satisfaction as the other man read it. By the time Orun had finished, the wax seals were clattering together on their ribbons. “He says nothing of why! Have I not discharged my duties faithfully?”
“I’m certain there’s no need for concern. He thanks you most graciously for your service.” Niryn leaned forward and pointed out a section. “Just there, you see?”
Niryn made no effort to hide how pleased he was with Orun’s reaction. “The duke’s death was so unexpected, and you were right there, offering your aid,” he went on smoothly. “But King Erius wishes to impose on you no longer, for fear you’ll be too distracted from your duties at the Treasury. He will appoint a new guardian when he returns.”
“But—but my understanding was that the position was permanent!”
Niryn rose and gave him a pitying look. “Surely you, of all people, are no stranger to the king’s whims.”
Tobin had sat transfixed through all this, but found his voice at last. “My—the king, he’s coming home?”
Niryn paused in the doorway. “Yes, my prince.”
“When?”
“I cannot say, my prince. Depending on the current negotiations with Plenimar, perhaps sometimes in the spring.”
“What does this mean?” Orun mumbled, still clutching the letter. “Niryn, you must know the king’s mind in this?”
“It is dangerous for anyone to presume to know King Erius’ mind these days. But if I may, my old friend, I would suggest that your reach has finally exceeded your grasp. I believe you know what I speak of. The blessings of the Four be with you both. Good day to you, my prince.”
He swept out and, for a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the incessant patter of the rain. Orun’s lips moved silently as he stared into the flames.
The air felt charged, the way it did just before a storm. Tobin looked longingly at the closed door, anxious to get away. When Orun didn’t move, he rose slowly. “May—may I go?”
Orun looked up slowly and Tobin’s knees nearly gave way. Naked hatred twisted the man’s features. Lurching to his feet, he loomed over Tobin. “May you go? This is your doing, you ungrateful brat!”
Tobin took a step back but Orun followed. “With your smirking and your insults. Old Slack Guts, isn’t that what you and that country bastard call me behind my back? Laughing! At me, who has served two rulers? Oh, you think there’s anything that goes unheard, do you?” he snarled, though Tobin had said nothing. Grabbing him by the arm, Orun shook the king’s letter in his face. “This is your doing!”
“No, I swear!”
Orun tossed the letter aside and jerked Tobin closer. Spittle flew from the man’s lips as he snarled, “Writing to the king behind my back!”
“No!” Tobin was truly frightened now. Orun’s fingers dug into his arms like claws. “I wrote nothing, I swear—”
“Lies. Writing lies!” Orun clutched the neck of Tobin’s tunic and shook him. His fingers tangled in the chain and it dug painfully into Tobin’s neck.
“Turning him against me, his most faithful servant!” Orun’s eyes narrowed in their folds of fat. “Or was it that lackey of yours downstairs? Good Sir Tharin!” Sarcasm curdled the words. “So humble. So faithful. Always fawning on your father like some pathetic stray dog. And always turning up where he’s not wanted—” Tobin saw something new and dangerous come into Orun’s face. “What did he tell the king? What did he say?” he hissed, shaking Tobin so hard he had to grasp at Orun’s arms to stay on his feet.
Orun’s grip tightened, making it harder to breathe. “Nothing!” Tobin wheezed.
Orun was still ranting at him, still squeezing, but Tobin could hardly make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. Black spots swam before his eyes and Orun’s face looked as big as the moon. The room was spinning, going dim. His legs wouldn’t hold him.
“What did you say?” Orun screamed. “Tell me!”
Then Tobin was falling and something deathly cold passed over him. As his vision cleared he saw Orun backing away from him, hands thrown up in terror. But it wasn’t him Orun was looking at, Tobin realized, but a writhing mass of darkness taking shape between them.
Still sprawled where he’d fallen, Tobin watched numbly as the shape coalesced into a familiar, menacing form. He couldn’t see Brother’s face, but Orun’s expression was mirror enough.
“What sorcery is this?” the man whispered in horror. He looked uncomprehendingly from Tobin to the ghost as Brother glided closer. Orun tried to back away but fetched up against the wine table. It toppled over, blocking his escape.
Too dizzy to stand, Tobin watched in confusion as Brother raised one spectral hand. The ghost usually descended like a whirlwind, flinging furniture and striking out wildly. This slow, deliberate advance was worse. Tobin felt the rage and menace emanating from his twin; it sapped what little strength he had left. He tried to cry out, but his tongue wouldn’t work.
“No,” Orun whimpered. “How—how can this be?”
And still Brother did not attack. Instead, he simply reached out and touched the terrified man’s chest. Orun let out an agonized shriek and toppled backward over the fallen table as if he’d been thrown. Sparks flew up when one outstretched hand landed in the fire.
The last things Tobin remembered were Orun’s slippered feet twitching in the firelight and the smell of scorched flesh.
Word had traveled quickly through the Old Palace. Mago and his cronies made faces at Ki during the morning run. At the temple Alben bumped into him, and whispered, “Farewell, grass knight!” too softly for anyone but Ki to hear.
As soon as Tobin and Tharin left, he’d taken Tharin’s advice. Slipping out through a servant’s passage, he hurried away to Tobin’s house. The steward answered his knock, looking as if he’d been expecting him. He took Ki’s wet cloak and set a chair for him by the hearth.
“The men are at practice in the back court and Mistress Iya is in the guest chamber. Should I inform them of your arrival, sir?”
“No, I’ll just sit here.” The steward bowed and left him.
Despite the fire on the hearth, the hall was cold and shadowy. Soft grey mist pressed at the windows and rain drummed on the roof above. Too miserable to sit still, Ki paced the room and fretted. How long would Tobin be? What if Orun found some reason to keep him there? Would Tharin come back to give him the news, or would he be stuck here forever with his belly in knots?
Looking up, he found himself at the bottom of the carved staircase. He’d only gone up there once, and that had been enough. Tobin’s father had abandoned that part of the house years ago; the rooms had been stripped of their furnishings and left to the mice. Ki was sure he’d felt ghosts there, leering at him from dark corners.
The duke had used the ground floor when he was in the city. Since his death, Tharin and the guard had been the only regular occupants. Tharin had a room just down the passage, and the men were quartered at the back of the house, but they kept the hall in use. It always had a homelike smell of house altar incense and embers on the hearth.
Leaving the hall, Ki wandered down the main passage. Iya’s door lay on the right, and it was closed. The duke’s old bedchamber, now Tobin’s and therefore Ki’s by default, lay to the left. He paused at the door, then went instead to the one beside it.
Tharin’s chamber was as spare and orderly as the man who lived there. His room at the keep barracks was just the same. Ki felt more at home here than anywhere else in Ero. He kindled a fire and sat down