Greven said, eyeing the couple, masking his despair with an ingenuous smile and a soft shake of the head. It seemed his fears had finally come home to roost this bright Blossomtide day. ‘But I fail to see how—’
‘The boy you live with is the son of the Valisar royals, isn’t he?’ Reuth pressed, leaning forward.
Greven didn’t know how to answer. He froze, searching for the right response that did not incriminate him or Piven.
Clovis sighed. ‘Master Lark, you should know that as a Master Diviner, my inherent skills have assisted in finding you. But, more importantly, my wife has visions. It was her magic that, after years of me searching, led me to you.’
Greven regarded them both, his face deliberately devoid of expression but his insides churning with anxiety.
‘You have nothing to fear from us, Master Lark,’ Clovis repeated. ‘As I explained, it has been my mission for the last decade to find the boy.’
‘Why?’
‘Do you admit that the child you call Petor is Piven, the invalid adopted son of the Valisars?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Greven replied, his throat threatening to close on the lie. He filled his lungs with indignation and continued, ‘This is an outrageous claim and I’ll ask you not to levy such accusations publicly.’
Clovis shook his head. ‘I only want to protect him. I would do nothing that might bring him harm. I know you wish only the same, which is why you are covering Piven’s true identity.’
‘Master Barrow—’
‘May we meet him?’ Reuth asked, cutting across Greven’s outrage.
‘Pardon?’
‘May we meet the boy? Although I only know of the child, Clovis has seen him at close range. He will know him.’
‘I have no intention of permitting you to scrutinise my son,’ Greven snapped. ‘How dare you,’ he muttered. ‘How dare you walk into my life like this and make such claims.’
Clovis shook his head with sorrow. ‘Master Lark, I witnessed many people lose their lives brutally on the order of the barbarian tyrant. Reuth watched her beloved former husband led away to be slaughtered in a dingy courtyard; she could hear his death cries alongside those of the others who posed as Vested. My first wife and my precious infant daughter were hacked to death by the barbarian warrior who calls himself general. Our magnanimous emperor who now masquerades as a just and good ruler stole his crown in a sea of blood, Master Lark. I’m sure you know that.’
Greven nodded unhappily, shocked and helplessly touched by the tale of this pair.
‘We have reason to hold a grudge against the tyrant.’
‘But what does my son have to do with your mission?’ Greven asked carefully.
‘If he is your son, then he has nothing to do with us,’ Clovis said. ‘If he is Piven, as we believe he is, then he is integral to the struggle.’
‘The struggle? What are you talking about?’
Clovis lowered his voice still further. ‘To reinstate the true king onto his throne.’
Greven looked back at the intense expressions on the couple’s faces. They were earnest. ‘Piven?’
‘No, Leo,’ Clovis said. ‘We all believe he lives.’
‘We?’
‘The Vested,’ Reuth answered. ‘Those of us who survived took a marking.’ She turned, pulling back her ear and Greven saw a crescent moon marked in ink on her skin. ‘Master Lark, I should admit to you that my curious and contrary skill is to sense when something bad might occur. It is a strong power when it speaks to me but it speaks rarely. For instance, I knew they were coming for me, even though we had hidden my talent all my life. I also knew my husband would die, no matter what we did to protect him. I sensed that the royal family would suffer—I didn’t see the deaths but I sensed there would be only misery for the Valisars who might survive. And, Master Lark, when you first walked into this courtyard I sensed a terrible foreboding. I don’t know if it is for you, or your son, or whether it is the stars aligning to bring grief to your life but something very bad is going to happen. It is not far away. You should be warned.’
Greven stood. ‘Stay away from me,’ he demanded, pointing his finger at the two of them. ‘Stay away from Petor.’
Clovis looked past Greven. ‘You’re alarming our children, Master Lark, and risking drawing attention to yourself.’
‘You are strangers in this hamlet. I am not. My son and I have lived here for—’
‘Ten anni,’ Reuth finished for him, calmly. ‘Yes, we know. And that’s the exact amount of time that Clovis has been searching for the Valisar child. You forget that we were involved in the struggle for the Valisar survival at the outset. We have never given up our fight to return the rightful king to his throne.’
Greven leapt onto what he thought could be his final diversion. ‘Except you are ignoring one very important fact.’
‘And that is?’ Reuth asked.
‘You are very clear that the child known as Piven is an invalid.’
Clovis and Reuth nodded. ‘He never spoke a word, and was very much lost in his mind,’ Clovis said.
‘Well, for your information, Petor is extremely able. He talks as any normal child of fifteen might talk,’ Greven insisted, leaning forward on the table to impress his point. ‘He is lively and animated.’
Reuth frowned, glancing at her husband.
‘Check with the townsfolk if you don’t believe me,’ Greven baited. ‘The child you seek is not my Petor. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence that both boys are the same age.’ He could almost see the disappointment emanating from them like a dark cloud.
Clovis sighed. ‘Still, I would like to see him.’
‘I forbid it. You will not frighten my child.’
‘Master Lark, how can two people like us with our young family be in any way intimidating?’ Reuth asked.
‘Well, you’ve done your utmost to intimidate me and I refuse you access to my son, do you hear? Go away and leave us in peace.’
‘I cannot,’ Clovis said. His voice sounded grave enough to chill Greven. ‘I gave my word to people who were risking their lives every hour of those terrible days of the overthrow to keep Piven alive. I promised I would find him. I think I have.’
‘Go away,’ Greven said helplessly. He turned his back on them, calling over his shoulder, ‘And stay away.’
He threw two trents onto the counter before Innkeeper Derrian Junes and didn’t pause to exchange pleasantries. He was gone in seconds, striding out of the Grape and Whistle and hurrying as fast as his long legs could carry him towards the forest, where the trees swallowed him up and, he hoped, could hide him.
Piven waited for Greven. He had filled the small sack near to brimming with fungi that would need to dry out on the hut’s windowsill, and it was now duly laid out as Greven liked. Life with Greven had been tranquil, mostly serene. Each day was similar to the previous. And he liked it that way. He liked its order, its sameness…its predictability. He didn’t call Greven ‘Father’; couldn’t call him by that name, much as he knew Greven would like him to, because he remembered King Brennus too clearly. He belonged to the royal family of Valisars—that could and would never change for him. He never wondered about his blood parents, refused to accept that somewhere in the Set a woman who had birthed him might still live or a man who had sired him might roam.
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