Prince Edward winced, and Nightfall replaced his clothing. "Is that why?” the prince asked.
Though Nightfall knew the reason would probably suffice, he found a better one. "No. He also pounded on the stable boy. Master, I only did what you would have done. I know you believe in defending the downtrodden. You wouldn’t have let him hurt that boy."
"I wouldn’t," Prince Edward admitted. He studied Nightfall for some time before finishing. “But I’m a prince. I can do that. I can’t let my servant threatening a highborn’s life go unpunished.”
Nightfall froze, believing he had finally found a transgression that would earn him Edward’s wrath. Magic or none, he would not stand still for any man to batter him. The defiance raised a pounding wave of nausea and agony from the oath-bond that told him he would. Survival took precedence over any need to dodge pain or humiliation. Vengeance, if necessary, could come later. What he could not avoid, Nightfall would take bravely, but he would see to it that the prince suffered as much for the pain. From experience, Nightfall knew that, for Edward, that meant a direct attack to the conscience, "I understand. Beat me however for as long as you feel it’s necessary." Kneeling, he lowered his head, fighting down every instinct that told him to close his defenses.
"Beat you?" Edward’s missing strength returned and flared to annoyance. "I’m not going to beat you." He shivered distastefully at the thought. "What’s that going to teach you except more violence?"
Nightfall had to concede that Prince Edward had a point, although he had already received all the lessons he ever needed about brutality. And learned them well.
Edward pointed at Nightfall’s pallet. “Sit."
Obediently, Nightfall rose and did so.
"We’re going to discuss and memorize the seventeen rules of etiquette. The long version." Edward heaved a sigh. Apparently, he had found a topic tedious even to himself. "By the time I got through talking to Amadan Vanardin’s son, I almost put a knife to his throat myself. The lesson might teach us both some restraint." He launched into the session. "When addressed by a man of superior station…”
Nightfall almost wished he had gotten beaten instead.
Nightfall slept through Prince Edward’s dinner in the common room of the Thirsty Dolphin. His conversation with Finndmer had kept him awake much of the previous night, and he knew he would need the wee morning hours to begin the many gambles and schemes taking shape in his mind. A multitude of possibilities paraded through his thoughts, but he concentrated hardest on the situations chance and consideration had given him opportunity to set up in advance. Dyfrin had often claimed that serendipity came to everyone daily; a wise man learned to turn small details to his advantage. And Nightfall knew organizing all of that would prove easier while the gentle and honest prince lay safely asleep.
Prince Edward returned around midnight, changing into his sleeping gown in the dark, and crept quietly into his bed. Awakened as always by movement, Nightfall lay in silence and feigned sleep, guessing the time by feel alone. The lack of a window made cues from the sky and moon impossible, but Nightfall had become a reasonably good judge of interval, even asleep. He fell into a shallow half-drowse, allowing himself some extra rest and the prince to sink into unbreakable slumber. Then, as solid snores filled the room with echoes, he slipped out, padded down the hallway, and glided through the entryway into the common room.
Nightfall assessed the patrons at once. Five local youths flung darts and daggers at gashed and battered cork targets painted in concentric circles. They based their game at a nearby table, mugs and bowls of beer lined up for an easy sip between turns. Their sport intrigued Nightfall, though the stakes seemed too low to bother with. Eventually, he might find need to pit his dagger-throwing abilities against others for significant winnings. Until then, it made no sense to reveal, or even give clues to, his skill.
Three merchants sat at a table near the bar, their simple but well-tailored dress revealing them as wealthy Grifnalians or Ivralians. These seemed more interesting, though Nightfall knew they would probably prove slow to warm to a stranger and shrewd with their money. Still, their decision to attend a rowdy tavern this late suggested some daring and curiosity about the wilder side of Trillium. Two tables from them sat a pair of local hoodlums eying the sparse crowd with the same attention as Nightfall. The remainder of the patrons consisted of fifteen middle-aged Trillian men in groups of two to four.
The appraisal took moments, and Nightfall hesitated only casually before choosing an empty table between four locals, who appeared alert and involved, and the merchants.
A barmaid scooted from behind the bar, threaded between the tables, and approached Nightfall. Dark hair swirled to her waist, and her brown eyes probed his. "Are you Sudian, Prince Edward’s squire?"
"Yes."
"Your master said you’d probably come along. He paid for your dinner. Would you like it now, sir?”
Nightfall smiled at Edward’s thoughtfulness. He suspected the prince had probably ordered the meal early in the evening, while Nightfall stabled the horses, and it had become forgotten in the wake of Amadan’s accusation. Nervous energy had kept hunger at bay, but now Nightfall realized he had not eaten since the broken melon. “Yes, thank you."
The barmaid headed back toward the kitchen.
Nightfall glanced over at his neighbors, made eye contact with a chunky redhead, and smiled. The man nodded in return, grinned, and muttered an incomprehensible greeting before returning his attention to his friends. Nightfall did not press. Things needed to unfold in a natural manner that made it seem as if beer, rather than a desperate need for money, drove his actions.
Shortly, the woman returned, placing a mug of beer and a plate of food in front of Nightfall. He studied the contents, looking for something he could use. Steam twined from a mound of whipped squash speckled with shreds of meat. Beside it, a quarter of winter melon rocked in the wake of the server’s movement, bowed like a smile; a fly buzzed in spirals around it waiting for it to still. Square cut chunks of cheese filled the final corner of the plate, and their shape inspired the last details of an idea. He shoveled squash and meat into his tumbling belly, concentrating on the warm food while it remained so. Then, using one of his throwing knives, he shaved the melon from its skin, cutting the pinkish fruit into rectangles. He alternated eating cheese and fruit, waving away the occasional fly that alighted on the melon. At intervals, he met various gazes, encouraging any stranger with interest in Alyndar to feel free to approach him.
Three cheese and four melon bits still decorated his plate when a young woman in rags and a collar slunk through the doorway to the inn rooms. She glanced about the common room through a shoulder-length mass of sandy hair, her fear evident. Her gaze fell on Nightfall, and she shuffled toward him hesitantly.
Nightfall watched her approach, wondering why the slave had singled him out of all the men in the tavern and suspecting he would soon find out. In silence, he waited, certain he was not the only one curious about her intentions.
The slave stopped a polite distance from Nightfall and knelt before him.
Nightfall hesitated, unaccustomed to such respect. The rules Edward had pounded into his head the previous evening left him free to do as he pleased with the situation, so long as he did not displease her owner. "Come here," he said, patting a chair beside him.
She rose and obeyed, keeping her head and gaze low, hands clasped in her lap. She seemed tense enough to break.
“What’s your name?"
"Mally, lord."
"I’m no lord, Mally. My name is Sudian. I’m a servant, the squire to Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar."
The woman stared at her fingers, saying nothing.