“Alric!” The taller boy threw off his helm and ran to embrace the prince as he dismounted. At the sound of Alric’s name, several of the servants in the courtyard looked up in surprise.
Mauvin was close to Alric in age but was taller and a good deal broader in the shoulders. He sported a head of wild dark hair and a set of dazzling white teeth, which shone as he grinned at his friend.
“What are you doing here, and by Mar, what are you dressed up as? You look frightful. Did you ride all night? And your face—did you fall?”
“I have some bad news. I need to speak to your father immediately.”
“I’m not sure he’s awake yet, and he is awfully cranky if you wake him early.”
“This can’t wait.”
Mauvin stared at the prince and his grin faded. “This is no casual visit, then?”
“No, I only wish it was.”
Mauvin turned toward his youngest brother and said, “Denek, go wake Father.”
The boy with the slate shook his head. “I’m not going to be the one.”
Mauvin started toward his brother. “Do it now!” he shouted, scaring the young boy into running for the keep.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Fanen asked, dropping his own helm and shield on the grass and walking over to embrace Alric as well.
“Has any word reached you from Medford in the last several days?”
“Not that I know of,” Mauvin replied, his face showing more concern now.
“No riders? No dispatches for the count?” Alric asked again.
“No, Alric, what is it?”
“My father is dead. He was murdered in the castle by a traitor.”
“What!” Mauvin gasped, taking a step back. It was a reaction rather than a question.
“That’s not possible!” Fanen exclaimed. “King Amrath dead? When did this happen?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure how long it has been. The days following his murder have been confusing, and I’ve lost track of the time. If word has yet to reach here, I suspect it hasn’t been more than a few days.”
All the workers stopped what they were doing and stood around listening intently. The constant ringing of the blacksmith’s hammer ceased and the only sounds in the courtyard were the distant mooing of a cow and the quacking of the ducks.
“What’s this all about?” Count Pickering asked as he stepped out of the castle, holding up an arm to shield his squinting eyes from the morning’s bright sun. “The boy came in panting for air and said there was an emergency out here.”
The count, a slim, middle-aged man with a long, hooked nose and a well-trimmed prematurely gray beard, was dressed in a gold and purple robe pulled over his nightshirt. His wife, Belinda, came up behind him, pulling on her robe and peering out into the courtyard nervously. Hadrian took advantage of Pickering’s sun-blindness to chance a long look. She was just as lovely as rumor held. The countess was several years younger than her husband, with a slender, stunning figure and long golden hair, which spilled across her shoulders in a way she would never normally show in public. Hadrian now understood why the count guarded her jealously.
“Oh my,” Myron said to Hadrian as he twisted to get a better view. “I don’t even think of horses when I look at her.”
Hadrian dismounted and helped Myron off the horse. “I share your feelings, my friend, but trust me, that’s one woman you really don’t want to stare at.”
“Alric?” the count said. “What in the world are you doing here at this hour?”
“Father, King Amrath has been murdered,” Mauvin answered in a shaky voice.
Shock filled Pickering’s face. He slowly lowered his arm and stared directly at the prince. “Is this true?”
Alric nodded solemnly. “Several days ago. A traitor stabbed him in the back while he was at prayer.”
“Traitor? Who?”
“My uncle, the archduke and lord chancellor—Percy Braga.”
Royce, Hadrian, and Myron followed their noses to the kitchen after Alric had left for a private meeting with Count Pickering. There they met Ella, a white-haired cook who was all too happy to provide them with a hearty breakfast in order to have first chance at any gossip. The food at Drondil Fields was far superior to the meal they had eaten at the Silver Pitcher Inn. Ella brought wave upon wave of eggs, soft powdered pastries, fresh sweet butter, steaks, bacon, biscuits, peppered potatoes, and gravy along with a jug of apple cider and an apple pie baked with maple syrup for dessert.
They ate their fill in the relative quiet of the kitchen. Hadrian repeated little more than what Alric had already revealed in the courtyard; however, he did mention that Myron had lived his life in seclusion at the monastery. Ella seemed fascinated by this and questioned the monk mercilessly on the subject. “So, you never saw a woman before today, love?” Ella asked Myron, who was finishing the last of his pie. He was eating heartily and there was a ring of apples and crust around his mouth.