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On their third day after leaving Keelweard, Edwin and Caedmon crossed the River Colwinn into Newshire. This was the ancestral homeland of the Sigor dynasty, and in fact, the duke they were visiting was a Sigor, himself. Only a second cousin, granted, but still part of the same great family.
Edwin felt some sort of ceremony was called for, though he wasn’t quite sure what it should be. If he’d been a great king like Edmund Dryhten, he probably would have given a speech or knelt in the snow and said a long and heartfelt prayer. But Edwin was never giving another speech in his life if he could help it. And he was already freezing; he wasn’t about to kneel and get his trousers damp. (Elwyn had been distressingly correct about drying times in the cold.) So he settled for muttering a quick “Thank you, Earstien” under his breath, and then rode on with Caedmon.
Riding alone with Caedmon. Edwin still couldn’t believe this was really happening. Lord Aldred was a legend, and it boggled Edwin’s mind to think that he was now part of that legend. In a century or two, would people sing songs and tell tales of Caedmon’s winter ride with the boy king Edwin? Would it be the sort of thing that fathers told their children around the hearth before bedtime? Would there be taverns named after it, with poorly-rendered pictures of him and Caedmon on horseback over the door? “Oh, yes,” people would say, “I think I’ll pop down to The Boy King’s Ride for a pint. Care to join me?”
No, probably not. Kings rode places all the time, and so far, nothing had happened on this journey that would make it worthy of a song. And as for Caedmon, well, he was hundreds of years old, and he had done all sorts of great deeds. In the grand scheme of his storied life, this ride with Edwin probably ranked right up there with buying new socks in terms of its importance.
This deflated Edwin’s enthusiasm for a few miles, until he remembered that he was going to visit his mother and his little sister, and once he thought of that, he decided it didn’t really matter whether this trip changed history or not. He just wanted to see the rest of his family again.
On the first two nights in Newshire, they stopped at dusk at little inns along the way. But the third night, Caedmon kept going well after dark, through the gently falling snow, mile after mile, until Edwin nodded off in his saddle. Luckily, his horse kept following Caedmon’s, and suddenly he was startled awake to find that they had stopped at a tiny cottage on a hillside at the edge of a dark wood. Beyond the house, there was an endless field of white, perfectly flat and clean like an altar cloth in church. At first Edwin had no idea where he might be, but then he understood. He was at the shore of Lake Newlin, the largest lake in Myrcia.
Two men in furs spoke with Caedmon for a few minutes in hushed tones. Then one of the men mounted a horse and rode away at a gallop. When the other turned and smiled at Edwin, it took a moment for recognition to dawn, but then it happened, and Edwin could not have been more pleased.
“Sir Franklin!” Edwin said. “How good to see you again.”
It really was nice to see Sir Franklin Porcher here on this snowy night. They had met the previous year in Briddobad when Sir Franklin had come to deliver a message from Duchess Flora. In the few weeks he had stayed, Edwin had spent a good deal of time with him discussing knightly pursuits, such as jousting and swordsmanship. He was, in fact, the grandson of Sir Quintilian Porcher, the famous tournament champion who had trained Edwin’s father. Of course, Sir Franklin was also the man Elwyn had slept with and then incorrectly accused of being a Gramiren spy. Remembering this last part, Edwin could feel himself blush, but he hoped that if anyone could see his cheeks in the dark, they would assume he was just cold.
“Your majesty, it is my great pleasure to be here,” Sir Franklin bowed. “My brother, Alan, awaits us with a sleigh. Let’s get you to your family.”
They dismounted, leaving their horses at the cottage. The wet snow was slick in places, so Sir Franklin had to lead them carefully down to the edge of the lake. There, on the ice, they found a little sleigh drawn by a single small pony. Sir Franklin introduced them to his brother, Sir Alan, who nodded from the driver’s seat. When all three of them were crammed into the worn leather passenger bench, Sir Alan cracked the whip, and they shot out onto the lake, leaving the shore far behind.
The ride seemed quite exhilarating at first, with the sleigh racing along and little clouds of snow billowing up from the pony’s hooves. Then Edwin chanced to look over the side and saw cracks here and there in the ice. “Um, how thick is the ice here?” he asked.
