The Royals

Chapter 4

The elder Maarcus was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he'd been called away. There was altogether too much of that these days and the girl often got the short end of everyone's attention as a result. Seeing his niece alone made him doubly glad he'd decided to visit her.

Celia smiled and lifted her cheek for a polite kiss. 'Hello, Uncle Walther.' The child's welcome was edged with the formality she'd never quite lost after she'd discovered him with one of the elfwitch's dragon coins.

He'd rather she'd held out her arms for a hug, but it was a grand improvement over screaming and running away every time she saw him. He pecked the cheek and ruffled her hair for good measure. 'How goes the furniture moving, Curly-top?'

'Well,' she said, very seriously, 'I think this room needs to be completely redone.' She shook her head. 'I've tried and I've tried, Uncle Walther, but it just doesn't seem like. . . like home.' Her voice broke on 'home' and silent tears trickled down her cheeks.

Walther gathered the girl into his arms, feeling selfish for having wished for just such an excuse. He held her until her crying calmed. 'What would make it feel like home?' he asked, afraid to hear the answer.

She sniffed. Some dollies would be nice. I haven't had a dolly in a very long time and the house is lonely without them.' She pointed to the makeshift doll-house. 'I don't think Uncle Maarcs had dollies when he played here,' she added. Then in a very quiet voice she said, 'Some other children would also be nice."

Walther stared, not knowing what to say. 'I'd like to, Ceeley, but there aren't any other children in the palace.'

'I know. Just old men and Aunt Kately.' She skipped to the window and pointed toward the converted sta ble. 'What about the kids out there? Can't I play with them?'

The dwarf's mouth fell open. How did she know about them? 'It's just that . . . um …'

'Just what?'

He tried to speak, but words refused to come.

'Uncle Walther, is something wrong with me?'

'With you? Of course not, Ceeley.' He recovered enough to add, 'To be honest, Curly-top, I don't think any of the grown-ups have thought about it. You see, we don't know those people very well and we haven't had a chance to get to know them. And we wouldn't want you to…' Not wanting to alarm her, he trailed off.

"To what?' Celia asked.

How could he finish that? 'I'll talk to the others,' he said, returning to her original subject. 'We'll think of something. And maybe send in some dollies too. What do you say?"

She clapped her hands. 'Hear that, house? Dollies. Lots and lots of dollies, hurrah!'

Walther laughed aloud. Even though Ceeley brought him new challenges, she always made him feel better - just as he'd known she would. 'Why don't we practise swordfighting?'

Ceeley stopped and stared. 'You promise not to get bored?'

'Well, not for a while

'Even if I win and win and win?'

Walther flushed and stuttered out, 'Don't be silly.

She shook her finger at him. 'It's bad to lie, you know. The Seven Sisters always know when someone doesn't tell the truth.

Too smart for her own good, Walther thought. Or maybe just too smart for my own good.

'I think we should play horsie until you get tired. You won't have time to get bored then.' She held out her hand. 'Deal?'

Thinking, definitely too smart for my own good, Walther took the pudgy palm and gave it one good shake. 'Deal.'

Kate scraped a chair back from the dark oak table and slumped into it. Elbows in the spot where her plate should be, she cradled her head in her hands. The swagger from their swordplay seemed to have fled back to the solarium. Henry knew all the signs. She was ready to talk.

'Something wrong?'

'Not if you don't mind a royal sister who's been thrown out of court."

Maarcus laughed, not understanding or ignoring the depth of Kate's black mood. 'Around here, that's hardly unique.'

She scowled at him. 'I mean Abadan,' she explained. 'I've offended him so badly I don't know if I'll ever…'

Henry tried to draw her out without making her feel worse. 'You're not known for your humble nature, but-'

'Very true,' Maarcus interjected. 'But then neither is he.'

The prince continued, ignoring the Shoreman. 'It couldn't have been so terrible that you can't apologize with grace."

'And then stand still while he berates me. I can't bear it.' She slammed her hand down on the wood. 'I didn't spend all those years as a mercenary just to have an old man treat me like a child

Henry smiled. 'It's no worse than what I endure with the physician. Be glad Abadan never forgets the task at …um… hand. That is … The prince swallowed his words. He'd meant to cheer up his sister, not bring up another difficult subject. 'I think you're making more of this than you need to,' he added softly.

Her anger deflated by the mention of Sir Maarcus's worsening condition, Kate idly traced circles on the table. 'I don't know. You didn't see the magician's face."

'He looks good in purple,' the prince joked. His sister scowled. Anyway, he'll calm down and then you can make it up to him.'

'Don't do it,' Maarcus advised, as if he hadn't heard the comment regarding his grandfather. 'It'll only make him more demanding.'

'Don't drag Kate into your feud.' 'He and I have proclaimed our truce,' Maarcus said loftily. 'Regardless, we don't have to coddle the arrogant old trickster.'

