“Good morning, my sleepy grandson,” Kel said cheerfully. “So good of you to grace me with your presence.”
“Good morning, Grandfather. You seem uncommonly happy.” Farrell noticed two place settings on the table.
“I found cooking for Bren and Geena very relaxing.” He wiggled his finger and a cup floated over to Farrell. “Today I’m privileged to show off my skills for another grandchild.”
Farrell caught the mug and set it down. “Cooking for me is what has you in such a good mood?”
“One day you’ll understand.” He let go of the frying pan and it hung in midair. “There’s coffee on the hearth. Help yourself.”
“I will, but first I’d like to wash up. Is there a bath in the house?”
Kel laughed. “You’ve been a pampered prince far too long. There were too many of us to spare the room inside.”
“So you never bathed?”
“As little as I could when I was a child.” Kel winked and pointed down a narrow hallway. “It’s outside, but be quick. Breakfast is nearly ready.”
Farrell went where directed and found the wash area in a sectioned-off alcove behind the house. The “tub” was a large barrel too small for him to sit in. As Kel had said, he’d been privileged his whole life.
He removed his pants, filled the barrel, fetched soap and a clean towel from Haven, and then dunked his head into the water. Shocked, he snapped his head out and danced backward as cold water ran down his torso. The soap was coarse, but it removed the dirt and smell of battle. Mindful of Kel’s words to be quick, he floated the barrel overhead and poured the contents onto his soapy body. He thought about heating the water but decided it would be over quick enough.
Feeling clean, he dried off and put on his pants. Rubbing his hair with the towel, he walked back to the kitchen. “Let me get a shirt and I’ll join you.”
“Don’t bother. It won’t be the first time someone in need of a shirt ate at this table.” Kel motioned toward a chair. “Food tastes better hot.”
Rather than remind his grandfather that magic could keep the food warm, Farrell sat where directed. Kel set a plate in front of Farrell with several thick slices of bacon, eggs cooked in the grease until the ends were crispy, and two slabs of toasted bread. The coffee pot floated beside Kel as he returned with his breakfast.
Farrell dug in, and other than a few mumbled compliments about the food, he didn’t stop eating until he finished. He licked the grease from his fingers and poured them both some coffee. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
“My apologies for not having more food,” Kel said as he collected their dishes. “I mistakenly told Markus’s cooks I needed food for two, not two dozen.”
“No need to worry. I’ll be fine.” Farrell sipped his coffee. “I need to speak to you before we go to the palace.”
“Aren’t we speaking now?” Kel sat and picked up his mug.
Farrell ignored the attempt at humor. “It’s about yesterday. Something more happened in Bowient than I told everyone.”
“Oh?”
“Neldin spoke to me.”
“I see.” Kel took a sip. “And?”
“Did you hear me? Neldin, the God Himself.”
Looking into his cup, Kel nodded. “I heard. I wondered if He’d show up.”
Farrell shivered. He flicked his hand and summoned a shirt. “You knew?”
“Obviously not until you told me. But I suspected He’d try.”
Farrell pulled the shirt over his head. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I can’t warn you of every potential possibility.” He held up his hand before Farrell responded. “I didn’t think it very likely He’d try, so I focused on more important areas. And before you get upset and ask what is more important, let me explain.”
The admonishment hit home and Farrell took a deep breath and laughed. “Am I that predictable?”
“Not on everything, but for things such as this, yes.” Kel motioned and the pot refilled Farrell’s cup. “I knew Neldin was allowed to speak to you by virtue of your birth, but equally binding to Him is your current status. As Champion of the Six, He couldn’t harm you without giving the Six an opening. Given that limitation, there was no real danger to you.”
Farrell snorted. “It would be easier if the danger were to just me.”
“Meaning?”
“Neldin showed me a side of myself I pretended doesn’t exist. I’m a risk to the world.”
“No, Farrell, that’s what He wants you to believe.” Kel tapped his fingers absently on the table. The silence stretched for another few heartbeats. “I assume Neldin highlighted things in your past and suggested you were more like Him than the Six.”
“He didn’t have to go back very far to find a good example. Only Falcron and Seritia prevented me from killing a helpless man.”
“And that is how Neldin twists things,” Kel said. “The belcin deserved to have his head cut off.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t my place to be his judge and executioner. Had I gone down that path, I’d be no better than Meglar.”
“No!” Kel slapped his palm onto the table and Farrell looked up. “You are nothing like Meglar. He killed his father, who was a decent man, without any remorse. You, however, abuse yourself for nearly killing a man who sold innocent people into misery to satisfy his greed. Meglar has no conscience, no compunction for what he does. That sounds nothing like the compassionate young man seated at my table.”
Listening to his grandfather provided a counterbalance to Neldin’s arguments. But there had been truth in His words as well. “Thank you, Grandfather. You’ve helped dispel some of the doubt Neldin sowed.”
Kel raised an eyebrow. “Some, but not all?”
“No, not all.” He met Kel’s gaze. “There are things we should never do, even to our enemies. It’s what sets us apart from Neldin and His followers. Killing a helpless man in anger is one of those lines I can never cross… again.”
