for going out-of-bounds. Trevyn was expecting a mighty roaring at the very least. But Alan surprised him. âI am glad to see you, lad,â he remarked quietly. âI ought to knock your head, but I havenât the inclination. Come get your supper.â
Trevyn stood still and peered at him. âWhat is the matter?â he asked.
âItâs Hal,â Alan told him candidly. âHeâs been sulking in his tower for weeks now, scarcely eating, scarcely speaking.⦠I have known him for a long time, Trevyn, and borne with his moods as he bears with mine, but thisâit harrows me. I donât want to speak of it. Come get your supper.â
Preoccupied, Alan had not noticed Trevynâs borrowed cloak or his missing brooch, and Trevyn gave private thanks for that. He flung the cloak aside and followed his father to the huge, cobbled kitchen. None of the Lauerocs had much patience with the prerogatives of rank; they usually helped themselves rather than eating in great-hall style. Trevynâs mother and his Aunt Rosemary sat at a big plank table near the hearth, slicing bread. Rosemary smiled wanly as Trevyn entered, but Lysse jumped up to hug him, gauging his well-being with her elfin eyes.
âYou have been in danger, Beloved!â she exclaimed. âWhat was it?â
âThe snowstorm perhaps?â he hedged. He had left Rafe with the understanding that he would carry report to the Kings concerning the peculiar behavior of the wolves. But now, guiltily, he realized that he had no intention of doing so. He could not risk his newly won independence by telling his parents he had come to woe. Childishly, he felt that they would never let him out alone again, never let him sail to Elwestrand! Shaking off thoughts of duty, he turned the talk. âWhat is the matter with my uncle?â
âHe is fey.â Queen Rosemary proudly raised her lovely auburn head.
âHe is Mireldeyn.â Lysse spoke the name neither in agreement nor in denial. She sat down with effortless, fluid grace. âHis ways are not the ways of men. He has withdrawn from men now.â
Trevyn dipped himself a bowlful of stew, for he was hungry from his ride. No one else ate much; they all sat watching him. âBut Uncle Hal has always been a recluse,â he ventured between bites of bread and meat.
Alan distractedly shook his head. âNot like this. He was only a recluse in body, Trevyn; his mind and vision were focused on Isle and on me; I could feel his love even from afar. But nowâhis dreams have pulled away, like a sea pulling away from shore. He scarcely speaks to me; it is as if he is already gone. How will I rule without him? How will I live? He is Very King.â
âBut whereâhowââ Trevyn faltered. Alan looked as if he might weep, and Trevyn had never seen his father weep, even over the tiny bodies of his stillborn sisters. âI donât understand. I know you were close, but I thoughtââ
âYou thought I ruled,â Alan snapped, suddenly burying his grief in asperity. âHal has suffered and labored for Isle, and men think I rule. He longs only for peace, and yet he was the greatest war leader this land has ever seen. Men rallied around his dreams. Likely his dreams will last longer than all my busy devices. And his wisdom in the court of law deserves to be legend. And yet, because I am the one who counts the gold, men think I rule.â
âYou suffered too,â Trevyn protested.
âWe both bear scars,â Alan grumbled. âWhat of it? Let suffering go, Trevyn.â
âHal has never been able to let go of his pain,â Rosemary whispered to her hands. âIt has driven him mad.â
âNay, Ro,â Lysse said gently, âthe truth is cleaner and harder, I think. There will be a ship for him, at the Bay of the Blessed, to take him where the others have already gone. Aene has called him, and he goes as he has
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