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A dozen boys rose at once from their seats, and most of them raced for the door, pushing and shoving. Edwin followed at a more leisurely pace, frowning at the notes he had taken on his slate. He had erased and rewritten his translation of Claudius so many times he couldn’t really read it anymore.
Morton Fairwell met him at the door and looked at the slate, too. “You’ve got the wrong preposition here,” he said.
Edwin turned the slate one way, then the other. His brain was starting to hurt from all the grammar he’d been forced to memorize. For years, he had dreamed of being an Atherton student, but he had never really known what it would be like to go to school. In his imagination, he’d been running around the playing fields or sitting on the steps of the library, watching the autumn leaves fall.
“I don’t think I understand this,” he muttered.
At least Morton could help him with Classical Immani. In math class, Morton was no better than he was. Neither of them could make heads or tails of the assignment that Professor Phipps gave them that afternoon, and as they headed into the cavernous dining hall for supper, they were still complaining about the injustice of it all.
“I don’t think it’s fair to expect a fellow to solve for ‘X’ in one problem when ‘X’ will be something else in the next problem,” said Morton. “When it’s solved, it should stay solved.”
Edwin was about to reply, when Morton stopped and waved to someone at a distant table. “Oh, hold on a second.” He grabbed Edwin’s sleeve. “I should introduce you.”
It turned out to be a pair of girls, seated by themselves in the corner. One had her dark hair up under a little net of blue cloth. The other had her red curls secured with a pencil. Both of them were wrapped in fur cloaks, which was quite sensible of them, as the dining hall was almost freezing. They had pushed their plates and napkins to one side, and had spread out their books and papers in front of them.
“Hello, Morton!” said the redhead. “Can we get a little translation help?”
“Sure,” said Morton. “If you can explain algebra to me and Henry.” He gestured toward Edwin. “Girls, this is Henry Harris. Henry, this is Corrine Ripley,” he pointed at the redhead. “Her father is Professor Ripley, and she’s inherited his brains, but fortunately for her, not his looks.”
Corrine giggled as she shook Edwin’s hand. “Oh, Morton, don’t be an ass.”
“And this,” Morton continued, gesturing to the brunette, “is Eleanor Rath.”
Edwin shook hands and tried not to betray that he knew her. Or rather, he had known her, once upon a time. Her father was the late Baron Volker Rath, formerly chief knight of the retinue of Broderick Gramiren, the usurper, and lieutenant general of the army that had captured Leornian. Baron Rath had died in a final, fatal duel with Sir Alfred Estnor, even as Edwin and Elwyn and the Earl of Hyrne had been racing away from the Bocburg on the river. Poor Sir Alfred had died, too—and just when he and Elwyn had been ready to get married.
Eleanor Rath had been at a few of Edwin’s birthday parties when they were little. He wouldn’t have recognized her, though, if Morton hadn’t said her name, and fortunately she didn’t seem to recognize him, either.
They all settled in together and started working on their homework. The girls at Atherton didn’t take lessons with the boys, but studied with their own governesses. And sometimes, as Edwin quickly learned, the governesses were a lot better at explaining things than the lectors and professors were.
“You just have to remember ‘Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally,’” said Corrine. “It’s how I learned the order of operations: parentheses, exponents, multiplication, division, addition, and subtraction.”
By the time they’d gotten through the problem set from Professor Phipps, Edwin was starting to feel as if he might have learned something for once. “Thank you so much,” he said to Corrine.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “If you really need help, though, you should talk to Penny. She’s the one who really knows her math. She’s the one who explained everything to me.” Then she stood up and waved. “Penny? Yes, you! Come over here a second.”
Edwin heard footsteps and turned to see a tall, curvy blonde approaching. She had bright blue eyes and a rosy, heart-shaped face. Her full pink lips broke into a wide grin as she approached. She had on a plain blue dress, very modestly cut, but there was something about the way she moved in it that made Edwin’s mouth go dry. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone so pretty in his life, yet there was something strangely familiar about her.
His voice cracked as he said “hello,” and he wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
“Penny, this is Henry Harris,” said Corrine. “Henry, this is Penelope Ostensen.”
“Ostensen,” he repeated, feeling his stomach clench. Here again was a girl he’d known as a little boy. Her father was Duke Lukas Ostensen of Severn, right hand of the usurper. Muriel Gramiren, the pretended Queen of Myrcia, was this girl’s aunt.
