Chapter Seven

T hey returned to Kene's estate after several days' absence, where Eron amused himself by flirting with a new footman who wandered into the room once too often for coincidence.

Eron intercepted him the next time, trapping him with one arm against the wall and his body angled to allow passage—if the footman wanted to get away—putting his mouth close enough that his breath wafted over the man's neck. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" Not that they'd known each other long enough for tender feelings to develop.

The footman gave a coy smile, casting his gaze down. "I felt strangely empty in your absence."

Ah, promising. Eron brushed his lips against the footman's stubbled jaw. "Let's remedy that. Are you ready to welcome me home?"

The footman lay in Eron's bed, lithe body spread out upon the mattress, firelight making his skin seem to glow. Eron didn't know what criteria Rolf used for hiring, but he'd say, "Keep up the good work" the next time they met.

Sleep wouldn't come, no matter how much Eron tried. With a partial moon and a clear night, he and Kene should watch the road. Nobles were fair-weather creatures. They'd have less opportunity for hunting as the days grew colder. At least the villages Kene watched were now provided for.

Eron dressed quietly and ventured into his sitting room, treading carefully to keep from waking his evening's fun. He opened a window and stared up into the night. An owl hooted nearby, a mournful sound Eron sympathized with. While he enjoyed a good life, something was missing.

Movement from down below caught his attention—a lone horseman. Who traveled alone this late? One man. If Eron could get to the barn without being seen, he could mount Rhedos and intercept the traveler.

The traveler approached the gates. Someone coming here? Interesting. The first interesting thing to happen since Kene and Eron held up that duke's carriage if one didn't count the footman. Eron slipped through the window, lowering himself until his bare foot found the ledge of the one below. From there, he dropped to the ground, pausing and listening to ensure no one had heard him. Of course, the guards now focused on the traveler, not on the estate. And Eron had become quite an accomplished sneak.

Voices carried in the still night as he crept toward the guardhouse, using shrubs as cover. "My lord, state your business," a guard said, the voice familiar—another one of Eron's conquests.

He did love his conquests. They were a bit of fun, with both parting in the morning and zero expectations of anything more developing.

A gravelly yet melodic voice replied, "I assure you, I am no lord. My name is Miisov, and I believe Baroness Kennestone is expecting me." The man sat astride a pale horse, the dark edges of a cloak covering its midsection.

He spoke like a Southerner. Interesting. And Kene was expecting him? She hadn't mentioned a visitor to Eron.

"Wait here." One guard remained on duty while another crossed the courtyard and entered the house. A lantern flared to life in Kene's bedchamber. Should Eron go back to his room? What if Kene looked for him and found nothing but a footman?

She'd smirk over breakfast, at the very least.

Kene emerged from the house a few moments later, wrapped in a robe, loose hair falling down her back, glowing in the moonlight. "Greetings, Miisov. Welcome to my home. I'll have a room prepared for you." Despite the words, there wasn't much welcome in Kene's voice as she recited the expected niceties.

"I cannot stay. We must talk, then I must leave."

Kene nodded to the guard. "Escort our guest to my study. Have Rolf bring refreshments. Do not wake anyone else. The fewer who know of this visit, the better."

Ah. Even more interesting. The study, eh? Easy access. Eron backtracked to his room, across the hall, and into a spare room. He rolled back the rug to expose the discreet peephole in the floor and dropped to his belly.

Soft soles scuffed across the study floor. Back and forth, back and forth, until the older man came into view. Shaggy hair, white with a few darker strands, a plain traveling cloak, and a cane. No. Not a cane—a staff with runes carved into wood and a glowing stone on top.

It was the same kind of glowing stone that Kene sometimes used for light in dark places, like the cave where a younger Eron once waited for her, not knowing what to expect.

Kene's boot heels echoed long before she entered the room. She'd dressed all in black, not playing the role of a noblewoman now, and dropped into the chair behind her desk. "Take a seat, old man. You must've been traveling for days."

The old man remained standing. What was his name again? Miisov? He'd spoken like a noble but dressed as a commoner. No matter how the man dressed, however, he exuded power. "Where is the boy?"

Kene kicked back in her chair, regarding the shaggy man standing in front of her. She looked relaxed, yet Eron noticed the tension in her shoulders. "Do you honestly think I'd tell you? I vowed to keep him safe."

"Neither of you has anything to fear from me." Miisov spoke calmly, though an air of authority laced his tones.

Kene jumped from her chair, slamming her hand down on the desk. "Do not try your parlor tricks on me, mage. I've long ago developed an immunity."

Parlor tricks?

"I merely wished to relax your mind. You seem stressed."

"I like my mind just fine as is, thank you," Kene growled. "Now, what has you darkening my door at this hour? You said you'd come for the boy when the time was right. He's been with me for twelve summers. I'd say your time is up."

"You were only to keep him safe—"

"What is safe? Away from the king? From the king's men? From you?" Kene brought her fist down on the desk again. "I have cared for him, provided the finest tutors, taught him to run my estate, and had him study with highly skilled sword masters. He has become a son to me. The only one I'll ever have."

Really? Kene occasionally called Eron son, but so did the stable master and Rolf.

Miisov folded his hands together in front of him, holding his staff between his body and upper arm. "You've also taught him how to make your coffers grow at the expense of honest people."

"Honest? Show me an honest noble. They'd all stick a knife in their own mothers for wealth and power. I know a few who've done so. I'll not hear of how honest they are. And you know as well as I do I'm merely replacing what Bain and other greedy sods stole from their people."

Miisov inclined his head. "I concede the point. The fact remains that your time with the prince is ending. He must come with me."