“You echo my argument.” Kel moved to where Farrell sat and squeezed his shoulder. “Meglar would never say, much less agree, with those words. Remember that next time you doubt yourself or your heart.”
“I’ll tr—I will.”
“Excellent.” He collected Farrell’s plate. “Now, tell me why we are in Dumbarten?”
“I want to speak to Penelope. I’m hoping she might be able to help me find an answer for Arritisa.”
Kel cleared the rest of the table and sent the used dishes and utensils to a washtub. A rag from the counter drifted over, dropped in the water, and then it and a dish rose from the tub. Soap bubbles covered the plate where the cloth had passed. The ceramic disc floated toward a second, smaller tub, dunked itself, and then lazily moved to a rack, where it gently settled into a slot.
“That’s amazing. The spell must have taken days to perfect.”
Kel chuckled and poured himself some more coffee. “It did, but over a thousand years, it has saved me far more time than it took to create. When your duties permit, I’m certain you will use your skill to create many such oddities.”
Farrell watched as another plate and then a fork were washed, rinsed, and set to dry. The idea of creating intricate spells to perform visually stunning but entirely wasteful actions did appeal to him, if only because it would mean nothing more pressing required his attention. “One day.”
“Indeed,” Kel said. “Tell me, why Princess Penelope and not your mother or former teachers?”
Farrell shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to ask them. I just wanted a different perspective. Heminaltose trained my mother and Sanduval.”
“And you.”
“And me, right.” Doubt crept into his mind, but he pushed on. “Their thinking is so similar, I can almost anticipate their answers. Penelope trained with different teachers. Her insights might prove useful.”
Kel regarded him for a moment and then nodded. “I’m impressed. My first instinct would be to find the brightest minds rather
than different ones.”
“At the risk of you accusing me of blatant flattery, I already have your input. Who’s brighter than you?”
Kel grunted. “Don’t dismiss your former teachers so easily. They are wise and have valuable insight to offer. I do, however, understand the need to get diverse opinions. I commend your choice.”
“There’s another reason. Anoria, the woman from Bowient who made me tea—her son is being held as a slave on a pirate vessel. I plan to free him, but that will likely free the other slaves. I hoped to persuade Markus to lend me a ship.”
Kel didn’t respond, and when he did, he was angry. “Why? Why do you put our plans on hold to free the son of a woman you barely know?”
“She was kind to me when I needed it most. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“It might be if I thought that was your true motivation.”
“I need to do this.”
“Farrell.” Kel paused to take a breath and visibly relaxed. “You have nothing to prove to anyone, least of all yourself. Do not go down this path of self-doubt. It will be the end of you.”
“Whether you come with me or not, I will free him.” He held up his hand to stop his grandfather’s outburst. “Please hear me first. If you still disagree, I promise I’ll give serious thought to abandoning my plans.”
Kel nodded warily.
“This isn’t about self-doubt. It’s about what’s right. She, Anoria, is the embodiment of what this war is all about. It’s not about queens or princes or even wizards. I’m fighting for those who will suffer if I fail. She reminded me why I must not fail. It was something I needed to be shown. She deserves something for that, something only I can give her.”
He studied Kel’s reaction, but it was impossible to read. Thankfully the silence was short. “I misjudged you—again—and I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. We don’t fight this war for ourselves. Thank you for reminding me what is really important.”
“Does this mean you will come with me?” Farrell asked with a smile.
“It does,” Kel said with a childish grin. “But you need to explain what you know, how you know it, and what you intend to do.”
“Of course.” Farrell pushed his chair back, stood, and stretched. “Using the Eye, I located Hendris. He’s pulling an oar aboard a pirate vessel. I know where it is and the location of the nearest friendly vessel, a Dumbarten warship.”
“Are you confident you can open a Door using what the Eye has revealed?”
Farrell nodded. “I believe I can. At worst, we’ll need to fly a bit to reach Markus’s ship. The image is strong, however, so we won’t be far off.”
“And once you free the boy?”
“We take Hendris to Bowient and return to Rastoria,” Farrell said. That was what Kel most wanted to know.
“Even if you don’t have an answer for Arritisa?”
Farrell shook his head. “We have no idea how long that will take. Clayden will be ready by now.”
“Excellent. We should get started immediately.” Kel put his hands on the table and stood. He studied the room. “I’m leaving this house to you, Farrell. See that you and your family use it when I’m gone.”
A lump formed in Farrell’s throat. “I promise.”
The sun had almost reached its apex when Farrell announced them to Penelope and Marisa’s guards. A cool ocean breeze swirled around them as they marched through a courtyard.
“Are you sure it was wise to show up unannounced?” Farrell asked. “Maybe they’re busy?”
Kel waved a hand dismissively. “The worst they can say is they can’t meet us today, and we’ll go impose on Markus.”
“Is everything so simple to you?”
“Why complicate things more than they already are?”
Farrell spied Marisa walking toward them.
“Lords Farrell and Kel. What a pleasant surprise.” She nodded to Kel but hugged Farrell. “What brings you to our home unannounced?”
Farrell cast a glance at Kel, but his grandfather didn’t look over. “Did we come at a bad time?”
