I came into my full power last spring with all four aspects: air, earth, fire and water. Most mages only have one.
Laurel drew the truth rune on my palm last spring. The same rune that was lifted against Iversterre’s Royal Army in the last war with such devastating results.
King Jusson claimed me as cousin and heir last spring— which caused several assassination attempts by Lord Gherat of Dru, his kinsman, Lieutenant Slevoic ibn Dru, and my cousin, Lord Teram ibn Flavan. When I proved hard to kill, they rebelled.
We uncovered a massive smuggling and slavery ring last spring, which Dru and Flavan were using to finance their attempt to overthrow King Jusson.
It was last spring that His Grace Loran claimed me as cyhn, which triggered a rebellion in his court.
And it was last spring that I acquired the butterflies, courtiers of the Faery Queen.
Now, however, I snuggled down in my cloak, content. Against all the happenings of last spring, I was home. It was a perfect fall morning. The mountains surrounding Freston were a sharp outline of peaks and splashes of vivid autumn colors against a deep blue sky; the air was crisp, with a hint of spice as the goodwives of the town began their Harvestide baking. I was with my mates, I’d just been paid lieutenant’s wages for the first time and my Nameday was fast approaching. I looked up, judging the sun’s position. We had more than enough time for a meal at the Hart’s Leap before I’d be missed at the garrison. Underneath the cover of my cloak, I hefted my purse, satisfaction filling me at its weight.
“I think Lady Alys was just upset because Rabbit’s plait was longer and prettier than any of hers,” Arlis said, his voice carrying the languid grace of the southern part of the kingdom. A little older than Jeff and me, he sported a trim goatee that he thought made him look dashing. Trouble was, he was right. Arlie cast a glance at the feather and then at the butterflies idly fanning their wings in the weak morning sun. “He has better baubles, too.”
Arlie was a decent sort, despite his goatee and southie accent. He was also a King’s Road patroller, but I didn’t hold that against him since his particular troop had suffered the same trials and tribulations ours did as they accompanied us on the journeys to and from the Border. Even so, I wasn’t about to let that pass. “Enjoy it while you can, old man,” I said, “because, as you age into decrepitude, this is the closest you’ll ever get to beauty—”
There was a distant call of trumpets and I stopped, turning my head in the direction of the Kingsgate.
“How many is that?” Jeff asked, as he and Arlie stopped with me. “Eight?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching underneath my scarf to rub a faint tickle on the back of my neck. “I think number seven arrived last night.” I felt a tingle across the truth rune on my palm, then my hand went numb and I wondered if my newly unearthed winter gloves had shrunk over the summer. I stretched out my fingers and the feeling slowly returned, filling my hand with pins and needles.
“Lord Beollan of Fellmark,” Arlis said. He saw our looks of surprise and gave a twisted smile. “One of the King’s Road North lads was telling me at mess this morning how they had to double up to make room for his lordship’s armsmen as the town is full.” He sighed. “I supposed this lot will be bunking with us.”
Jeff and I shared a smirk. Unlike Arlie’s pampered King’s Road patrol, our Mountain Patrol troop was the lowest of the low in a garrison filled to the brim with the inept, the suspect, the patronless, the disgraced. We pulled the worst patrols, were given the dregs and pickovers, and actually had to go into the mountains and fight bandits instead of prancing about on showy horses with accoutrements gleaming, posing for merchants, farmer’s wives and cowherds. As no one wanted to be associated with us if they could help it, we probably would manage to keep our barracks to ourselves. Even in the face of the rapidly diminishing space in town.
Arlie saw our grins. “Laugh all you want, lads, but as fast as they’re arriving, Lord Stick-up-the-Backside’s equally tight-arsed armsmen will soon be sharing your quarters.”
King Jusson Golden Eye’s Great Lords and nobles were following him to Freston in droves—partly because he was the king and wherever he was immediately became the center of the universe, partly because they wanted to find out what had happened during our travels to and from the Border, but mainly because they wanted to make sure that no one else gained an advantage—including me, even though (or especially since) I was the king’s cousin and heir. I didn’t feel at all slighted, as the aristos’ dance for position reminded me of disasters and accidents, fascinating to watch as long as one was a safe distance away. Which was why I was lurking in Theater Square, instead of going with Captains Suiden and Javes to their audience with Jusson. The fact that I was also playing hooky from the garrison had nothing to do with it. Much.
“Ah, but you forget, aged one,” I said. “We have Ryson.”
Jeff’s smirk broadened. “Too right. M’Lord Snoot’s men will camp in an open field during a snowstorm before sharing a room with him—” He broke off at another trumpet blast.
“Hah. Nine,” Arlie said. “And I wouldn’t count on Ryson. I ran into him in the baths this morning. He was actually in the water, using soap, scrubbing—”
“My lord!”
At first I didn’t pay any attention as I was lost in the wonderment of Trooper Ryson voluntarily going near soap and water. Jeff, however, touched my arm and I turned around to see a thin stick of a man wearing a cape of motley hurrying towards us. Behind him was Lady Alys, minus her stage makeup, costume and blond braids. Her real hair was a glorious red, catching fire in the morning sun as it tumbled past high, firm breasts that rose out of her bodice, and flowing to a tiny waist, the ends caressing rounded hips. I blinked, dazzled. Man and woman both skidded to a halt in front of us, bowing and curtseying.
“My lord, gracious sirs,” the man repeated as he finished his bow. “Please forgive us, we meant no offense. We chose the play thinking only of how well it was received last time we staged it.”
Alys raised her head as she completed her curtsey, revealing soft green eyes set under delicate russet brows in an oval face with skin like peaches in cream. She saw us looking and her pink lips curved in a smile, parting enough to hint at white, even teeth. She cast her gaze down and bobbed another curtsey, holding her skirts just high enough for us to get a glimpse of dainty ankles above small, arched feet.
There was a collective intake of breath, and then Jeff, Arlis and I all took a quick step towards her, jostling each other. “No offense taken, Lady Alys,” I said quickly.
She gave a gurgle of laughter, peeping up at us through thick eyelashes. “No lady I, my lord, but a simple player. If it pleases you, my name is Rosea.”
“Lieutenant Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan,” I said, clicking my heels together and bowing, hand over my heart. “Of his Majesty’s Royal Army, Freston garrison, Mountain Patrol, Horse—”
“And the high lord of prissydom,” Jeff said as he shoved me aside. He also made a soldier’s bow. “Trooper Jeffen, gentle maid. A real soldier.” He jerked a thumb at me. “Don’t let his dandified clothes and high-sounding titles fool you. I taught him everything he knows. Unfortunately, it didn’t take.”