IT WAS two days after his escape from the boys at Fielding, and Ambrose was almost home. The distant snow-topped mountain peaks loomed behind the jagged hills of Norwend, the sun so bright that Ambrose had to squint. A cold northerly breeze seemed to find a way through the seams of his jacket, and he shivered. The lump on the back of his head was still tender, and yet Ambrose found himself smiling. It was two years since he had left Castle Tarasenth, and until now he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. It felt good to see home.
He approached from the west, which allowed the best view of Tarasenth from a distance, found a sheltered spot, and sat down to watch. He could see no signs of Noyes’s men or soldiers, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. Noyes was no fool; he knew that the first place a fugitive looks for help is his family home. Ambrose could only hope the king’s spymaster had credited him with more intelligence than to come here.
When it was dark and the moon hidden by cloud, Ambrose crept silently down the slope. He made his way over the kitchen garden wall, climbed the pear tree onto the pantry roof and across to the window of the room above it. The window was barred, but one bar had been lost to rust long ago and Ambrose could still, just, squeeze through the gap.
He was in the nursery, and across the corridor was his bedroom. He took his boots off and carefully made his way across the old squeaky floorboards, the familiar smell of his house filling his nostrils.
He pushed open the door to Tarquin’s bedroom. There was a shape in the bed, and Ambrose had a sudden fear that it was a trap, that it was one of Noyes’s men. He drew his dagger and approached the bed.
But as he stepped closer he relaxed. The long blond hair on the pillow was unmistakable. And then Tarquin opened his eyes, saw Ambrose, and rose soundlessly from the bed, signaling that Ambrose should be silent before crushing him into an embrace.
“It’s good to see you,” Tarquin said, his voice barely audible.
“Are we whispering because we don’t want to wake the servants or for a more serious reason?”
“Noyes has two men here in Tarasenth. They arrived three days ago. Father had no alternative but to allow them in. But they don’t seem to expect you. Since they searched the place they’ve just been sitting around looking bored. It’s just another way for the king to show his power, how he can send men into our home whenever he likes.”
Tarquin was clearly trying to make light of this news, but Ambrose knew the men would not be too slack if they worked for Noyes.
“I knew it was a risk to come here, but I had to see you.”
Tarquin put a hand gently on Ambrose’s arm. “And I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve heard so many rumors. Some said you’d been killed, others that you were captured. And all because you challenged one of Boris’s men.”
“They challenged me.” And he quickly related the story, telling all—except the depth of his feelings for Princess Catherine and how he’d been sick and scared after killing Hodgson.
Tarquin shook his head. “Noyes came to question us. But of course he wouldn’t say exactly what had happened. And the little he told us was lies, it seems. He said you’d killed a Royal Guard. You’re now wanted for treason.”
“Treason! I was challenged! I defended myself.” It was no worse than Ambrose had expected, and yet his anger surfaced again. “How can I ever prove myself innocent? It’s impossible. The king, Boris, Noyes, they make it impossible.”
“Calm yourself.” Tarquin laid his hand again on Ambrose’s arm. “Those of us who know you need no proof.”
“And if you support me or help me you’ll be treated as a traitor too. You and Father.”
“Only if they find out,” Tarquin corrected. “And they won’t. The evening you left, Noyes and four of his men came to the house we rented in Brigane. Noyes turned the place over, taking Father’s papers, questioning everyone, including all the servants, leaving Father and me till last. But you know Father’s at his best when he’s cornered. He told Noyes how you were a born rebel; how he’d tried to tame you and failed; how you’d left Norwend two years ago to take a position with the Royal Guard against his wishes—I particularly loved the truth of that. He said that he’d confronted you only the day before for failing to denounce Anne, and you had criticized him for denouncing her so clearly. He finished by disowning you entirely and offering his own men to help hunt you down, knowing Noyes wouldn’t accept.”
So Noyes would have no leverage against his father, but Ambrose was still concerned about Tarquin.
“And what did they ask you?”
“To all their questions I, too, told the truth, brother: that I cared for you deeply, that I hadn’t seen you since the day after Anne’s execution, and that I think you’re a bloody fool.”
Ambrose smiled. “I’m a little hurt.” He was sure the questioning would have been a lot more difficult than Tarquin was indicating.
“You’re not a fool, Ambrose. You’re brave and honorable and true. But, if they get their hands on you, they will have no mercy. You have to get away from Brigant, away from Noyes.”
“I plan to. I’m going to Pitoria and then . . . Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I know you’re thinking that I’ll search out Princess Catherine.”
“Who insisted on you escaping. Who said she cared for you. For a princess to say that is . . . well . . . it’s not very princess-like.”
“She’s going to be married in two weeks. And one day she will be queen of Pitoria. I’m a wanted man on the run. She won’t want me near her. My plan is to go to Pitoria first, then on to Illast. And who knows where after that. I want to do it for myself but also for Anne. She always said I should travel and not be stuck in the army, marching round the walls of castles.”
Tarquin smiled. “I remember her saying just that. She called it “saluting for a living.’”
Ambrose smiled too, but the memory faded quickly. “Talking of Anne, I need to tell you what I saw in Fielding. The place where Anne was caught. There’s something strange going on there.”
“What? You’ve been there?”
“I had to go. Neither of us believed the story about her and Sir Oswald being lovers. I still don’t, but something is going on in Fielding. There are boy soldiers there. A few hundred of them. I’ve no idea why, but Aloysius is up to something, and I think Anne found out what. That’s why he had her killed.”
Tarquin held up his hand. “Quiet, brother. This is wild talk.”
Ambrose clutched Tarquin’s hand fiercely. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll look into it! I would, but I’ve done all I can here in Brigant for now. Promise me you’ll do it for Anne.”
Tarquin squeezed Ambrose’s hand back. “I promise.”
Ambrose nodded, a lump in his throat. “I need to leave soon, but I should speak to Father before I go.”
“Wait here. I’ll fetch him.”
Before Ambrose could say anything more, Tarquin had darted out of the room.
Ambrose went to the door to listen and then to the window, checking all was clear. The door opened and Ambrose whipped round as Tarquin reentered.
“He’s coming.” Tarquin came to stand by Ambrose and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so jumpy before.”
“In honesty, brother . . . I’m terrified. For me and for you. I can bear what has happened only because you and Father are safe. If they catch me here, you and Father will be dragged down with me. My life isn’t exactly looking rosy; however, if I get to Pitoria I’ll survive, but if I bring more trouble onto your heads, that would be more than I could bear.”
“We’ll survive, Ambrose. And, if things get bad for us, it won’t be your doing.” Tarquin sighed. He turned back and looked at the room. “Do you remember when we shared this room? I told you there were monsters under your bed. I made up the most frightening stories I could, but you just laughed. I so wanted to frighten you then, but I never managed it.”
“Monsters never frightened me. I relished the idea of fighting them. I was so desperate to prove myself.” Ambrose smiled at the memory. “I remember how you were tall enough to see out of this window and watch the horses in the field. I wasn’t big enough. I was so jealous of you.” The sill of the window didn’t even reach his waist now. “How old was I? Five or six? It feels like yesterday.”