The phrase, “Please excuse my dear Aunt Muriel” flitted through his mind.
She smiled down at him, and he remembered he should really stand up. So he did and discovered that she was a couple inches taller than him, even though—if he remembered correctly—they were nearly the same age. Earstien, how long had it been since they’d seen each other? Six years? Seven? She certainly hadn’t looked like this when they were playing tag in the Wealdan Castle garden.
“I...I’m having some trouble with math,” he stammered. It was a stupid thing to say, and a terrible way to get introduced to someone so lovely. He wished he could say something that impressed her.
But she didn’t seem bothered at all. “Oh! Well, I’d be happy to help.” She glanced past him at the table. “Look, Algebra. How fun!”
She jumped into the chair next to his, and he sat down, too. As she explained math to him, she kept leaning over to point at the book and his homework papers. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he could smell her perfume—like lilacs mixed with honeysuckle, almost exactly like what Elwyn wore. After half a minute, Edwin had to take one of his books off the table and hold it over his lap, because he was sure Penny would see the bulge growing rapidly there.
“Oh, look, a study session,” came a boy’s voice, in a bored drawl. Edwin turned to see Landon Halifax approaching with Oscar Dryhten tagging along behind. Landon’s eyes went from Edwin’s face to Penny’s and back again. “By the way, Harold,” he said, “this father of yours: is he a knight in someone’s retinue, or what?”
“Um...he’s not in anyone’s retinue,” said Edwin, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks.
“His name is Henry,” said Penny, shaking her head and frowning at Landon. “Did you want me to help you with your schoolwork, or are you content to remain forever in ignorance?”
“Why don’t you sneak up to my room tonight,” said Landon, “and I’ll give you something to work on.” He laughed and walked away, with Oscar following along again.
“Revolting boy,” said Corrine, shaking her head.
“Disgusting,” said Eleanor.
An hour later, when they’d finished all their work, the group headed out into the snowy evening, and Edwin found that somehow he was walking next to Penny.
“So...um, your father is a knight, then?” she asked.
He cringed, longing to be able to tell her that his father was the late king. He longed to tell her, “Actually, I’m the fucking king! And Landon Halifax is only a second son!” But of course he couldn’t say that.
Aloud, he said, “Yes. He’s just a knight. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize!” said Penny. “There’s no such thing as being ‘just’ a knight. Knights are very important people. My father and my brother Niall always say getting knighted was the proudest moment of their lives.” She turned and fixed him with her wide, blue eyes. “Your father had to earn that knighthood, so it’s worth more than some inherited title.” Grinning, she ducked her head and scuffed her shoes along the snowy walk. “Look at me: I’m ‘Lady Penelope,’ but what did I ever do to be a ‘lady’? Nothing. I managed to get born. Don’t ever let anyone make you ashamed of your father. Especially not a prick like Landon Halifax.”
“Thank you,” he said, quite moved by her little speech, even if it was based on an entirely faulty premise. “You’re very kind.”
“I’m very naïve. That’s what my governess tells me whenever I get talking about politics, anyway.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, more earnestly than he intended. “I think you’re brilliant.”
She blushed bright red. “Oh, now you’re being silly, Henry.” They were at the gate to the garden of Queen Freyda Hall now, and she turned to shake his hand. “Well, I’ve got to go in. Let me know if you need more help.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said.
“Good,” she said, with a final smile before she turned and walked off through the little garden. The way she moved in that dress as she walked kept him awake for hours that night, and when he did manage to fall asleep, he saw her again and again in his dreams.
He was dragged out of a particularly pleasant one before dawn, however, to find Caedmon shaking his shoulder. “Get up, now, please. We have an appointment to see the duke at last.”
“The duke?” Edwin blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, right.”
The Duke of Wislicshire—the actual reason he was at Atherton. He got out of bed and dressed quickly, while Caedmon made a pot of strong coffee at the little hearth.
“Drink this,” Caedmon said, handing him a cup. “It would be best if you were fully awake when we spoke to his grace.”
It was still dark outside as they walked down the steps to the school stables, where Caedmon had their horses waiting. “We are not going to the duke’s house in town,” he said. “We will see him at his country house in Rosedown. And we must hurry, before there are too many people out on the roads. I wish our visit to be a secret, insofar as it is possible.”