“At least six inches,” Sir Franklin said.
“And how deep is the lake?”
“This far out? About a hundred feet. Maybe a hundred and twenty. Why?”
“No reason,” said Edwin, feeling ill. “Just curious.”
They turned, bending a little to the right in their course, and soon Edwin could see lights ahead. A house, maybe? No, a village. There were too many lights for one house. They kept getting closer, and Edwin began to appreciate the scale. It was a whole city, and he was seeing candles in hundreds and hundreds of windows, the watch fires on the walls, and the lamps of travelers going to and fro in the streets.
“Rawdon,” he whispered.
“Indeed,” said Caedmon. “Capital of Newshire and ancient seat of your house. You have visited here before, I believe.”
“Yes, but not like this,” said Edwin.
Soon the lamps filled the darkened horizon, and in the center, straight in front of them, were the brightest lights of all—the windows of the great Prince’s Palace. Edwin could make out the soaring dome. It was graceful in the daylight; he remembered that. Now it was a hulking black silhouette against the dim glow of the city beyond.
Sir Alan tugged on the reins, and the pony slowed. There was a bump, and then they were rumbling up the duke’s wide, private beach. Edwin had played here sometimes as a boy, but only ever in the summer. They skidded to a stop before a long set of huge glass doors, and four soldiers in Sigor livery came running out to greet them.
“I trust his grace is expecting us,” said Caedmon, stepping down from the sleigh.
“Um...yes, my lord. We received your rider a few minutes ago,” said the young knight in charge. “His grace is in his study, sir, but...um....”
Caedmon’s face turned grave. “Allow me to guess. The duke is not pleased to see us.” He didn’t wait for an answer before leading Edwin inside.
The study was a massive, dark-paneled room, full of bookshelves and hunting trophies. It smelled of musty fur and leather chairs and linseed oil, with a strong undercurrent of wine and pipe smoke. Edwin could remember going there to see the old duke—a genial fellow who gave Edwin and Alice sweets from a drawer in his desk, and who let them try his Annenstruker whiskey once when their mother wasn’t looking.
That duke—old Jeffrey Sigor—was gone, though. And his son Aldrick now held the title. The new duke rose from behind his desk to greet them, tall and slim and elegant. He was clearly a relation—the nose was exactly like Edwin’s father’s. The eyes, too. The sharply angular jaw reminded Edwin of his sister Elwyn, though. As did the look of barely concealed rage on the man’s face.
“Your majesty,” he said, making a perfunctory bow toward Edwin. “Lord Aldred.” Only a tiny nod this time. “What an entirely unexpected pleasure to have you in my home.”
“But not unwelcome, I hope,” said Caedmon, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Duke Aldrick pointed over his shoulder. “Do you realize I’ve got a whole fucking squadron of Gramiren cavalry camped on my blasted lawn? Have you gone mad?” He sighed and, glancing toward Edwin, he added, “I don’t mean you, of course, sire.”
“Coming here was my idea,” said Edwin, stretching the truth a bit. “We need your help, cousin. We’re trying to get everyone together in a grand alliance for the spring.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” The duke shook his head. “This is Flora’s scheme, isn’t it? I can’t imagine why anyone would trust her.”
“We must endeavor to work together,” Caedmon said calmly.
“Work together? Ha! The Earl of Stansted and I had them on the run out here. Do you remember this, Lord Aldred? Two years ago?”
Edwin recalled hearing something about a revolt in the west, funded by the duke. That had been right after the fall of Leornian, when he and Elwyn and their uncle were settling in at Briddobad, and he honestly didn’t recall many of the details.
“You fought most bravely,” said Caedmon.
“And do you remember how much help our ‘friends’ gave us?” the duke fumed. “We got nothing. Cedric Stansted and his poor daughter had to flee the country, Caedmon. They’re up in the Empire now, and Earstien only knows when they can come home. And as for me,” he threw up his hands, “I’m being watched day and night now. We went to war, and we were left standing with our cocks out.” He looked at Edwin, and his face reddened slightly. “Your pardon, sire.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Edwin. “My sister says worse than that all the time.”
