Kate turned to look at the soldiers near the fire as one of them began to sing an old, familiar song. “The Ride of Adair,” the story of the first king of Norgard. Kate’s father used to sing it to her every night, trying in vain to settle her down for sleep, but the story the song told was far too exciting for that. It made young Kate want to jump up and down on her bed while she slew invisible dragons atop her warhorse.
As she listened now, older and far different from that little girl, longing for the past filled her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She drew a deep breath and tried to tune the song out. It was like trying not to feel the wind on your face at full gallop.
“Tomorrow,” Dal said, his voice breaking into her thoughts, “Master Raith and I will return to where the caravan was attacked. We need to learn more of these daydrakes. I know you’re eager to get back, but would you like to accompany us? It shouldn’t take long, and your experience with them might offer some insight.”
Kate bit her lip, uncertain if this was a request or a command veiled as one. She didn’t know him well enough to tell. She had never heard of Thornewall but guessed it was a minor house and holding.
“You don’t have to if you don’t wish, of course,” Dal continued in her silence. “I imagine the visit will be unpleasant.”
“You’re right about that.” She didn’t want to guess what a day left out in the summer sun had done to those corpses. “But I must decline. I have to get back to Farhold as soon as possible. The Relay riders need to be warned of this new threat.”
The thought chilled her. Signe would have left for her next ride already. What if she was attacked? Would the Relay even be able to continue if these daydrakes proved as big a menace as their nighttime kin? It was a possibility too horrible to consider. Kate needed this job. There was nothing else she was fit for, nothing else she wanted to do. She stood little chance of marrying, and she couldn’t fathom a life where she didn’t get to ride.
“If you’re finished eating now,” Dal said, resting his sword atop his crossed legs, “please tell me more about this remarkable pistol.” He picked it up and rotated the cylinder. “I’ve never seen its like before, but if I’m not mistaken, it can fire multiple rounds without reloading.”
Kate nodded, her lips pressed together. She tried to come up with some passable lie, but failed. The partial truth then.
“It’s called a revolver. My friend made it. He’s a blacksmith in Farhold. Gunsmithing is his hobby.”
“Indeed.” Dal turned the revolver over in his hands, examining it with a strange intensity. For the first time, Kate noticed the scars on his arms, several long, thick lines, surely the result of some battle. She wondered where he’d gotten them. He was far too young to have fought in the Sevan Invasion, the last war on Rimish soil. And there was the magestone in his ear as well, the kind that usually held spells to hide disfigurement.
Dal looked up. “Does it work as well as a pistol?”
Kate hesitated, but only for a moment. “For the most part.”
“Your friend must be truly remarkable,” Dal said with a note of awe in his voice. He began to slide the bullets back into the chamber. “There are gunsmiths who’ve spent years trying to create something like this. I would like to fire it and see how it works for myself.” He made as if to get up.
Kate felt herself pale. “Excuse me, my lord, but now doesn’t seem the best time. It’s late and guns are loud.”
Dal made a face, the gesture turning his handsome features boyish—although no less handsome. “You’re right, I suppose. And I wouldn’t want to disturb Corwin. He can be quite grumpy when woken up early.” Sighing, he handed the revolver to her.
Kate smiled, relieved to have the gun back in her possession—now if she could just get Dal to forget that he’d seen it. “When the prince was small, his mother called him her little bear for that precise reason.”
“Did she now? I didn’t know that. Little bear.” Dal laughed. “Maybe it’s time to resurrect the moniker.”
“Please don’t,” Kate said quietly, her eyes dropping to her lap. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Corwin can be touchy about his mother’s memory. Or at least he used to be.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t repeat it. He’s still that way about her.” Dal shook his head, smiling again. “It’s so strange to be around someone who knows him better than I do.”
Kate frowned. “I used to know him, my lord. But not anymore.”
There must’ve been something more in her voice than she intended, for Dal’s expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry, Miss Brighton. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories. Please forgive me.”
She shrugged. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t be so sensitive about it. The past is the past.”
Dal gave a skeptical cough, as if this was in doubt, but he didn’t comment on it.
They passed a few minutes in silence, listening as one of the guards began to sing a new song, this one a crude ballad that Kate had only ever heard since becoming a Relay rider.
Finally, she worked up the nerve to ask, “Where is your home? I’ve never heard of Thornewall.”
“That’s not surprising,” Dal said with a snort. He picked up his sword and returned it to its sheath. “It’s a small freeholding on the eastern cliffs overlooking the Penlaurel River. My father is Baron of Thornewall. Thankfully I am not the heir. One of the many advantages of being the sixth-born son.”
Kate didn’t quite believe him. His tone reminded her of the way Corwin used to sound whenever they discussed the long-absent uror sign.
“How is it you know the high prince?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Ah, now that is a story.” Dal leaned back on his bedroll, head cocked toward the night sky. “But sadly, not one I’m permitted to tell.”
“Why not?”
“Because I met him on my travels. Or his travels, as it were.”
“Oh.” Kate’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean during those years he disappeared from Rime.”
Dal cracked his knuckles. “It’s a secret every newsman would give his right hand to print.”
As if I would tell, Kate thought, crossing her arms. She had no love for newsmen. She knew she shouldn’t be offended—Dal didn’t know her, after all—but part of her irritation was from disappointment. She would like to know what Corwin had been doing in those missing years. She remembered the hawk and shield tattoo and once again felt she ought to have recognized it, but still she couldn’t.
“Not that I believe you would tell,” Dal said, sounding somber now. “But it’s not my right to share his secret. Corwin might never forgive me if I did, and his good opinion matters more to me than anything else in the world.”
Kate stared at Dal, her curiosity mingling with a hint of jealousy. She’d once felt the same about Corwin, and the reminder of that lost friendship stung. All their lives, they’d been the best of friends, comrades in mischief and mayhem. So many times they’d gotten caught running midnight races on the training fields or filching sweets from the kitchens the night before some important ball. Once, they’d even set fire to a castle storeroom on accident, both refusing to tell the truth about what happened for fear of getting the other in trouble.
I am not that carefree, reckless girl any longer, she thought, trying to bury the memory deep inside her. She wondered if the same was true of Corwin. Given the way Dal talked about him, she thought it must be.
“Have no fear, though,” Dal said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Corwin tells you all about it one day soon. Just make sure you listen with a skeptical ear to anything he says about himself that makes him seem less than heroic. It’s not true, and I will enjoy explaining why once I’m allowed.”
Kate raised her brows at this cryptic message, her curiosity spiking even higher. Then the implication of what he was saying struck her, and she shook her head. “I doubt very much I’ll ever speak to him again.”
A smirking and altogether irritating grin rose on Dal’s face. “We shall see, my dear Kate. We shall see.”
9
Corwin