Rosedown was another small village in the Dawlish Valley, due north of the hilltop town of Atherton, sitting amidst wide, snow-covered fields. The duke’s hunting lodge was there, right at the edge of the mountains. Edwin remembered hearing people at court talking about the marvelous hunting in the countryside around Atherton. Elwyn, in particular, had spoken highly of the area for its natural beauty and abundance of wild game.
Not that Edwin had much time to admire the scenery or the wildlife. Caedmon spent the ride quizzing him about his time at school. When Edwin happened to mention that he had a friend across the hall named Morton Fairwell, Caedmon gave him a mysterious look and asked, “Has Morton recognized you?”
“I don’t think so,” said Edwin. “Why should he?”
The nearer of Caedmon’s eyebrows rose. “He is your cousin. Your first cousin once removed, to be precise.”
Edwin was about to protest that this was impossible, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, he remembered that he did have some cousins named Fairwell. Elwyn had told him that. He couldn’t remember if he had ever met them, though.
Caedmon went on. “Morton’s mother was born Aurelia Tynsdale, the natural daughter of your uncle, King Ethelred. It is a shame you do not know her well. She is an exceptional woman. You know her younger brother, Sir Robert Tynsdale, of course.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“The lives of the Fairwell family have not been easy since the fall of Leornian.”
“That’s awful,” said Edwin. “I wish I could do something for them.”
“Perhaps someday,” said Caedmon, with a more kindly look. “For now, remember that you must keep your identity secret from your classmates. Even those, like Morton, who seem worthy of trust.”
They arrived at the duke’s palace, and his grace met them in a little parlor at the back of the ground floor, with a massive, long bank of windows that looked out at the mountains. “Edwin!” he said. “Your majesty, I should say. And Caedmon. Always a pleasure, always a pleasure. Come sit and have a drink.” He held up a bottle of ruby red wine.
“It is a trifle early,” said Caedmon, frowning. “I try not to drink in the mornings.”
“It’s still nighttime,” said the duke brightly. “It’s not drinking in the morning until the sun comes up.” He poured three glasses. Caedmon left his untouched, but Edwin felt it only polite to take a taste. It was Cheruscian fortified wine—powerful stuff that made Edwin shudder a little.
His grace didn’t even wait for them to sit down before mentioning Duchess Flora’s plan. And he didn’t seem to need much convincing, either. “It’s a brilliant idea,” he cried. “You have my full support!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Edwin.
Caedmon cleared his throat. “Your ‘full support,’ your grace? Can we assume that will include a contingent of your troops?”
The duke bit his lip. “Well...obviously if I can gather them in time. And, of course, my vassal lords will need to be convinced, too. And it would be best if we could coordinate things with my brother-in-law over in Rawdon.”
“H’m, yes.” Caedmon swirled the wine in his glass. “Duke Aldrick spoke to us quite strongly on the subject of cooperation with you.”
The duke sighed. “Oh, let me guess. He’s still whining about the fact that I didn’t help him and Cedric Stansted when they had their stupid little rebellion.” He threw up his hands. “It was hopeless, Caedmon. Aldrick barely helped. Honestly, poor Cedric never had a chance.”
That certainly wasn’t how the Duke of Newshire had seen it, but Edwin knew better than to start an argument about a war that was over and lost.
“So when do you think you might call out your levies?” Edwin asked.
The duke’s chubby face went red. “Well, as I say, we really should talk to the other nobles in the area. I wouldn’t like to speak for them.”
So in the end, despite the duke’s tremendous enthusiasm, Edwin and Caedmon left the hunting lodge without any sort of firm commitment to do anything at all. Caedmon was quiet on the ride back to the school, until as they were going up the High Street, he said, “When you are king indeed, Edwin, remember this moment. Always endeavor to give people a straight answer.”
Edwin thought he understood. “If he had said ‘no,’ we could go back to Keelweard.”
“Precisely,” Caedmon said. “Ah, well. I shall continue to apply pressure to our recalcitrant duke. I shall visit some of the other local lords and knights. Insofar as it is possible, I shall try to contact the Duke of Newshire and effect a reconciliation between the two brothers-in-law. And you may continue to enjoy all the benefits of formal schooling.”
Edwin was disappointed, but then he remembered Penny Ostensen, and he decided staying in town for a while wouldn’t be all that bad.