“The fact remains,” said Caedmon, “that we must work together.”
The duke pounded a fist into his open palm. “Oh, really? Is it time to work together now because Flora fucking Byrne says it is? Cedric Stansted and I ask for help, and we get nothing. But when that foul bitch comes to you, with the taste of Broderick’s cock still on her lips—pardon my Brigantian, your majesty—you jump right up and decide now is the time for teamwork?”
Caedmon nodded sadly. “Please accept my apologies for the way you were treated, your grace. You should have been given more support. As to why that happened, you know the reasons as well as I do, but the fact is that you and Earl Cedric stood up for your rightful king, and the rest of us let you down. I am truly sorry for that.”
“Oh.” The duke’s eyebrows went up. He opened his mouth, presumably to say more, but then shut it, shaking his head. He went to his desk, poured himself some whiskey, and took a long drink. Then he gave a very slight smile. “That’s kind of you to say, Caedmon.”
He poured two more glasses, and Edwin accepted his eagerly, proud to be included like a real adult.
“Do you know what hurt the most?” the duke went on. “I didn’t expect much help from the west, and of course the south was dead set against me. And our dear Flora was busy taking it up the Wracugate from Broderick—no offense, your majesty—and her son was out here fighting against us. But Pedr is a good fellow, for all that, and I don’t blame him. No, what really hurt was that my blasted brother-in-law, the Duke of fucking Wislicshire, didn’t lift a finger. Oh, wait. That’s not quite true. He sent a hundred Sovereigns and a letter saying he was ‘with me in spirit.’ As if that means anything.”
“We are planning on visiting the Duke of Wislicshire, as well,” said Caedmon.
Edwin, still shuddering a little from the whiskey, said, “If we can get Duke Herbert to come in on your side, will you join the rest of us?”
“You know, I might consider it,” said Duke Aldrick thoughtfully. Then he smiled and tipped his glass in Edwin’s direction. “In any case, your majesty, there are some people upstairs I suspect you’d like to see. And I know they’re dying to see you.” He walked over to the wall and pushed aside one of the dark wood panels, revealing a tiny spiral staircase. “Go on up, and Lord Aldred and I will have a little chat.”
For a few seconds, Edwin was torn. He wanted to stay and be a real king and discuss policy and strategy. But he also wanted to see his mother and little sister, and that second desire proved far stronger. He ran up the stairs, winding around and around in dim candlelight, until he came out on the second floor in a barely lit, cavernous room.
“Your grace? Is that you?” The voice almost made Edwin burst into tears on the spot.
“No, Mother. It’s me.”
Queen Rohesia picked up a flickering candle where she stood on the other side of the room, peering out the window. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was clamped shut, lips quivering slightly. She looked him over for a second or two. Then she let out a little squeal and ran, nearly forgetting to set down the candle before throwing her arms around him. “Oh, my dear boy,” she sobbed. “Oh, I thought you might visit, but I didn’t trust myself to hope.”
“Of course I did,” said Edwin, crying now, too.
She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Holy Finster, Edwin. You’re so tall now.”
“It happens,” he said.
He felt someone tug at his sleeve, and he looked around to see Alice, and he knew her instantly, even though she looked as if she had grown a foot since they’d last seen each other. She kissed his cheek and then danced around the room in her nightgown, clapping her hands and giggling.
“I saw your sleigh come in over the lake, Edwin. I wanted to go out there, but they said it was dangerous.” She stuck her tongue out. “Ridiculous, if you ask me. Is Elwyn with you?”
“No, Elwyn is...,” he paused and remembered Caedmon’s warning that they weren’t to tell anyone where the others were. “Elwyn is fine. She sends her love to both of you.”
His mother pursed her lips for a second, then said, “How very kind. Let her know that we’re thinking of her, too.”
“I’ve decided I want to be Elwyn when I grow up,” said Alice. “Is that alright, Mother?”
The queen looked positively alarmed, but recovered her poise and said, “Darling, I hope you grow up to be the best Alice you can be. Don’t worry about what Elwyn does.”
