That he was Maisaak's son only made matters worse. He often wondered if Berris would have felt the same way, if his older brother had lived long enough to be made a captain in Maisaak's army. Berris had gotten along with their father better than Enly ever did. Not that Berris and Maisaak had been close; no one was close to Maisaak, except maybe their mother. But Berris understood how to make the old goat happy. He knew the right things to say, he fought in his tournament matches with tactical precision, he rarely disagreed with their father's decisions, and if he did he kept his thoughts to himself. In short, he was boring, and Maisaak liked boring.
Enly's sense of humor, his willingness to flout convention, his daring technique in the ring, all of which made him so popular with his men, and with many of the court women, served only to irritate his father.
Perhaps that was why being summoned to the palace irked him so. More often than not it meant he had done something-who knew what?-to anger his father. Again.
So, though he saw the palace soldier approaching, Enly ignored him and continued to train, throwing himself into his swordplay with such abandon that the man he'd been working with was suddenly forced to retreat several steps. His father's guard stopped a few strides away and just stood there, waiting for Enly to notice him. Enly pretended not to.
"Captain Tolm?" the man said after a few moments.
Still Enly didn't look at him.
"Beg pardon," the soldier started again, speaking more loudly this time. "Captain Tolm? Sir?"
The man he was training kept glancing toward the guard, looking confused, not to mention tired. At last Enly relented. He broke off his attack, raised his sword in salute to his soldier, and turned to his father's man.
"Yes, what do you want?" he demanded. Before the man could reply he went on. "My father wishes to see me, is that right?"
The guard nodded. "Aye, sir."
"And did he tell you anything beyond that?"
"Only tha' he wanted ya right off, sir. He weren' in a mood t' wait."
Enly sighed. "Of course he wasn't." He wiped his brow on his sleeve. "Fine then. Tell him 1'll be along just as soon as I can."
"Aye, sir." The man turned smartly and hurried back toward the palace.
He sheathed his blade, watching the man walk away. Then he turned to look at his men, who were eyeing him now. "The rest of you…" He shook his head. "The rest of you can do as you please until patrols begin."
The men cheered, making him smile in spite of himself.
He waited until his soldiers had dispersed before making his way back to the palace, not because he had to, but rather because he didn't want to give his father the satisfaction of thinking he'd been in any rush to obey the summons.
He thought briefly about changing his clothes, but his father had wanted him there without delay, so he'd have him as he was now, sweat and all.
The guards at the palace gates bowed to him as he passed. Among his own men he tried to be nothing more or less than their captain. Surely none of them forgot that he was a Tolm, the lord heir at that. But with time he had managed to build a rapport with his soldiers that was similar in most respects to that of other captains with their companies.
The soldiers of the palace guard, however, were another matter. Here there could be no doubt but that he was Maisaak's son and eventual successor. Probably that was as it should be, but after all these years, it still bothered him.
Reaching the door to his father's presence chamber, he stopped and waited while one of the guards there announced him to Maisaak. A moment later, the door opened and the guard bowed, gesturing for him to enter.
"You're late," Maisaak said, before the door had closed behind Enly, before Enly had even spotted him by his writing table. "I sent for you before market bells."
Enly bit back the first words that came to him. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I was working the men, and had one last drill to finish."
"Well, we haven't much time. They'll be here shortly."
"They?"
Maisaak frowned, making his square face look even more severe than it usually did. "That fool of a guard didn't tell you?"
"He said only that you wanted to see me."
"Jenoe and Tirnya have requested an audience."
"She's well enough to come here?" This time Enly had been unable to keep from saying the first thing that came to him.
His father's frown deepened and he shook his head. "Either marry her or have done with it already. But either way, I need you to think clearly for a moment, not as her suitor, but as lord heir."
"What is it they want to discuss?" he asked, ignoring the rebuke, and refusing to admit that Tirnya had no desire to marry him.
"I was hoping you might know," his father said.
"I don't. I've barely seen her since…" Since the tournament, he'd been about to say. But he didn't want to bring that up again either. Talking to his father was like stepping through a briar patch: for every thorn avoided four others drew blood. "It's been some time now," he said.
"Well, nevertheless, I'd like you here when they arrive. I know Jenoe well enough, but your insights with respect to the girl might be of some use."
All he could say was "Of course."
For a time, as they waited for the marshal and his daughter to arrive, neither of them spoke. Maisaak went back to perusing the scrolls on his writing table. Enly wandered the chamber, looking idly at the baubles on his father's mantel and the ever-growing collection of daggers his father kept in a glass case in the corner of the great room.
Eventually his father looked up at him again, his brow creased. "You must be hungry."
"Thirsty, actually."
"Of course." Maisaak picked up the small bell on his table and rang it. Almost instantly, a young servant appeared in the doorway and bowed. "My son desires water," said the lord governor. "And with our guests arriving soon, I'd like food and wine brought as well."
The boy bowed a second time and withdrew, having said nothing. Maisaak had well-trained servants.
"How goes it with your company?" his father asked, sounding oddly formal.
"Very well, thank you."
"And their spirits?"
Enly had to laugh. "Their spirits would have been much improved if we had been the ones to earn your gold for killing all those brigands."
"Yes, well," Maisaak said sourly, clearly not seeing the humor in this matter, "I think the less said about that the better, don't you?"
"Yes, Father."
They fell silent once more until Enly's water arrived, and with it the food and wine. A few moments after, someone knocked, and at Maisaak's invitation, one of the guards stepped into the chamber.
"Yar Lordship, Marshal an' Captain Onjaef," the man said.
"Send them in," Maisaak said, sounding desperate for any new guests, even the one man in Qalsyn he hated most.
Tirnya entered the chamber followed by her father. She looked pale-the cut he had dealt her in the tournament had healed over, but the scar stood out starkly against her skin-and she moved slowly, without her usual grace. And yet, even while still recovering from wounds that had nearly killed her, she remained lovely. Her hair was tied back, though a few strands fell over her brow. Her eyes, blue-grey, the color of smoke from smoldering embers, found him immediately. She gave him a puzzled look, as if to ask why he was there.
Enly shrugged, then looked away.
As usual, Jenoe cut an imposing figure. He was a good deal taller than Maisaak and he still had the trim muscular build of a champion swordsman. He caught Enly's eye a moment after his daughter had and nodded in greeting.
The two of them, father and daughter, halted in front of Maisaak's writing table and bowed to him.
"Thank you for agreeing to see us, Your Lordship," Tirnya said.
Enly and Maisaak shared a quick look. Usually the marshal would have spoken for them, not his daughter.