lord. Your desire has been granted. Kenwald will not speak of dragons again.” The duke dug one booted toe into the old man’s side. “Isn’t that correct, Kenwald?”
“Y-yes,” the herald gasped. He retched again before he managed to add, “Your Grace.”
Duke Coren nodded at his title. He started to turn for the doorway, but he stopped himself. Looking at Reade, he settled his black boot across the back of Kenwald’s neck. For just a moment, he stood perfectly still, and then he shifted his weight. The crack of breaking bones was loud in the room. Kenwald struggled for another dozen breaths before the chamber was silent.
“Well.” Duke Coren stepped back, flexing his hands inside his leather gloves. “It’s time for you to work with a new tutor, Sun-lord. You mustn’t fall behind in your studies.”
12
“I hate him!” Reade exclaimed, as soon as he found Maida in the small garden attached to their nursery. She was sitting beside the small pond in the middle of the green grass.
“Prithee, dear brother, of whom do you speak?”
“Stop it, Maida! Talk like a regular person!”
“But, dear brother, a regular person in the duke’s court speaks as I do. We must prepare for the day when our lord, the duke, takes the Iron Throne.”
“Stop it!” Reade choked back tears, dashing a fist across his face so that Maida would not see the drops in his eyes.
“Dear brother, you must take your studies to heart. Elsewise, Duke Coren might take offense.”
The “elsewise” was too much. Maida’s curls had been woven into two braids and bound together at the nape of her neck with a length of crimson ribbon. Reade dug his hands into the nest of hair and tugged hard.
“Ow!” Maida howled. “Why did you do that, Reade? I’m going to tell!”
“Quit yelling, Maida! In the name of all the Guardians—”
“You swore!” Maida gasped. “I’m going to tell Mum—” She broke off her own threat.
Reade sat down beside the pond. He waited a long time before he said, “I don’t think we’re ever going to see Mum again, Maida.”
“Yes, we will. After the Service.”
Reade didn’t even bother to answer. Instead, he picked up a pebble and skipped it across the water. It only made three jumps before it skittered onto the grass at the far side of the pool. “Sharks and fins!” Reade cursed, the way the fishermen swore back home.
“Reade!”
“I can say what I want to, Maida. They don’t care if I swear. It’s just their stupid lists I have to memorize.”
“The lists aren’t stupid! Nurse was talking just this morning to the girl who brings our breakfast, and she said—”
“Nurse was talking to Cow-girl?”
Maida laughed, but she hid her teeth behind her palm, like all the grown-up women in Smithcourt. Reade wished that Maida had not learned that lesson; it made him feel very alone. Maida said, “That’s not nice, Reade!”
“What did Nurse say?”
“She was telling Cow—she was telling Jamela that there isn’t much time before the Service. She was worried that you wouldn’t learn the lists, and she said you’ll need to recite them in the Service.”
“All of them?” Reade thought of Kenwald trying to teach him everything he needed to know. Maybe the old man had only pretended to be hurt. Maybe that was just another one of the lessons. Maybe Kenwald had waited for Reade to leave the solar, and then he got to his feet. Maybe Kenwald and Duke Coren had planned the whole thing, so that Reade would study harder.
“I think—” Maida began.
“Ach! There you are!” Reade jumped at the harsh voice. When he looked up, Nurse was rushing across the garden. Following the rules of Smithcourt, she wore huge skirts that wrapped around her ankles, like a cat that wanted to trip her. By the time she reached the children, she was out of breath, and her hands fluttered over her heart. She snorted as she tried to fill her lungs.
“You naughty children!” she finally wheezed. “Terrible children! Who said you could come to the garden?” She kept on scolding before Reade or Maida could make up an answer. “Well, don’t just stand there like two buttons on a gown! Hurry up! Duke Coren is waiting for you. You mustn’t keep His Grace waiting!”
Her breathless snorts turned to a cry as Reade stood up. “Ach! Look at you!” Reade looked down. Mud streaked the front of his doublet. Nurse swatted at the dirt with the flat of her palm, hard enough to rattle his teeth. His bavin dug into his chest.
“Come along, both of you. There’s no time to change your clothes. Oh, you dirty children, what have you done to me?” On and on she went, grabbing Reade’s hand in her left and Maida’s in her right. She dragged the twins out of the garden, back to the nursery and through the tangle of dark castle hallways. With every turn, she fussed a little more, telling them that they must not keep Duke Coren waiting, that they needed to hurry, that they mustn’t be late.
Finally, Nurse dragged them to a stop in front of a pair of high, carved doors. “Oh, you wicked children…. Here we are.”
“Where?” Reade asked.
“Why, at Duke Coren’s chapel!” Reade started to ask another question—he’d never heard of the chapel—but she just repeated, “The chapel. Where His Grace prays to the Seven Gods. Don’t tell me you poor lambs have never been in a chapel before!”
Why would the duke pray inside a building? Prayers were supposed to be said outside, under the branches of the Tree, or in the Sacred Grove. The Guardians didn’t like buildings. They’d listen to prayers much better if they were comfortable, if they were outside.
Before Reade could ask any questions, Nurse grimaced and licked a finger. She rubbed at his face, scrubbing as if she wanted to remove his skin. He tried to squirm away, but she held him in place with her other hand. “Just a moment, young lord. You’ll not be seeing His Grace with garden dirt on your face.”