'Yes, we do,' Henry argued. 'He's the strongest ally we have against the elfwitch. And as for arrogance, there's plenty to go around, don't you think, Maarcus?'

"Where's the food?' the Shoreman answered, without missing a beat. 'I'm starved.'

Kate and Henry both laughed. 'Go ahead, change the subject.'

'A full stomach is a soldier's best defense.' Maarcus kept his face straight. Only the light in his eyes suggested otherwise.

The prince let the jest slide by. They deserved a few minutes to relax, however brief.

Maarcus was right that the three had waited an unusu ally long time for their meal to be served. 'Maybe they're working on a new recipe to entice me to try another sort of disgusting meat.' He made a face at the thought. It had taken a good bit of doing to train the cook to prepare meals suitable to his peculiar palate, which had somehow carried over from his dragon days. Maarcus's grandfather assured the prince he could eat anything Kate could, but only fish and vegetables appealed to him. Pity about the alcohol, though. Abadan had an excellent wine cellar. More likely they're trying to stretch the dwindling stores into something edible,' Kate grumped.

'Ah, here's the food,' Maarcus said with more enthusi asm than the paltry dishes warranted.

Henry glanced at his sister to let her know he wanted to arrange a private conversation later. She stared past him without acknowledging his signal until he finally turned his attention to the arriving food.

A servant entered pushing a wheeled cart and quickly slammed a bowl in front of each of the three. His arm shook as he set down the prince's portion and a bit of stew sloshed onto the table. The man made no move to clean up the spill. Instead, he silently disappeared without waiting to be dismissed, neglecting to place the serving-pot on the sideboard in his haste.

'He might at least have made certain we didn't require more drink before going,' the Shoreman commented. He held up his empty goblet.

'New man?' Henry asked.

Maarcus shook his head, So many in and out these days, its hard to say.' Around his food, he said, I don't reall seeimg him before.'

Henry felt a warning chill run up his spine. He examined his bowl. The stew smelled more vile than usual, but that was probably his typical aversion. He turned to Kate. She too was poking at the bits of meat.

Across the table, Maarcus spat his food into his napkin. 'Did they change the cook?' 'Not that I'd been informed.'

A man came running in. Henry recognized the phy sician's livery. 'Don't eat it! Don't eat-' He stopped to regain his composure when he saw all three staring at him, their meals virtually untouched. He straightened his jacket, then calmly announced, 'We found the cook with his throat cut.'

Ginni finally stopped to rest when the sun shone strong in the valley. The world was wrapped in white, broken only by evergreens which were themselves dotted with snow. From here she could see Widow's Peak. On its opposite face, her father was already awake in the cave and deciding what he would do about her.

Last night she had lain on her side, listening as Tom tossed on the hard cave floor. Though he was so close she could have touched his shoulder, she kept her hands tucked between her knees. There would be no comfort for either of them until she found a way to rein in her newly unpredictable talents.

Eventually Wanton Tom's thrashing calmed and his breathing slowed. He would sleep well and soundly for a few hours. The last of Roslin's special potion secretly mixed into his dinner had seen to it.

She glanced at Grosik. There was nothing she could do about the dragon other than put her faith in his ability to sleep through a mountain-slide if he chose.

Ginni sat up and pulled on her boots. Silently, she stood and took her pack from its place in the corner. She hated to leave her cloak behind, but it would serve the illusion of her presence and therefore soothe her father should he wake before morning. With her talent for fire, however unruly it had become, the young mage knew she wouldn't freeze.

As she slipped past the careworn man and then the motionless dragon, it did not escape her that Tom had done the same to Roslin before Ginni's birth. She'd heard the story many times from her mother - Roslin's resentment growing in each retelling - but even Roslin had ultimately admitted that he hadn't fully realized what he'd abandoned until years later.

Ginni had stood at the cave mouth, peering into the darkness where she knew her father lay. She had wanted to let Tom take her to Abadan. In her gut, she felt sure the magician wished her no ill. Nonetheless, Roslin's mandate ruled.

In the deepdark hours of countless nights, Ginni had felt her mother scowling at her. Before Roslin's death the goading had come from without. Ginni had learned to close doors, open books, or stare out windows when her mother prodded. But now the taunting came from within. Awake or asleep, daytime or night, the memories of their many clashes seemed to merge and transform.

Ginni no longer knew what, or who, directed her thoughts and actions. For the first time since she'd been a child, her magic sporadically overtook her in the midst of the simplest acts. She couldn't trust herself around enemies any more, and so she pretended to lose interest in her father's usual trade. She seemed not to notice their dwindling coin and growling stomachs. She appeared not to care that they were reduced to huddling in a cave.

Privately she had hoped they might safely wait out the winter in the cave. That wish died within days of their arrival, at the very moment she accidentally set Grosik's tail afire. The young mage knew she was getting worse. She couldn't continue to endanger her family.

She needed help - or further training.