The prince?

"No! I won't have it! How can I trust you? King Lothan died, and his heir with him. Where were you? I'll tell you where. Playing sycophant to the usurper. It's not escaped my notice that he didn't have you killed like he did anyone else loyal to King Lothan. You should have given your own life to spare your king's."

Miisov answered far too evenly. Had he not noticed the proximity of Kene's hand to her belt knife? "Baroness Kennestone, you know why I couldn't leave and why they deemed me useful enough to keep. In a way, I did give my life for Lothan, for I am bound to Hisar Castle."

Kene gasped. What? What did that mean?

"Already I feel the pull in my bones to return. The boy is a boy no more, but a man full grown and ready to take his rightful place."

"His rightful place is here." Kene didn't sound as sure as she normally did.

The mage kept his voice calm, though Kene all but growled. "No, his rightful place is on the throne."

What?

Kene's voice grew frantic, pleading. "Tonight? Do you plan to take him tonight? There's been no time to prepare."

"Not tonight. Bring him to the ruins of the woodsman's cottage on the next full moon. You'll have that time to ready him."

Kene's chair flew backward and crashed into a wall. "No! He's perfectly happy here. He'll be Baron Kennestone after me. Live a good life."

"But this isn't his life. Not the life he was born to."

"That life ended when Bain attacked Hisar Castle. I will never forgive you for Dafron's death. Never!"

Dafron?

"I regret my failure daily, child."

Kene's glower would've backed off even the steadfast Rolf. "As well you should."

"Princess Lessa yet lives, as do her two sons."

"Good. Choose her spare heir for your mission. I want no part of you or your schemes."

"For the good of the realm—"

"Curse the realm," Kene snarled. "This is Edry's life."

"Call him by his name—Prince Eron."

Say what?

"You must do your part, as the prophecy foretells." Miisov moved toward Kene.

"Prophecy. Bah!" she said, stepping away. "Do not touch me, old man. I want nothing to do with you or your prophecies."

"Had you but followed your ordained path, you would know the prophecies intimately."

"I chose another path, and it's worked well for me. Eron's will, too . Besides, I think you make up prophecies to serve your own purposes."

Miisov let out an enormous sigh. Eron half expected the candle flames to flutter. "Elzabai, you know what happens when you deny fate."

Elzabai?

"She denies you. Don't speak to me of fate. Nothing we do can bring Dafron back. He's dead and gone." Kene tapped her temple with one finger. "The only life he has is in my mind."

Miisov finally raised his voice. "Because you denied fate."

"How dare you speak to me of fate! Either way, the results were the same. I lost him forever."

Who were they talking about? Eron shifted to a more comfortable position, mindful of being quiet.

When he heard a soft knock on the door, Eron thought momentarily that someone had discovered him.

"Come in," Kene called.

The door opened, and Rolf stepped into the room, appearing hastily dressed with his tunic askew. He frowned at Miisov and addressed Kene. "Refreshments, milady."

"Thank you, Rolf." How unlike her to talk so to Rolf or to have him attend to her instead of sending for a serving girl. "Put them on my desk and be gone."

Rolf followed orders, then made a hasty retreat. Eron bet he hadn't gone far and had hidden at least three knives on his person.

"Tea? Bread and cheese?" Kene asked, her tones more challenging than inviting.

"No, thank you." Miisov didn't so much as glance toward the offering. "I know you only extend these courtesies out of duty. Until the full moon, Kene. Use the time wisely."

Kene wrapped her arms around herself. "There is no dissuading you, is there?"

Miisov gave a bittersweet smile. "I'm afraid in this neither you nor I have sway. The plans were set into motion long ago. There is no stopping them. I won't go into other reasons now, but innocent lives are at risk if we don't act."

Kene ran her hand through her sleep-tousled hair, emitting a resigned sigh. She stared at the floor. Kene, defeated? "So be it, old man. On the next full moon."

Miisov crossed the room and laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn't pull away. "I know it hurts to say goodbye, but do this for Dafron. For his memory. For what remains of his family."

"Do not say his name," Kene forced out through gritted teeth. "You who stood by and let him die."

Dafron? The crown prince who died along with King Lothan?

"You know I had no control over that."

"I disagree. But you should see him. Eron, that is. He's the spitting image of Dafron. All who see him will immediately know his lineage."

Miisov removed something from inside his robe and placed it in her hand. "Have him keep this with him." A stone.

Kene turned the stone over in her palm. "What does it do?"

"It contains a glamor to hide his true appearance from anyone who would harm him. Now, I must be going. Time grows short."

"Agreed. I will do as you ask under protest."

"Noted." Crinkles appeared around Miisov's eyes, and his lips quirked upward in their nest of snowy beard. "Regardless of the circumstances, it is good to see you once more."

Kene nodded, hair slithering over her shoulder. "You as well, though I wonder what your king might say if he knew his pet mage had once been a notorious highwayman before declaring fealty to King Lothan."

"I'll just have to make sure he never knows." Miisov gripped his staff in one hand and braced the other on the desk. In a timbre nearly too low for Eron to hear, he asked, "Do you still retain your magic?"

Kene raised her hand, palm up. A small blue flame flickered on her palm before she closed her fist, repeating, "I'll never forgive you for letting Dafron die."

"I'll never forgive myself. But you know the price I pay."

"I think I do, but it isn't enough. Will never be enough."

Miisov nodded his shaggy head. "No, it won't. Keep practicing your magic. You never know when your gifts could prove useful. Fair winds, Elzabai."

"Fair winds… Father."

Father? Even more shocking, Kene possessed magic beyond mage light.