That next week, Edwin couldn’t help but notice that he was running into Penny a good deal more often than mere chance could have dictated. There was always a spot next to her in the dining hall, and he found that she happened to come to the library at the exact same time as him now. They talked a good deal about math, and with her help, he started to feel as if he understood Algebra. But after a few days, they spent more and more time talking about other things.
They liked the same songs and many of the same books. Not surprising, really, considering that they had grown up in the same circles of society. But still, it was fun whenever he said something like, “I’ve always liked the Mt. Nellis Reel,” and Penny would let out a little squeal and clap her hands and say, “Oh, that’s always been my favorite dance!”
Edwin almost asked her to dance it with him on the spot, and he would have, except that again he had gone painfully rigid, and he dreaded rubbing against her by accident. He didn’t want her to think he was disgusting.
Another weekend approached, and Caedmon said he didn’t have any appointments for Edwin with the local lords or the duke yet. So Edwin walked across the hallway to Morton’s room, took a deep breath, and said, “Look, if I wanted to do something around town with...um, a certain girl, what exactly do people do around here?”
Morton sat back in his ratty armchair and tapped his fingertips together. “A trip to the Crown and Gown is considered traditional. Let me guess. It’s Penny, right?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes. Corrine says all the girls at Queen Freyda Hall are wondering why you haven’t asked her out already. They’ve got a betting pool going.”
“Finster’s balls! Are you serious?”
Morton laughed. “No. But Corrine did say that Penny has been talking a lot about you lately.”
The next day after breakfast, as Edwin and Penny were walking out of the dining hall together, he decided that his moment had come. After a deep breath, he said, “Look, if you’re busy it’s alright. But I don’t suppose you’d like to go to the Crown and Gown together this Friday night, would you?”
She jumped up and down a little. “Oh, yes! I’d love to. After supper, maybe?”
“Or we could eat there,” he suggested, trying to sound worldly and adult.
“Oh, my, Henry,” she giggled. “Both dinner and drinks. I feel positively spoiled.”
That Friday, they met at the iron gate of Queen Freyda Hall. Edwin had on his best velvet tunic and trousers, but he felt underdressed when he saw Penny in her blue silk dress and fox fur cape. “I know it’s just to the C&G,” she said, smiling, “but I don’t get to dress up very often, and this seemed like a good opportunity.” She took his arm even before he offered it, and when he felt the warmth and the curve of her body through the dress, he almost forgot how to speak.
Luckily, she carried the conversation through their walk to the famous student tavern, and most of the way through their first round of ale. At that point, the alcohol settled into Edwin’s brain, and he lost his fear of saying the wrong thing and looking stupid. All through supper, and their second round, and their third, as well, they talked about every possible subject, from hunting to Immani grammar.
Inevitably, though, the dreaded subject of politics came up, and Edwin braced himself to hear a lot of Gramiren propaganda. She was the daughter of Duke Lukas, after all. But to his surprise, she had decidedly unorthodox ideas.
“I’m a republican,” she said. “The Immani Senate ruled the Empire for centuries and centuries, and they took over half the world during that time. There’s no reason why we couldn’t do the same thing.” She took a long drink, wiped her mouth on her fur cloak, and said, “It’s time people got their jobs based on their talents, not on who their stupid relatives are.”
“Hear, hear!” said Edwin, raising his glass. He was dimly aware of his hypocrisy in doing so, but he was much more interested in the way the lamplight danced in Penny’s eyes when she smiled at him.
“Look at the war,” she went on. “My father has said many times that the Sigors could easily have beaten him and King Broderick if they hadn’t been saddled with the Earl of Hyrne for a commander. And you know how he got that job, right?”
Edwin’s face burned. “He’s...he’s the queen’s brother.” He tried to look at the situation logically, and he knew she was right. “The earl is a bit hopeless, isn’t he?”
“Exactly.” Penny waved at the bargirl for another round. “I’m sorry. I’m boring you, I’m sure. My governess says a girl needs political ideas like a dog needs a dress.”
“That’s not true,” said Edwin, as the bargirl brought their next round. “I’m sure there are plenty of dogs who could use dresses.”
Penny laughed so hard her face went red and she snorted beer out her nose. When she’d wiped her face and gotten her breath back, she held up her mug. “I like you, Henry.”
He clicked his mug against hers. “I like you, too.”