Too Many Princes (9 page)

THE KING'S CONSPIRACY

Brastigan lay on his bed, hands clasped behind his head, and stared at the ceiling while daylight faded from the window. Out in the hallway, muffled footsteps approached his door. Lottres? After a lengthy pause, they moved on.

Fine, thought Brastigan. He wanted to be alone anyway. He liked it here, in his familiar room, where he could brood—not sulk!—without anyone commenting. It seemed to him he had reason enough. The whole situation was ridiculous, unfair. Anyone would brood. Anyone.

When the chamber was almost completely dark, Brastigan took a candle out into the corridor and lit it from a wall lamp. By that light he shoved some clothes into a canvas bag and gave his armor a careful inspection. The hauberk was of stout chain mail, worn over a gambeson of thick, padded cloth. Unlike Habrok, Brastigan didn't rate a pair of steel plates to cover his chest and back. He did have vambraces for his arms, and demi-greaves for his legs. Brastigan flexed the joints dispiritedly, making sure they didn'tt stick or squeak.

It was all in good order, not that he got to use it much. Crutham was at peace, and there were at least ten princes champing at the bit whenever a bandit got too bold for his own good. Brastigan laid the whole harness out on his bed. It was one of the few real expenditures Unferth had devoted to him, but it was no more than any of his brothers had, and far less than some, like Habrok and Oskar. Even Victory had come to Brastigan by other hands. He had chosen it from the armory because it had once belonged to Unferth. Such things had mattered when he was a young lad.

Finally he'd have the chance to ride out again. That should have pleased him, bored as he was with court life, but the circumstances chafed worse than leather straps on bare skin. For the honor of Crutham? They were being kicked out, that was all. Everyone, from Eben to Pikarus, was in on it. That was hard to stomach.

Brastigan straightened, frowning to himself. What if..? No. Eben couldn't be involved in the murder attempt. He had been too happy to receive the dagger. That was a separate problem, and the king's wizard was still the best one to find out who was behind it. At least, he'd better hope so. Brastigan had left the weapon with Eben, and there was little chance he'd get it back soon.

A rap came at the outside door, which opened before Brastigan even had a chance to respond.
“
Your highness?
”
called a familiar soft voice.

Appetizing odors of roast meat and vegetables reached him even as he strode, scowling, into the main chamber. There was Margura with a tray of food. The shapely blonde dipped a curtsey at his approach.

She adopted a soothing tone on seeing his frown.
“
I heard what happened. When I saw you weren't at dinner, I thought I'd bring you something privately.
”
She smiled coyly.

Privately. Right. Margura was one of the queen’s wellborn attendants, though she clearly hoped to find a more permanent position in Harburg. Since four or five of the various princes' wives had once been royal attendants, there was some reason for optimism. Brastigan knew she spent time, beyond her official duties, with more than one of the bachelor princes and noblemen. Margura was a slut and a leech, but that could be said of most court women. He didn't hold it against her.

Indeed, he appreciated her charms as much as any man would, and the low curve of her bodice certainly showed them. Besides, the food did smell good.

“
I won't be much company,
”
he warned as he sat at the table.

Margura set down the tray with a shrug.
“
You'll always be good enough for me.
”

He had to smile, obvious though the flattery was. Brastigan began to eat with real appetite. Kitchen-cooked meals would be few after tomorrow morning.

Margura sat across from him, leaning forward slightly to pour ale. It was a favorite ploy to secure his attention.

“
I'm sorry you're going,
”
she said softly.

“
So am I. But when the old man says go...
”

“
Did the falcon really talk?
”
Margura asked eagerly.

Brastigan grunted at that.

“
Do you know where you'll be?
”

His shoulders jerked in a shrug. He should have asked Eben, but other things had distracted him. Lottres probably knew. Pikarus must have been told, anyway.

Margura rose and came to stand behind Brastigan, rubbing his neck and shoulders with skillful hands.

“
I'll miss you,
”
she purred.

“
You'll be the only one.
”
Brastigan was feeling sorry for himself now, and his ale wasn't nearly strong enough.

She leaned to whisper in his ear,
“
As long as I am the only one.
”

“
Since when do you pick favorites?
”
Brastigan asked mockingly. He turned, and found his eyes on a level with Margura's bodice.

“
Just don't forget me,
”
she said, and slipped into his lap. The scent of rose water clung to her skin. Of their own accord, his arms circled her waist. Her teasing kiss quickly turned passionate.

Before things could get really interesting, there was another knock at the door. Brastigan held Margura a moment longer, hoping whoever it was would go away. The sound came again, and it annoyed him enough to break the mood. Margura murmured a protest, but rose from his lap when she had to.

With an irritable sigh, Brastigan strode to the door. Somebody short squeaked in dismay as he yanked it open. Brastigan looked down into a pair of wide blue eyes and forced himself to relax.

“
Hello, Princess,
”
he said.

Cliodora was the youngest Cruthan princess and the very last of Unferth's offspring. She had two long pale braids, a cute freckled face, and the coltish form of a girl about to emerge into womanhood. Despite being ten years younger, Cliodora had a special place in his heart.

She seemed to realize she was interrupting, for she hesitantly glanced behind him.
“
Did I come at a bad time?
”

“
Nah,
”
he answered genially.

“
Well,
”
she said in her sweet little voice,
“
Therula and Agiatta asked if you could come see us tonight. Before you go away, I mean.
”

Brastigan felt a touch of guilt. He had forgotten about saying good-bye to his sisters, and he would have felt badly about that. That they hadn't forgotten made him happier than all of Margura’s ministrations.

