Yes, sir. It was not quite a lie. He trod closer to the truth. Sometimes people speak to me, but I donʼt seek them out.
What do you do with your days, sir student?
He shrugged, feeling a lump of anger in his throat, and kept his eyes fixed past Cefwynʼs shoulder, beyond the windows, on the roofs and the smoke haze. I feed the birds.
Feed the birds? Clearly Cefwyn thought it was a joke.
They are grateful, mʼlord, as birds know how to be. And polite as birds know how to be.
Is this insolence?
No, my lord Prince. I do not intend to be insolent.
Do you want for anything at all?
No, my lord Prince.
Cefwyn frowned and jammed his hands into his belt. Idrys.
My lord.
Have Annas bring wine. Sit down, he bade Tristen, suddenly indicating the group of chairs in the corner of the large room.
Tristen unwillingly chose that nearest him and sat down. Cefwyn sat down facing him, crossed his booted ankles and leaned back, hands folded on his stomach.
You have no diversions, Cefwyn observed then. You cease to eat; I have had report. You pace the halls or sit in the garden doing nothing.
I feed the birds, sir.
Youʼve not tried to leave, said Cefwyn.
No, sir, never.
Emuin claimed that there was no malice in you. He left you in my keeping. What am I to do with you?
Cefwyn wanted to have an answer that would let him dismiss the matter. That was all.
I need nothing.
What would you wish me to do? Cefwyn asked. Damn what you need, man. I have power. What would you have me do?
Have others speak to me.
You are gentler company than most. I cannot set you out among these Amefin lords. They would rend you like wolves.
I would not speak to the lords, sir. Only to my guards. If you would, sir.
The door opened; the aged servant brought the wine and poured two cups, offered to Cefwyn and then to him. Cefwyn lifted his cup and drank, deeply and full; but Tristen only sipped at his, for he had eaten but little in two days, and it came very strongly to his stomach.
Idrys, Cefwyn said suddenly.
Your Highness?
Be at ease. I judge no harm in him.
Idrys unfolded his arms and sank down on a bench by the fire, tucked up one knee and rested his arm against it. His dark eyes did not cease to watch and his frown never left him.
There are no civilized diversions in Henasʼamef, Cefwyn said. Only the hunt. No hunting about Ynefel, Iʼll wager.
Tristen shook his head. Hunting was a Word of blood and death. It shivered down his spine.
Gods, what did you do there? Grammaries? Wizardry? Unholy sorceries?
I read, sir.
Would you ride, Tristen?
Horses, and open land. Moving air. Sunlight. Yes, he said at once.
My lord Prince, Idrys said, sitting upright.
With full escort, Cefwyn said.
The area is not secure, mʼlord. Even so.
Cefwyn frowned, folded his arms tightly across his chest, and scowled, rocking his chair back. Doubtless. So we ride with the guard.
Mʼlord, Idrys protested.
No, no, and no. Cefwyn was angry now, and looked not at Idrys, only at the table, his face mad-eyed like Owlʼs sulk. Damn it, I am strangling in this Amefin hospitality.With the guard, with a troop of heavy horse and the Dragon Guard to boot, if you like, but I shall ride, Idrys. Tomorrow. Gods. He slammed the chair legs down and turned his face toward Tristen with a frown and an exasperation that Tristen did not take for anger directed at him. Tomorrow, Cefwyn said. Tomorrow morning, at first light, we will ride out to the west, have a glorious day in good weather and come back to a good supper, does that suit you?
Yes, mʼlord Prince.
Idrys is careful with my life. Itʼs his business to suspect everything. Idrys, is Annas waiting dinner, or has he deserted to the Elwynim? What is keeping him?
Is my lord done with business?
Yes. Finished, writ, waxed, sealed, and quit of. Not another lord with complaints, not another tax roll. I refuse. I deny them. I consign them to very hell. No, damn it, you will stay, Tristen. Youʼll have your supper here. Will you?
Yes, sir, he said, bewildered. He had started to rise, thinking himself surely dismissed with this flood of complaint and exasperation, but with Cefwynʼs offer of supper, and perhaps someone to talk to, he suddenly found that he had appetite, even with his trepidations. He sank back down; he drank the wine: his mouth was dry. Idrys had gone to call Annas in, and in the attendant commotion of trays, bowls, plates, and pages, a page hurried to fill Cefwynʼs cup and his, without his asking.
So what have you done with your time here besides the birds?
I read, sir, Tristen said.
Do you gamble? Play the lute? Do you do anything but read and feed the pigeons?
I donʼt think I have, sir.
The court is abuzz with you. The men are jealous. The women are smitten. I receive inquiries.
Of what, sir?
Cefwyn looked at him as if he had said something remarkable or perhaps foolish. He sat still, and Cefwyn ran out of questions.
But the old servant Annas and the pages had laid a glittering table in the next room in a magically short time, and Annas announced their supper ready.
So following Cefwynʼs lead Tristen went and took his place at the end of the table. Cefwyn took the other, while the man Annas walked between, serving them a delicate white soup that smelled of mushrooms. It was very good. It was, he thought, the best thing he had tasted in days.
Meanwhile Idrys stood guard, as if his legs never tired and his back could not bend. Tristen turned from time to time to see him, wondering at the man, disturbed to have his eyes constantly on his back.
He will take his supper after, Cefwyn said to his concern. You donʼt understand the manners here.
No, sir.
That is a virtue.
Yes, mʼlord.
Is that all your speech? Cefwyn asked. Forever and ever, sir and mʼlord without end?
Ican converse, mʼlord Prince.
Cefwyn shook his head. Idrysʼ silence is comfortable since I know its content; and yours is, if silence pleases you. Idrys.
My lord?
No ceremony. You make our guest uncomfortable. Sit at table. This is no Amefin. For that reason alone I trust him.
Idrys walked over to the sideboard and with a clatter disburdened himself of his sword. He sat down at the side of the long table and Annas set a place before him. He loosed several of the buckles of his black armor and held up his cup as a page poured him wine.
Idrys is a man you should trust, Tristen, Cefwyn said. You should understand him. He is another fixed star in the firmament. And there are very few. He and Emuin, and Mauryl, each after his own fashion. I think we shall ride out to Emwy, tomorrow, Idrys. That village has made complaint of sheep losses. I think we would do well to look into it.
Too near the river, Idrys said. Too far. It would require a night.
Near the river. Near the hills. Near the woods. There is nowhere on the godsʼ good earth someplace is not near, Idrys. Cefwyn took a calmer breath. It would be politic in the countryside, would it not, for me to show a certain personal concern in local affairs? I refuse to be seen cowering from the attempts against my life. Or relying on Herynʼs assurances or Herynʼs maps.
Not overnight. Not this place. Not with an untried horseman.
Emwy.
My lord Prince,