The Whisperer by Fiona McIntosh

the King said with mock weariness. ‘Can’t get it into these boys’ heads that it’s about finesse not speed.’
    ‘Oh, Rodin,’ Miralda said with an amused glance back at her son.
    ‘Alright, alright,’ the King admitted, ‘yes, Janko, your nephew is a talented rider. I’m sure you’ll be impressed.’
    ‘You will go along too, won’t you, Rodin?’ Miralda asked. Lute sensed the worry in her voice, even though she tried to disguise it from Janko.
    Rodin shook his head. ‘Pilo will. What about you, my love?’
    ‘Ah, that’s right, you’re something of a horsewoman, aren’t you, Miralda?’
    She smiled but Lute could see how forced it was. ‘I love to ride. But not tomorrow.’ Lute knew her too well. He could see in her eyes that she couldn’t imagine anything worse than riding with Janko while trying to remain gracious and polite throughout the conversation. ‘Pilo and Lute will be fine company for you.’
    ‘I can’t wait,’ Janko said, grinning at him and Lute bristled at the oily sound of insincerity in his voice. ‘Who taught him?’
    ‘Pilo taught me,’ Lute answered for himself. ‘Pilo is my teacher in everything. Er, sorry, Father, I meant that as no—’
    ‘Not at all, my boy. No offence taken,’ Rodin said. ‘Janko, this is Pilo. He joined the elite servants about four years ago, was it?’ Pilo nodded, said nothing. ‘And about two years ago took over full responsibility for Lute. He’s become indispensable to us, I have to admit. And, as you can see, Lute has come along very well since you last clapped eyes on him.’
    ‘My word, you have!’ Janko admitted. ‘The last time we met you were such a weakling, Lute. Always running behind your mother’s skirts. But you’re tall and look strong and healthy. I’m pleased. Almost ready for soldiering. How old are you now?’
    His mother probably hoped that Janko had missed the worried glance that Pilo threw her way but Lute didn’t, even as he prepared to answer. ‘I’m thirteen summers, Uncle.’
    ‘Bit young for your army, Janko,’ Rodin said, with a friendly punch to his brother’s arm. ‘Anyway, let us go. You must be eager to settle back into your old place. I’ll walk with you—I could use the exercise and we can talk on the way. I think Miralda’s organised the entire west wing of the palace for you if that suits?’
    ‘Suits perfectly. My thanks to you both,’ Janko said, smiling. ‘Tomorrow morning, then, Lute,’ he added. ‘Let’s plan a ride for just after dawn.’
    Lute nodded. ‘I look forward to it, Uncle Janko.’
    ‘Until tonight, then, majesty,’ the Duke said and swept towards the main doors of the salon, the King in tow.
    Miralda turned back to her son but she cast a glance Pilo’s way when she spoke. ‘Lute, would you ask Dalz to organise some fresh watered wine, please? This is too warm for my taste and by all means order some pastries for yourself. I happen to know cook’s made some fresh honeycakes.’
    Lute grinned. He went in search of the servants, who had been banished in case the King and Duke needed to speak privately. But so far everything had been very conversational and unimportant. Perhaps more would be revealed on the ride tomorrow. He left the chamber eager for cake but reminding himself to talk to Pilo about the soldier’s comment.
    As soon as Lute was out of earshot, Miralda changed her lighthearted tone. ‘Listen to me very carefully now,’ she said, her expression filled with anxiety as she regarded Pilo. ‘That man is not nearly as friendly as he seems.’
    Pilo blinked and finally spoke for the first time since entering the royal chamber. ‘How would you like me to treat that warning, majesty?’
    ‘Pilo, I trust you completely so I’m going to be candid with you and share my deepest fear. Lute is in danger. I’m sure of it but my husband is not very receptive to the hints I’ve dropped. He holds his brother in very high regard and I have no proof anyway.