jabbed into his gut. “Surely the king shall choose another captain now that you no longer stand beside him.”
“I guess he will.” Bryton’s feet moved forward but his mind reeled backward, through time and memory. He’d been Taric’s guard since he was fifteen. It was at the very core of who he was as a man. The rituals, the training, the sacrifices he’d pledged, those were as deeply ingrained in his soul as the blood in his veins. What was he if he was no longer a captain?
Her tiny sandals made no noise and the sounds of nature lulled him deeper into memory, to a day long ago. The sun had set, sending a prism of purples, golds and oranges across the sky. His father, Mactog, had been locked in the library with King Balic all day and the youngers had rejoiced in an easy day. But Bryton knew something wasn’t right when Mactog pulled him from the dining hall. They took no horses or packs but headed straight into the forest’s darkness.
Deep autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet in the chilled air but neither spoke. Bryton scrambled to remember any chore or task he might have forgotten that could possibly be bringing punishment. Had he oiled the saddles? Yes, he’d done that at first light. The armory had never shone as bright and his hands still ached from the coarse scrub cloth. He’d even helped the woodcutter stack the cords of wood behind the kitchens. Granted, he’d done that to flirt with the serving maids but he’d worked hard. What had he done that drew harsh lines between his father’s brows?
The sliced moon appeared with her chorus of stars and Mactog stopped, the night winds whispering in eerie music. With no torchlight, the shadows had seemed alive, reaching toward him with cold, deathlike fingers.
“Papa, what—?”
“Tell me about the wolf.”
“That was two summers ago,” he’d protested.
Mactog crossed his arms and waited.
Bryton swallowed his complaint, ducking his head. He’d known he had gotten off too easy for that misadventure. He hadn’t known his father would wait so long to punish him. “We went hunting on the north face. The guards stayed below since the mountain was empty. You know what a good shot Taric is. He bagged the largest pheasant I’ve ever seen. He was cleaning it while I chopped wood to roast it. The wolf appeared so fast, we just froze.”
“But you didn’t. Tell the tale properly.”
The soft, damp earth begged for his toes to scruff in, to fidget with shame, but his father would only frown harder. Instead, Bryton raised his chin and confessed. “I dropped the axe. I knocked Taric to the ground and threw the pheasant at the wolf. But it…a jaguar came and attacked the wolf and…I should have thrown the axe and not the bird. I know that now.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Taric was between me and the wolf. What if I hit him instead?”
“What if the wolf had gotten you?”
“I didn’t think, Papa. I’m sorry.”
Mactog worked his jaw. His nostrils flared with a deep noisy breath and he tilted his head back, gazing at the rising moon. Age had salted Mactog’s hair, dusting the black like snow. At that moment Bryton wondered the oddest thing. His mother’s copper hair, which he’d inherited, had yet to gray. How would his look in thirty summers?
“Taric becomes a man within a moon.”
“I know.” Bryton’s lips were chapped and the wet tongue he slicked across them stung. “The cook had us catch seventeen live grouse to fatten, one for each summer. Taric wanted almo—”
“He’ll no longer be a child, Bryton. He’ll no longer fall under my protection. It’s time for him to have his own captain.” Mactog lowered his head and stared directly into Bryton’s eyes. “Why did you push Taric out of the way? Did you think your mother and I would mourn you any less than the king would mourn his son?”
Bryton’s mouth worked but he didn’t have an answer. “I didn’t think. He’s my friend.”
“You didn’t think. You
“I guess he will.” Bryton’s feet moved forward but his mind reeled backward, through time and memory. He’d been Taric’s guard since he was fifteen. It was at the very core of who he was as a man. The rituals, the training, the sacrifices he’d pledged, those were as deeply ingrained in his soul as the blood in his veins. What was he if he was no longer a captain?
Her tiny sandals made no noise and the sounds of nature lulled him deeper into memory, to a day long ago. The sun had set, sending a prism of purples, golds and oranges across the sky. His father, Mactog, had been locked in the library with King Balic all day and the youngers had rejoiced in an easy day. But Bryton knew something wasn’t right when Mactog pulled him from the dining hall. They took no horses or packs but headed straight into the forest’s darkness.
Deep autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet in the chilled air but neither spoke. Bryton scrambled to remember any chore or task he might have forgotten that could possibly be bringing punishment. Had he oiled the saddles? Yes, he’d done that at first light. The armory had never shone as bright and his hands still ached from the coarse scrub cloth. He’d even helped the woodcutter stack the cords of wood behind the kitchens. Granted, he’d done that to flirt with the serving maids but he’d worked hard. What had he done that drew harsh lines between his father’s brows?
The sliced moon appeared with her chorus of stars and Mactog stopped, the night winds whispering in eerie music. With no torchlight, the shadows had seemed alive, reaching toward him with cold, deathlike fingers.
“Papa, what—?”
“Tell me about the wolf.”
“That was two summers ago,” he’d protested.
Mactog crossed his arms and waited.
Bryton swallowed his complaint, ducking his head. He’d known he had gotten off too easy for that misadventure. He hadn’t known his father would wait so long to punish him. “We went hunting on the north face. The guards stayed below since the mountain was empty. You know what a good shot Taric is. He bagged the largest pheasant I’ve ever seen. He was cleaning it while I chopped wood to roast it. The wolf appeared so fast, we just froze.”
“But you didn’t. Tell the tale properly.”
The soft, damp earth begged for his toes to scruff in, to fidget with shame, but his father would only frown harder. Instead, Bryton raised his chin and confessed. “I dropped the axe. I knocked Taric to the ground and threw the pheasant at the wolf. But it…a jaguar came and attacked the wolf and…I should have thrown the axe and not the bird. I know that now.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Taric was between me and the wolf. What if I hit him instead?”
“What if the wolf had gotten you?”
“I didn’t think, Papa. I’m sorry.”
Mactog worked his jaw. His nostrils flared with a deep noisy breath and he tilted his head back, gazing at the rising moon. Age had salted Mactog’s hair, dusting the black like snow. At that moment Bryton wondered the oddest thing. His mother’s copper hair, which he’d inherited, had yet to gray. How would his look in thirty summers?
“Taric becomes a man within a moon.”
“I know.” Bryton’s lips were chapped and the wet tongue he slicked across them stung. “The cook had us catch seventeen live grouse to fatten, one for each summer. Taric wanted almo—”
“He’ll no longer be a child, Bryton. He’ll no longer fall under my protection. It’s time for him to have his own captain.” Mactog lowered his head and stared directly into Bryton’s eyes. “Why did you push Taric out of the way? Did you think your mother and I would mourn you any less than the king would mourn his son?”
Bryton’s mouth worked but he didn’t have an answer. “I didn’t think. He’s my friend.”
“You didn’t think. You
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