“Not at all. You’re always welcome.” Marisa motioned for them to come inside. “Where are Miceral and the others?”
“They’re at Haven,” Farrell said as they followed her. “Kel and I were in Rastoria for a time. We’ve just come from Erd.”
“That’s a bit of traveling.” Marisa grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’m glad you made time to come see us. Penelope is at the palace, but I’ll send a message.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said. “I want her opinion on something.”
“That will make her suspicious, at least outwardly.” Marisa laughed. “We can wait in the garden for her return.”
After they were seated, Claire, Peter, and Wallace joined them. Marisa had disappeared, and Farrell heard her ordering staff as if a state visit were in progress. Twice he tried to tell her to not to fuss, but she didn’t stop long enough for him to speak. Finally she returned, leading a small army of people laden with trays of food and drink.
“I sent word to Penelope,” Marisa said. “I expect she’ll be along shortly.”
“Do you mind if I wait for her to explain?” Farrell asked.
Marisa smiled and settled back in a chair with a drink in hand. “Of course not.”
“Has your guest been behaving?” Farrell pointed toward Peter.
“Hey!” Peter said. “I’m right here. Hasn’t anyone told you it’s bad form to talk about someone when they’re present?”
Farrell winked at him. “Nonsense, that would ruin the fun.”
“Honestly.” Marisa shook her head. “What possessed me to agree to take on three young adults?”
Farrell snuck a glance at Peter and Wallace, who both blushed. “Really? Tell me more.”
“Mother!” Claire sounded scandalized. “How can you insinuate such a terrible lie?”
Marisa laughed. “Very well. The truth is, other than a small incident with a pair of drunken sailors who forgot their manners around my daughter, Peter has been no trouble at all. He’s an excellent sparring partner, both he and Wallace. And they watch over Claire like protective brothers.”
“Overprotective,” Claire said.
Farrell laughed. “Drunken sailors?”
“It’s not that interesting,” Peter said. “Two sailors left a tavern and almost walked into us. They saw Wallace holding my hand and asked Claire if she wanted to . . . um . . .”
“Spend the night with two real men.” Wallace’s tone suggested he was angrier than Peter about what had happened.
Peter shrugged. “Before we could leave, one of them tried to touch Claire in an inappropriate place.”
“There is no appropriate place for him to touch my daughter.” Even days removed, Marisa sounded indignant.
“Wallace grabbed the man’s hand and guided it away.” Claire sounded no less annoyed than her mother. “The jerk slapped Wallace’s hand and said he didn’t need ‘a man-loving boy’ touching him. Wallace didn’t react to the insult and suggested the pair be on their way.”
Farrell saw Wallace’s reaction as Claire recounted events. He might not have shown outward anger, but he hadn’t ignored the comment.
“Rather than just walk away, they decided to attack me and Wallace,” Peter said.
“Wallace and me, dear,” Marisa said.
Claire rolled her eyes, and Wallace snickered, drawing an elbow from Peter.
“They attacked you?” Farrell asked. “Didn’t you have guards?”
“My daughter decided she didn’t need any and dismissed the soldiers assigned to guard her and Prince Peter.”
“Oh.” Farrell watched Claire squirm. “So what happened?”
“They were bigger than me . . . Wallace and me.” Peter shrugged.
“And they assumed we couldn’t fight back,” Wallace said.
“The ‘fight’ lasted less than a minute.” Claire smiled at his friends. “Peter and Wallace sent them both to the h
ealers.”
“And found ourselves in the custody of the constables.” Peter made a face.
“Really?” Farrell turned his gaze from Peter to Marisa and back. “The king’s men didn’t recognize you three?”
“For all of three heartbeats,” Penelope said as she walked inside.
“Nice entrance,” Farrell said softly. He stood to greet her.
Once Penelope had a drink and sat next to Marisa, Farrell asked, “Did the guards realize who you were and release you?”
“You give them too much credit,” Penelope said. “I had to intervene.”
“Penelope has wards on Claire because we know what our daughter is like.” Marisa frowned again, and Farrell wondered if Geena would be this headstrong when she grew up. “They sense her emotions.”
“I’ll be sure to send you the spells,” Penelope said as if reading his mind. “I was still at the palace when this happened. Before the constables broke up the fight, I arrived with a dozen of the king’s personal guards. Dimwitted fools should be able to recognize my daughter and the boys by now.”
Farrell grinned at Peter. “Sent them to the healers? Miceral will be pleased to know you learned something from him.”
“It wasn’t much of a fight.” Peter said. “They were drunk.”
“Drunken fools are often the hardest to handle,” Kel said. “They’re unpredictable. You ought to be pleased you defended your ‘sister’ so ably.”
“I’d better practice some more before . . .” Farrell realized their sparring days were likely over.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.
“Nothing.” He felt a twinge of remorse. “I don’t think we will be sparring partners again.”
“Oh? You think you’ve gotten too good for me?” Peter nodded to Marisa. “Perhaps we need to put that to the test.”
In response to Peter’s challenge, Farrell bent over and hoisted the couch Peter, Wallace, and Claire were sitting on over his head with one hand.
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