“Be off with you! It’s too late to be troubling His Highness,” Hakone rasped.
“No, please, I don’t mind,” said Tobin.
Ki stepped aside and the women came in, curtsying and touching their hearts. Several of the older ones were weeping. The woman who’d spoken knelt and clasped Tobin’s hands.
“Prince Tobin. Welcome home at last!”
Overwhelmed anew, Tobin bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, old mother. I’m very glad to be here.”
She raised a hand to her cheek and looked back at the others. “There, you see that? I told you blood would tell! None of the rest of it matters.”
“Mind your tongue, Mora!” Hakone snapped.
“It’s all right,” Tobin told him. “I know what they say about me, and my mother. Some of it’s even true, about the demon and all. But I promise you I’ll try to be worthy of my father’s memory, and a good lord to Atyion.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about in him,” Hakone told the women gruffly. “This is Rhius reborn. You pass that on belowstairs. Go on now, back to your duties.”
The women took their leave, all but the one Tharin had pointed out as his cousin.
“What is it?” Tobin asked her.
“Well, my prince, I—” She stopped, twisting her chapped hands in her apron front. “Should I speak, Hakone?”
The old man looked to Tharin. “What harm can there be in asking?”
“Go on, Grannia.”
“Well, my prince,” she said. “It’s just that—well, a good many of us Atyion women served in the ranks once. Catilan, your cook up at Alestun keep? She was my sergeant. We were among your grandfather’s archers.”
“Yes, she told me about that.”
“Well, the thing is, Prince Tobin, that your father gave permission for us to keep in training, quiet-like, and to teach those of the young girls as wanted to learn. Is it your pleasure that we keep on with that?”
And there it was, that same mix of hope and frustration he’d seen so often in Una. “I would never change what my father willed,” he replied.
“Bless you, my prince! If you should ever need us, you’ve only to send word.”
“I won’t forget,” Tobin promised.
Grannia gave him a last awkward curtsy and hurried out, her apron pressed to her face.
“Well done, Tobin,” Tharin said as they made their way back to Tobin’s chamber. “Your reputation will spread through the house by dawn. You did your father proud tonight in every way.”
Koni and Sefus were standing guard at the end of the corridor near his room.
“Will you stay here with us?” Tobin asked, as they reached the door. “This was your room, after all.”
“Thank you, Tobin, but it’s yours now, and Ki’s. My place is with the guard. Good night.”
A steaming tub stood ready in their room and Tobin sank happily into it as Ki and a page lit the night lamps.
Tobin submerged to his chin and watched the ripples lap at the smooth wooden sides. He thought again of Una, and all the women who’d been denied their honor as warriors. Grannia’s face rose in his mind’s eye, so hopeful and sad all at once.
He shivered, sending more ripples across the water’s surface. If Lhel and Iya were right, if he did have to become a woman someday, would the generals still follow a woman? Those soldiers had cheered Duke Rhius’ son today. Would he lose everything by showing what the wizards claimed was his true face?
Tobin looked down at himself: the strong, tight-muscled arms and legs, his flat chest and hard belly, and the pale, hairless worm between his thighs. He’d seen enough naked women on his harbor rambles with Korin to know women didn’t have those. If he changed … He shuddered, cupping his hands over his genitals, and felt the reassuring stir of his penis under his hand.
Maybe they’re wrong! Maybe—
Maybe he’d never need to change. He was a prince, Ariani’s son and Rhius’. That was good enough for the soldiers he’d met here. Maybe it would be good enough for Illior, too?
He ducked under the water and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He wouldn’t think of such things tonight, of all nights. All his life he’d been called a prince, never until today had he truly felt like one. In Ero he’d always felt the gulf that lay between him and those who’d spent their lives at court. He was plain and unknown and awkward, someone none of the fine courtiers would have looked at twice if not for his title. In his mind, he was as much a grass knight as Ki, and happy with it, too.
But what he’d seen today had changed all that. Today he’d watched the wonder in the other Companions’ faces when they saw this castle. His castle! Let Alben and the others try and look down their long noses at him now!
And he’d basked in the adulation of the people. His father’s warriors had beaten their shields for him and chanted his name. Someday, no matter what else happened, he would lead them. In his mind he conjured battlefields and the clash of arms. He’d lead the charge, with Tharin and Ki at his side.
“Prince of Skala, Scion of Atyion!” he murmured aloud.
Ki’s laughter brought him back to earth. “Is his august Highness going to stay in that tub until the water’s cold for his humble squire, or do I get a turn?”
Tobin grinned at him. “I’m a prince, Ki. A real prince!”
Ki snorted as he cleaned the day’s mud from one of Tobin’s boots with a rag. “Who said you weren’t?”
“I don’t think I believed it. Not until today.”
“Well, you’ve never been anything else in my eyes, Tob. Or anyone else’s, either, except maybe Orun and look what that got him? Now, then—” He made Tobin an exaggerated bow. “Shall I duck your royal head under the water, or scrub your noble back? We lesser sorts like to get to sleep before dawn.”
Laughing, Tobin made quick work with the sponge and gave up the tub before the water had cooled.
Ki managed little more than a mumbled good night before he dozed off. But tired as he was, Tobin couldn’t sleep. Staring up at the horses of Atyion chasing each other across the green pastures of tapestry, he tried to imagine some ancestor of his, his father’s grandmother perhaps, working the pattern on her fine loom. His own father had looked up at these same horses, with Tharin asleep beside him—
Before he moved down the hall to the swan bed with his bride, thought Tobin. His parents had lain there together, made love there.
“And his parents before him, and theirs, and—” Tobin whispered aloud. Suddenly he wanted to know the faces of his ancestors and find his own plain face among them, an assurance that he really was of the same blood. There must be portraits somewhere in the house. He’d ask Tharin and Lytia tomorrow. They’d know.
Sleep still eluded him and his thoughts returned to that room just down the hall. Suddenly he wanted to open those boxes he’d seen, and the wardrobes, looking for—what?
He left the bed and went to the clothes rack. Reaching into his purse, he took out the key Lytia had given him and stared down at it. It felt heavy against his palm.
Why not?
Stealing past the sleeping page, he inched the door open and peeked out. He could hear the low, comforting rumble of Tharin’s voice from around the corner, but there was no one else in sight. Taking one of the night lamps with him, he crept out into the corridor.
I don’t need to skulk around like a thief in my own house! he thought. All the same, he hurried on tiptoe to his parents’ door and held his breath until it was locked again behind him.
Casting about with his lamp, he found another and lit it, then walked slowly around the chamber, touching things that his parents had touched: a bedpost, a chest, a cup, the handles of a wardrobe. Alone here at last, it didn’t feel like just another room anymore; it was their room. Tobin tried to imagine what it would have been like if they’d all lived here happily together. If everything hadn’t gone so terribly wrong.