“We need to go. Now.”
March pulled Holywell to his feet and supported him as they walked toward the trees. He looked back, but the woman and child he had noticed earlier had gone. How much had they seen? Well, it was too late to worry about that now.
Holywell weighed more than he looked, and as soon as they were under cover, March collapsed with him onto the ground.
“So, that went well,” Holywell rasped. He was a mess. Wet and panting, the wound in his neck bleeding steadily. “Tell me you’ve got the ring.”
March pulled it out. It gleamed back at him in the light of the setting sun. The prince’s true seal: the gold eagle with an emerald eye.
EDYON
DORNAN, PITORIA
COULD MADAME Eruth be right? Was Edyon’s father exerting influence on his life? Certainly, life had seemed so dull and hopeless yesterday, and now . . . now he was the son of a prince. And not just any prince: Prince Thelonius, hero of Calidor! A small country, yes, but rich for its size. Civilized. Home to many musicians, painters, and sculptors. The architecture was supposed to be simple but of good quality, the clothing less ornate than the Pitorians’, and their furniture was well crafted, favoring oak and ash or fruit woods. They didn’t dance, which was a good thing as far as Edyon was concerned, since he hated dancing, though they were renowned as good fighters, but he hated fighting too. They were most famous for holding out in the war against Brigant, brother against brother, and Thelonius was respected, intelligent, and honorable.
That honor would be tarnished when Edyon appeared. He thought about what March had said about the unhappy lords, and it seemed entirely plausible that some of the prince’s courtiers wouldn’t want a bastard on the scene. But it was gratifying to think that his father had finally realized that he, Edyon, was important, and was willing to risk his reputation to see him. Edyon had imagined many fathers, from king to vagabond, but somehow the reality seemed too preposterous and he couldn’t take it in.
And then there was March. Edyon had fancied they’d be lovers when he first saw him—he was sure the handsome Abask felt the same spark between them, even if March seemed embarrassed to admit it. But now March behaved like a servant. In his years of travel through Pitoria in his mother’s caravan, Edyon had met many people from different lands and cultures, but in all that time he hadn’t met anyone from Abask, had never seen anyone with such remarkable eyes. Edyon could easily imagine a prince wanting such a servant. Perhaps Edyon could have him as a servant and a lover too.
It was getting dark now, and March hadn’t returned. But Edyon’s doubts had. Had it all been his imagination? He’d had a lot of strong smoke. But he’d met March before the smoke. Could the whole thing be a prank? There had been, after all, just words so far. He would need proof before he could go with March to Calidor.
It sounded unbelievable. Going to Calidor to meet his father.
He was now truly at a crossroads; his old path of thievery had run its course, and he had to choose a new way forward. Madame Eruth had been right about the new man entering his life, but was March showing him the way to far lands and riches, or pain, suffering, and death? No, staying put would lead to that, through either Stone or Gravell or this new threat, Regan. The path to his father had to be the right choice. But, then again, hadn’t Madame Eruth said something about the foreign man lying too? Was this all a lie? A joke?
And still March hadn’t returned.
Edyon paced anxiously. The glow of the smoke bottle seemed to get brighter and brighter, as if signaling his presence. He walked along the riverbank until he found a recess into which he pushed the bottle so that none of its light could be seen.
Edyon crept closer to the edge of the wood, hoping to catch sight of March. The tents were only a field away, and he could see people coming and going. But there was no sign of March. Had he been lying about it all?
Suddenly Edyon knew that he had to speak to his mother. Her word was the only real proof. He had given up asking years ago, but now he had a name. She’d have to confirm or deny it.
Now she’d have to tell him the truth.
* * *
Erin stood as he entered the tent.
“Edyon. At last. I’ve had Mal out looking for you. I need to speak to you.”
“That’s good, because I want to speak with you too.” Edyon moved closer to his mother. “Today has been rather eventful. Shall I tell you what I’ve done?”
“First, I need to tell you about a visitor I’ve had—”
“I’ve been to see Madame Eruth, stolen a silver ship from Stone, been beaten up by Stone’s men and pissed on by them as well, met a beautiful boy from Abask, had a bath, taken some demon smoke, and discovered my father is a prince.”
Edyon stared at his mother. Erin’s face was a mask. “Shall I repeat the last bit? Someone told me that my father is Prince Thelonius of Calidor.”
“Who . . . who told you that?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t you.”
“You’re angry.”
“You’re surprised?”
“Did you see Regan? Did he tell you?”
“What does that matter?” Edyon’s voice cracked with frustration. “I wanted you to tell me.”
His mother was silent, but not for long. “You know I’ve always done what I thought was best.”
Edyon rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that before. Heard it for long enough. Just tell me: is it true? I need to hear it from you.”
Again she was silent. The mistress of silence, as she always had been. Then she spoke.
“Prince Thelonius is your father.”
She sat down. Edyon sat too.
It was true.
His father wasn’t dead.
His father was a prince.
He was a prince.
“How?”
And so his mother told her story. The same one she’d always told him, except now his father had a name. She had met Thelonius when he was still a young man, before he was granted the rule of Calidor. They fell in love, had a brief but wonderful affair, and he left not knowing she was pregnant.
“Would you have married? If he had known?”
Erin shrugged. “Probably not. He was a prince, and I was a trader from Pitoria.”
“You should have told me.”
“I did what I thought was best.”
“It wasn’t best. I needed to know. It doesn’t matter that I couldn’t have done anything about it. I needed to know.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
Edyon ground his teeth. “Even now you won’t admit you got it wrong!”
“I didn’t do this to hurt you, Edyon. You need to be your own man. The prince, your father, didn’t want to know you. Now he does. Now he needs you. Now his legitimate children are dead. He’ll use you, Edyon, pull you on a string.”
“He’s my father. I want to meet him at least.”
Erin sighed. “Yes. Of course. I do understand, Edyon. Did you meet Lord Regan?”
“No. I heard from one of the prince’s servants who was sent here to find me and to . . .” Should he tell his mother that Regan was here to kill him? She’d worry, but Regan might be a danger to her as well.
“To what?”
“To warn me. Regan doesn’t want me to go back to Calidor, Mother. March says he’s here to kill me.”
“But that’s impossible! He was here this afternoon, talking with me, waiting to see you. I said I’d send for him when you returned.”
“And why do you say it’s impossible?”
“Regan was a close friend of your father. His oldest friend. I met him once, years ago, when they were here. He was aloof, maybe, but always polite and courteous.”
“I admit I don’t know many killers, but I imagine some are capable of being polite and courteous.”
“You know what I mean. He’s an honorable man.”
“You knew him that well? And if you did, do you know him now, seventeen, eighteen years later?”
Erin looked at Edyon, doubt in her face for the first time.
“And I can imagine that plenty of his fellow lords don’t like the idea of a bastard like me turning up.”
“Love child, not bastard.”