Still, there are things you can let your sisters see, and some you can't. One of those was waiting for him. Glancing over his shoulder, Brastigan could see Margura busying herself with the supper dishes. Her pouting face was slightly turned away.

Leech
, he reminded himself.
She just wants you for what she can get
.

On the other hand, home cooking wasn’t the only thing that would be in short supply while he was on the road.

“
How about if I stop by a little later?
”
he suggested.

Clio smiled shyly, a bit of pink misting her cheeks beneath the tawny freckles.
“
I’ll tell them,
”
she giggled, and started back down the hallway.

Brastigan closed the door and locked it. He quickly got back to what he had been doing.

* * *

After a good meal and some delightful private entertainment, Brastigan left his chambers in a much better frame of mind and began to make his way toward the women’s wing. He proceeded slowly because, it seemed, he was destined to meet each one of his sisters and brothers, and also most of their hangers-on and toadies, and they all wanted to say something to him on the eve of his glorious quest. Especially Agiatta and Orlyse, who were full of advice even though they knew nothing of wilderness travel.

Still, Brastigan managed to keep his sense of humor. When at last he reached Therula’s apartment he greeted her with a brisk kiss on the cheek. She regarded him suspiciously.

“
What are you so happy about?
”
When Therula saw his grin, she corrected herself.
“
No, never mind. I don't want to know.
”

Therula was Unferth's youngest daughter by Alustra. She was near to Brastigan's own age and probably should have been married away, but the king seemed to be in no hurry for that. For all that she resembled her mother, she was a comely enough maid. Alone among Alustra's children, Therula made the effort to be friendly with her many half-siblings and treat them like true family. Unfortunately, she did follow the queen's gaudy taste in clothing, and her golden hair was done in a fanciful coil on the top of her head. A cap of silver filigree covered this, almost like a crown.

Therula's chambers were similar to his own, except that her suite was on the inside of the building and had a fireplace rather than a window. A merry blaze crackled behind the iron grate, though it wasn't really necessary to warm the room. Like her clothing, Therula's apartment had always struck Brastigan as being overly adorned. Elaborate tapestries, most woven with her own hands, covered every patch of wall. Silver sconces held wall lamps that amply lit the room. The cushions on the furniture were so fine and fancy, they looked like they weren't actually meant to be sat on.

“
Fire Rose and I missed you this afternoon,
”
Therula went on with barbed sweetness.

Brastigan shrugged, keeping his opinion of the horse to himself.
“
I guess I won't be able to help train him after all,
”
he said, trying to sound as if he felt badly about it.

“
Apparently not.
”
Therula smiled tightly around her annoyance.

Brastigan strolled on into the room. He was met by Cliodora, who stood up to her tallest to kiss his cheek. He picked her up and swung her around, which evoked fresh giggles.

“
You're so tall! What have they been feeding you?
”

“
Bread and water,
”
said Therula teasingly.

“
Liver,
”
Cliodora retorted, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

“
Well, no more liver for you,
”
he scolded,
“
or you'll be married and gone before I get back.
”

Therula snorted at that, but Cliodora looked stricken.
“
You won’t be gone that long, will you?
”

“
I don't know, Princess,
”
he answered, recalling their open-ended instructions.
“
I guess it depends on how hard this hawk lady is to please.
”

Brastigan now saw that Lottres was sitting in a wooden chair near the fireplace, staring at the flames. He was slouched over in a way that must have been uncomfortable and seemed completely unaware of it.

“
Where are we going, anyway?
”
Brastigan asked. He seated himself on a cushioned settee opposite Lottres and stretched out his long legs. Cliodora curled up against his side like a kitten.
“
Hey, Pup!
”

Lottres started out of his thoughts.
“
What?
”

“
This Hawkwing place,
”
Brastigan repeated.
“
Eben told you where it is, right?
”

“
Oh. No,
”
Lottres said,
“
I found it in the archive, on a battle map from the last Silletsian invasion. I sketched us a copy.
”

“
Good.
”
Brastigan grew thoughtful himself. It wasn't on the current maps, not heard of since the last big war. Which was, what, 70 years ago?
“
You're sure it's still there?
”

“
Eben says it is,
”
Lottres said.

“
Someone must live there, since you've been summoned,
”
Therula pointed out. She sat, making a great production of smoothing her skirts, and reached into a bag beside her chair for an embroidery hoop. One fair brow arched when she saw him make a wry face.
“
You'd better mind your manners there. That would be my advice.
”

Though irritated, he forced a smile.
“
More advice, dear sister, is not what I want. A little more concrete information would be nice.
”

Cliodora stirred restlessly.
“
Well, it doesn't have to be all that bad, does it?
”

Brastigan laughed. When she winced, he added gently,
“
I suppose not.
”
He was old enough to know that any court scheme boded ill. He was also old enough to envy his little sister her innocence.

The girl murmured restlessly,
“
At least you get to go somewhere. I never get to do anything except sewing.
”
She made a face.

“
It's a useful skill for a lady,
”
put in Therula as she sat, serenely sewing.

“
You, too, eh?
”
Brastigan smiled ruefully. First Lottres, now Cliodora. Everyone wanted an adventure. He hugged her lightly.
“
Well, I'd love to have you with us.
”

She brightened.
“
You would?
”

“
Sure! You'd
—
.
”

“
The queen would never hear of it,
”
Therula interrupted severely.