Must’ve been some other reason. I didn’t worry though, since—” he broke again, shrugged, and went on—“it’s like him to be impulsive, begging your pardon, Your Majesty. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to bring him in.”
Brianna frowned. “I don’t recall hearing about this, Captain.”
His face reddened further and he shifted uncomfortably. “Some things a young man would just as soon his mother not know, Majesty, even a prince.”
“After you’ve done here, perhaps you’d better tell me about those things.”
He glanced to Fionvar but nodded once. “We started to search the city, Majesty, all his places. Anywhere Dylan or Erik might’ve left him. No sign, not anywhere. We got a chance to ask the injured men this morning, and one of them said he thought he’d seen the prince, just a glimpse mind you, before the battle. Long and the short of it is”—he met Brianna’s gaze without flinching—“either he’s gone off with the refugees, or they’ve taken him and fought to cover themselves.”
“Oh my Holy Mother,” Fionvar breathed.
“You’re saying you think the prince has been kidnapped? To what end?”
“Money, sanctuary?” Gwythym took another swallow of water and shrugged again. “They’ve been asking your intervention, Majesty, perhaps they thought this’d make sure of it.”
“Bury it,” she snapped. “What proof? What’ve we got?”
“Well, we’re looking for the refugees from last night, and we’ve just got an interpreter to talk to these ones in the infirmary. I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you. I just…” He slumped in the chair.
“You didn’t want to tell us the prince was gone,” Fionvar supplied quietly.
Gwythym nodded miserably. “Might as well turn in my badge, Fion.”
“How’s Dylan?”
“He went down early in the fighting, got trampled, mostly. They say he’ll pull through. Erik though—” Gwythym shuddered suddenly.
Fionvar and Brianna waited.
“Some monster left him gutted like a fish, begging your pardon. Most terrible thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice died away, remembering.
Fionvar put a hand over Brianna’s, stilling its trembling. The queen whispered, “And these people have my son.”
Chapter 5
LYSSA KNELT on the floor of her little chapel, carefully scraping away the ruined patch of tiles. She worked in studious silence, her entire being focused on the task. Not far away, the cracked bust of King Rhys lay on the floor beneath a cloth. She had moved it aside but did not lift it from the floor, as if letting it lie in state.
“Lyssa.”
She flinched, dropping the fine chisel, and turned her head to glower at Fionvar. “Don’t surprise me like that.”
He frowned. “I said your name three times, Lyssa; is something the matter?”
She gazed up at her brother, whose dark eyes seemed a few shades darker than they had been. “I think I should be asking you that question.” She rose, wiping the dust from her hands upon her work apron.
Fionvar took her place on the floor, touching the bare patch where she had removed the broken tiles and filigree. “Was it the refugees? They’ve been hanging about the temple lately.” His eyes lit upon the covered sculpture, and he twitched aside the cloth to study the damaged face. Suddenly he sprang up, hands balling into fists. “It was that Asenith, wasn’t it?”
“Who?” Lyssa frowned her puzzlement.
“Who else would have so much against…” he trailed off, looking down at the face again.
“I can name one, Fion.”
His shoulders fell. “Oh, Lyssa, we’ve made a mess of it, haven’t we?”
“Some of us have, anyhow.” She sighed.
He jerked as if she’d struck him.
Quickly, she touched his shoulder. “I didn’t mean you, Fion. Last night, he came to talk to me and—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute, why did you come down here? Something’s happened.”
“It’s Wolfram,” Fionvar began, but she cut him off.
“He’s run
Brianna frowned. “I don’t recall hearing about this, Captain.”
His face reddened further and he shifted uncomfortably. “Some things a young man would just as soon his mother not know, Majesty, even a prince.”
“After you’ve done here, perhaps you’d better tell me about those things.”
He glanced to Fionvar but nodded once. “We started to search the city, Majesty, all his places. Anywhere Dylan or Erik might’ve left him. No sign, not anywhere. We got a chance to ask the injured men this morning, and one of them said he thought he’d seen the prince, just a glimpse mind you, before the battle. Long and the short of it is”—he met Brianna’s gaze without flinching—“either he’s gone off with the refugees, or they’ve taken him and fought to cover themselves.”
“Oh my Holy Mother,” Fionvar breathed.
“You’re saying you think the prince has been kidnapped? To what end?”
“Money, sanctuary?” Gwythym took another swallow of water and shrugged again. “They’ve been asking your intervention, Majesty, perhaps they thought this’d make sure of it.”
“Bury it,” she snapped. “What proof? What’ve we got?”
“Well, we’re looking for the refugees from last night, and we’ve just got an interpreter to talk to these ones in the infirmary. I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you. I just…” He slumped in the chair.
“You didn’t want to tell us the prince was gone,” Fionvar supplied quietly.
Gwythym nodded miserably. “Might as well turn in my badge, Fion.”
“How’s Dylan?”
“He went down early in the fighting, got trampled, mostly. They say he’ll pull through. Erik though—” Gwythym shuddered suddenly.
Fionvar and Brianna waited.
“Some monster left him gutted like a fish, begging your pardon. Most terrible thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice died away, remembering.
Fionvar put a hand over Brianna’s, stilling its trembling. The queen whispered, “And these people have my son.”
Chapter 5
LYSSA KNELT on the floor of her little chapel, carefully scraping away the ruined patch of tiles. She worked in studious silence, her entire being focused on the task. Not far away, the cracked bust of King Rhys lay on the floor beneath a cloth. She had moved it aside but did not lift it from the floor, as if letting it lie in state.
“Lyssa.”
She flinched, dropping the fine chisel, and turned her head to glower at Fionvar. “Don’t surprise me like that.”
He frowned. “I said your name three times, Lyssa; is something the matter?”
She gazed up at her brother, whose dark eyes seemed a few shades darker than they had been. “I think I should be asking you that question.” She rose, wiping the dust from her hands upon her work apron.
Fionvar took her place on the floor, touching the bare patch where she had removed the broken tiles and filigree. “Was it the refugees? They’ve been hanging about the temple lately.” His eyes lit upon the covered sculpture, and he twitched aside the cloth to study the damaged face. Suddenly he sprang up, hands balling into fists. “It was that Asenith, wasn’t it?”
“Who?” Lyssa frowned her puzzlement.
“Who else would have so much against…” he trailed off, looking down at the face again.
“I can name one, Fion.”
His shoulders fell. “Oh, Lyssa, we’ve made a mess of it, haven’t we?”
“Some of us have, anyhow.” She sighed.
He jerked as if she’d struck him.
Quickly, she touched his shoulder. “I didn’t mean you, Fion. Last night, he came to talk to me and—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute, why did you come down here? Something’s happened.”
“It’s Wolfram,” Fionvar began, but she cut him off.
“He’s run
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