His mother led them up another, even narrower staircase to their rooms, where she made tea herself, since she didn’t think it wise to let the servants see that Edwin was there. Then they sat at a little octagonal table and talked about what they had done and seen since they had said goodbye at Leornian, in the fire and smoke of battle. Alice was very keen on hearing what Briddobad was like, and their mother was visibly relieved to hear that Elwyn had refused to marry Andras Byrne and the betrothal was a sham.
“Well, good for her,” said the queen. “Possibly the first sensible thing she’s done in years. I hope this means she’s grown up a bit.”
Entirely unbidden, a vision flashed through Edwin’s mind of Elwyn by the hot spring in Briddobad, face down, while Anton took her from behind. He shook his head, trying to wipe it from his brain. “Um, yes. Elwyn is...much more mature now. Everyone says so.”
Before he had to explain exactly what he meant by that, Alice launched into the long, sad tale of her best friend, Jennifer Stansted. Jennifer was the daughter and heir of Earl Cedric of Stansted—the same one who had started the ill-fated rebellion with Duke Aldrick. Jennifer had been Alice’s constant companion and favorite playmate for years and years, and they had all endured the Siege of Leornian together. But Jennifer had been confined to her father’s castle down in Stansted, and now she and her father had been forced to flee to the Empire.
“I write her twice a week through the Immani consulate,” said Alice, “and she writes back, too.” She lowered her voice. “The seals are always broken, Edwin. Someone’s reading our letters.”
He thought of what Duke Aldrick had said about having a “whole fucking squadron of Gramiren cavalry” on his “blasted lawn.” A chill ran up the back of Edwin’s neck, and he shuddered. They were living in a palace here, but they might as well have been in prison, for all the difference it made.
The door to the little stairwell flew open, and Caedmon burst in. “Edwin, we must go. Now.”
From downstairs, the sound of raised voices floated up to them. Edwin could hear his cousin, Duke Aldrick, saying something about how “this is highly irregular.”
“The Gramiren troops have found the sleigh and are questioning the Porchers,” Caedmon explained rapidly. “We cannot stay.”
“Lord Aldred!” cried the queen. “Is there something we can do?”
Caedmon closed the door to the stairwell and ran a hand over the lock, whispering under his breath. The metal glowed red for a second, and the door shuddered. Then he turned back to the room. “Your majesty, I am pleased to see you and her royal highness already dressed for bed. If anyone asks, the noise downstairs woke you, but we were never here, and you have no idea where we might be.”
Edwin exchanged quick kisses and hugs with his mother and sister, while Caedmon walked around the room, muttering and waving his hands at things. And then, before he even knew what was happening, Caedmon was back at his side and dragging him from the room by the arm. Down some stairs and halfway across a parlor—dark and lit only by moonlight—the hillichmagnar whispered another spell. Edwin felt a squeezing, tugging sensation, like he was being pulled through a keyhole by his feet. And then suddenly he and Caedmon were in a snowy street, and the Prince’s Palace was ablaze with lights behind them.
“Keep walking,” said the hillichmagnar. “Do not look back.”
“What happened?”
“Someone told the Gramiren soldiers we were at the palace,” said Caedmon.
“Shouldn’t we go back and help?” asked Edwin, clutching the hilt of his sword.
“Absolutely not. If we were discovered there, the duke’s life would be in jeopardy. Even your mother and Princess Alice might be in danger. But if the search turns up no sign of us, then hopefully the Gramiren commanders will conclude this was a joke or a false alarm.”
They walked on, through alleys and side streets, sometimes circling back, sometimes stopping entirely. Edwin lost track of which way they were going. “I wish we had our horses,” he said softly. “Where will we go?”
“We will find new horses soon,” said Caedmon. “Your family has many friends in this city. And once we are mounted, we will ride for Wislicshire. I am sorry to say that we may not be able to sleep tonight.”
Edwin thought of his poor mother and Alice, trapped back in the Prince’s Palace, surrounded by the enemy. “That’s alright. I’m not sure I could sleep now, anyway.”