because that’s what the oath of taking the throne requires. Can you understand that?” Sandon choked back a sob and nodded. Vilfrand managed a small smile. “Good.”
“Now go to your room, son, and clean your armor. I want you to be at your best tomorrow at sunset. The people of the barony will take their strength from you, and you must show them that—dragon or not—the heir to the throne, like his father, is not afraid.”
“Yes, Uncle,” he managed a whisper. “I will.”
Vilfrand rustled the boy’s hair, and then turned toward the throne room and the baron’s private study. Sandon watched Vilfrand go, willing himself with all of his strength not to cry while his uncle could still see him.
At last, Sandon stood alone in the empty feast hall. He placed his clenched hands on the empty table, staring at his father’s gold-plumed helm. Tears blurring his vision, Sandon reached out and ran his fingers through the soft horsehair. It hurt to think that his father might never wear it again; might never ride out proudly from the keep, surrounded by his loyal guardsmen; might never sit on the throne of Hartfall and give wise councilto villagers in need. The thought was too much to bear, and Sandon shoved the helm away violently and ran half blindly toward the stairs that led to his bedroom.
In the dark and silent feast hall, the helm rolled from the table. It clattered to the floor unheeded, polished faceplate lolling open to reveal a bitter emptiness within.
hat are you doing?”
The question suddenly broke the silence of the room, startling Sandon. He hadn’t heard the door open or the soldier step inside, but there Kine was, as big as daylight, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “I said,” the soldier repeated, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe, “what are you doing?”
Sandon jumped, but it was too late to hide the heavy hiking boots he’d been tying on or the skinning knife that lay on the table beside him. He grabbed it guiltily, hooking the scabbard to his belt beside a small canteen. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” Kine didn’t bother to point out the obvious. He raised an eyebrow. “Going for a walk?”
“Yes. Alone. By myself. That means without you.”
“Without guards too? Heh. That only makes me more interested.” He grinned wolfishly. “That wizard’sapprentice, Umar, was trying to feed me a cock-and-bull story about how I ought to sneak in a few bottles of wine for his master ‘under the blue dragon’s nose.’ Apparently, Yattak’s been making him dance on what’s left of the raisins to try and squeeze a little juice out of them. Honestly, kid, your afternoon sounds more interesting—and safer. So, where are we going?”
Sandon clenched his teeth together, growling, “Why do you care?”
“I’m your guest. When my host acts strangely, I make it a priority to know why so that I can get out of town before they lynch me.” Kine’s hazel eyes were laughing, even if his face was sober. “Are you headed out to get the sheriff?”
“No. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, I’m glad at least one member of your family believes that. Now, tell me, kiddo, where are you going, and why is everyone in the castle acting like someone just died?”
It took just that hint of caring for everything to spill out. The words fell from Sandon’s lips in a downpour—his father’s deal with Lazuli, Malaise’s evil glee, the horrible look on everyone’s face, like they were simply accepting the inevitable when his father went away to make plans for the regency. Kine took it all in silently,nodding on occasion, but just letting Sandon go on and on until words failed the boy and he trickled to a stop. It was a relief to get it all out, like a wound lanced by a physician, and when he was done, Sandon took a deep, shuddering breath and fell silent.
“So. Back to my question,” Kine said, and this time he smiled gently. “What are you doing?’
“Going up to
“Now go to your room, son, and clean your armor. I want you to be at your best tomorrow at sunset. The people of the barony will take their strength from you, and you must show them that—dragon or not—the heir to the throne, like his father, is not afraid.”
“Yes, Uncle,” he managed a whisper. “I will.”
Vilfrand rustled the boy’s hair, and then turned toward the throne room and the baron’s private study. Sandon watched Vilfrand go, willing himself with all of his strength not to cry while his uncle could still see him.
At last, Sandon stood alone in the empty feast hall. He placed his clenched hands on the empty table, staring at his father’s gold-plumed helm. Tears blurring his vision, Sandon reached out and ran his fingers through the soft horsehair. It hurt to think that his father might never wear it again; might never ride out proudly from the keep, surrounded by his loyal guardsmen; might never sit on the throne of Hartfall and give wise councilto villagers in need. The thought was too much to bear, and Sandon shoved the helm away violently and ran half blindly toward the stairs that led to his bedroom.
In the dark and silent feast hall, the helm rolled from the table. It clattered to the floor unheeded, polished faceplate lolling open to reveal a bitter emptiness within.
hat are you doing?”
The question suddenly broke the silence of the room, startling Sandon. He hadn’t heard the door open or the soldier step inside, but there Kine was, as big as daylight, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “I said,” the soldier repeated, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe, “what are you doing?”
Sandon jumped, but it was too late to hide the heavy hiking boots he’d been tying on or the skinning knife that lay on the table beside him. He grabbed it guiltily, hooking the scabbard to his belt beside a small canteen. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” Kine didn’t bother to point out the obvious. He raised an eyebrow. “Going for a walk?”
“Yes. Alone. By myself. That means without you.”
“Without guards too? Heh. That only makes me more interested.” He grinned wolfishly. “That wizard’sapprentice, Umar, was trying to feed me a cock-and-bull story about how I ought to sneak in a few bottles of wine for his master ‘under the blue dragon’s nose.’ Apparently, Yattak’s been making him dance on what’s left of the raisins to try and squeeze a little juice out of them. Honestly, kid, your afternoon sounds more interesting—and safer. So, where are we going?”
Sandon clenched his teeth together, growling, “Why do you care?”
“I’m your guest. When my host acts strangely, I make it a priority to know why so that I can get out of town before they lynch me.” Kine’s hazel eyes were laughing, even if his face was sober. “Are you headed out to get the sheriff?”
“No. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, I’m glad at least one member of your family believes that. Now, tell me, kiddo, where are you going, and why is everyone in the castle acting like someone just died?”
It took just that hint of caring for everything to spill out. The words fell from Sandon’s lips in a downpour—his father’s deal with Lazuli, Malaise’s evil glee, the horrible look on everyone’s face, like they were simply accepting the inevitable when his father went away to make plans for the regency. Kine took it all in silently,nodding on occasion, but just letting Sandon go on and on until words failed the boy and he trickled to a stop. It was a relief to get it all out, like a wound lanced by a physician, and when he was done, Sandon took a deep, shuddering breath and fell silent.
“So. Back to my question,” Kine said, and this time he smiled gently. “What are you doing?’
“Going up to
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