When he’d finished, Lytia summoned two servers bearing cloth-draped boxes. “Something special for the highest-ranking guests. A specialty of this house since your great-grandparents’ day, Prince Tobin.” Whisking aside one of the covers, she lifted out a glass vase filled with delicate glass roses. Tobin gasped; worked glass of this sort was worth a dozen fine horses. His eyes widened further when Lytia casually broke off one ruby petal and popped it into her mouth, then offered him one.
Tobin hesitantly touched it to his tongue, then laughed. “Sugar!”
Solari chuckled as he helped himself to a flower. “Lady Lytia is a true artist.”
“Your great-grandmother sent my grandmother to Ero to train with a famous confectioner,” said Lytia. “She passed the craft down to my mother, and she to me. I’m glad my little flowers please you, but what do you think of this?” Reaching into the second box, she lifted out a translucent sugar dragon. The hollow body was red like the rose petals, with delicate gilded wings, feet, and drooping facial spines. “Which would you prefer for tonight?”
“They’re both astonishing! But perhaps the dragon is proper, for the king?”
“Good, then you won’t be needing this!” Korin exclaimed, and tapped the sugar vase with his knife. It shattered with a delicate tinkle and the boys scrambled for the large pieces.
“It’s a shame to break them,” Tobin said, watching them.
Lytia smiled as she watched the Companions elbowing each other to snatch up the last morsels. “But that’s why I make them.”
As soon as Solari released Tobin, Korin insisted on riding down to the town gates to stand watch. Porion insisted on coming with them, and Tharin came along, too, but Korin wanted no other guard.
Tobin recognized that mix of longing and excitement in his cousin’s eyes. He remembered loitering around the barracks yard, waiting for his father to ride out from the trees at the bottom of the meadow. He wished he could share Korin’s excitement instead of feeling sick to his stomach the way he did. He’d kept a worried eye out for Brother all morning, but there’d been no sign of him.
A crowd gathered around them as they sat their horses just outside the gate, admiring the Companions’ arms and horses. Everyone seemed to know Tharin.
Soldiers loitering around the square found reasons to come over, too, and Tobin found them easy to talk to. He’d been around fighting men all his life. He asked them about their scars and admired their swords or bows. With a little encouragement, they shared stories of his father and grandfather, and some of his aunts who’d fought under the queen’s banner in years gone by. Many started their tales with, “You’ll have heard this one …” But Tobin hadn’t, mostly, and wondered why his father had told him so little of his own history.
Noon came and went. Food vendors brought them meat and wine and they ate in the saddle like picket riders. At last, bored with waiting and tired of being stared at, Tobin rallied his friends and they passed the time giving children rides up and down the road. Korin and the older boys stayed by the gate, flirting with the local girls. They’d put on their best dresses for the occasion and reminded Tobin of a flock of bright, chattering birds as they giggled and preened for the boys.
The sun was halfway down the sky when an outrider arrived at last, announcing the king’s arrival.
Korin and the others would have ridden out in a mob if Porion hadn’t caught them up with a sharp shout.
“Form up properly, now!” he ordered, keeping his voice down in deference to the princes. “I’ve taught you better than this. You don’t want the king thinking bandits are attacking him, do you?”
Chastened, they formed up in a proper column, each noble with his squire beside him, and Korin and Tobin in the lead. Solari and Savia rode down just in time to join them, dressed in festival splendor.
“They look like a king and queen themselves, don’t they?” Ki whispered.
Tobin nodded. Both glittered with jewels and their horses’ tack was fancier than Gosi’s.
They took the north road at a gallop, the princes’ banners and Solari’s bright against the afternoon sky before them. A mile or so on they caught sight of answering colors, and a long column of soldiers coming their way. A score of armed warriors and the king’s standard-bearer led the way. Behind them Erius rode with his principal lords. Tobin couldn’t see his face yet, but knew him by his golden helm. They were dressed for battle, but carried hawks and falcons rather than shields. Dozens of noble standards snapped in the crisp late afternoon breeze.
A long column of foot soldiers marched behind them, like a red-and-black serpent with glinting scales of iron.
Porion held the boys to a formation canter, but they called out excitedly to each other as they spied the banners of their fathers or kinsmen.
They quickly closed the distance between the two companies, and Korin reined in and dismounted.
“Down, Tob,” he murmured. “We greet Father on foot.”
Everyone else had already dismounted. Swallowing his fear, Tobin steeled himself to hate this stranger who shared his blood. He handed Gosi’s reins to Ki and followed his cousin.
He’d glimpsed his uncle only once before, but there was no mistaking the man now. Even without the golden helm and a gold-chased breastplate, Tobin would have known Erius by the sword that hung at his left side: the fabled Sword of Ghërilain. Tobin had learned to recognize it from the little painted kings and queens his father had given him, then seen it carved with differing skill on the stone effigies at the Royal Tomb. If he’d had any doubt that this was the sword he’d been offered by the ghost of Queen Tamír that long-ago night, they were laid to rest now. This was the one.
He’d never seen the king’s face, though, and when he looked up at the man at last he let out small gasp of surprise; Erius looked just like Korin. He had the same square, handsome face and dark, merry eyes. There were thick streaks of white in his hair, but he sat his tall black horse with the same soldierly dash that Tobin’s father had, riding up the river road to the keep.
Korin dropped to one knee and saluted his father. Tobin and the other Companions did the same.
“Korin, my boy!” Erius exclaimed, as he swung down from the saddle to meet them. His voice was deep and filled with love.
Instead of fear or hate, Tobin felt a sudden stab of longing.
Abandoning any pretense of dignity, Korin threw himself into his father’s arms. A roar of acclaim went up from the ranks as the pair hugged and pounded each other on the back. The Companions cheered the king, beating their sword hilts against their shields.
After a moment Korin noticed Tobin still kneeling and dragged him to his feet. “This is Tobin, Father. Cousin, come and greet your uncle.”
“By the Flame, look how you’ve sprouted up!” laughed Erius.
“Your Majesty.” Tobin started to bow, but the king caught him in a strong embrace. For a dizzying instant Tobin was back in his father’s arms, enveloped in the comforting smells of oiled steel, sweat, and leather.
Erius stepped back and gazed down at him with such fondness that Tobin’s knees went weak.
“The last time I saw you, you were a babe asleep in your father’s arms.” Erius cupped Tobin’s chin in one hard, callused hand and a wistful look came over his face. “Everyone said you have my sister’s eyes. I can almost see her looking out at me,” he murmured, unknowingly sending a superstitious chill up his nephew’s spine. “Tobin Erius Akandor, have you no kiss for your uncle?”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Tobin managed. All his hate and fear had melted away at that first warm smile. Now he didn’t know how to feel. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against the king’s rough cheek. As he did so, he found himself looking at Lord Niryn, who stood just behind the king. Where’d he come from? Why was he here? Tobin stepped back quickly, trying to cover his surprise.