Martin smiled as Arutha looked up, and the former Huntmaster of Crydee, once called Martin Longbow, nodded toward his youngest brother. “I wager a year’s taxes he sees a pair of green eyes and a pert smile in the waves.”
Lyam said, “No wager, Martin. Since we departed Rillanon I’ve had three messages from Anita on some matter or other of state business. All conspire to keep her in Rillanon while her mother returned to their estates a month after my coronation. Arutha, by rough estimate, has averaged better than two messages a week from her the entire time. One might draw a conclusion or two from that.”
“I’d be more anxious to return if I had someone of her mettle waiting for me,” agreed Martin.
Arutha was a private person, ill-humored when it came to revealing deep feelings, and he was doubly sensitive to any question involving Anita. He was impossibly in love with the slender young woman, intoxicated with the way she moved, the way she sounded, the way she looked at him. And while these were possibly the only two men on all Midkemia to whom he felt close enough to share his feelings, he had never, even as a boy, shown good grace when he felt he was the butt of a jest.
As Arutha’s expression darkened, Lyam said, “Put away your black looks, little storm cloud. Not only am I your King, I’m still your older brother and I can box your ears if the need arises.”
The use of the pet name their mother had given him and the improbable image of the King boxing the ears of the Prince of Krondor made Arutha smile slightly. He was silent a moment, then said, “I worry I misread her in this. Her letters, while warm, are formal and at times distant. And there are many young courtiers in your palace.”
Martin said, “From the moment we escaped from Krondor, your fate was sealed, Arutha. She’s had you in her bow mark from the first, like a hunter drawing down on a deer. Even before we reached Crydee, when we were hiding out, she’d look at you in a certain way. No, she’s waiting for you, have no doubt.”
“Besides,” added Lyam, “you’ve told her how you feel.”
“Well, not in so many words. But I have stated my fondest affection.”
Lyam and Martin exchanged glances. “Arutha,” said Lyam, “you write with all the passion of a scribe doing year-end tax tallies.”
All three laughed. The months of travel had allowed a redefinition of their relationship. Martin had been both tutor and friend to the other two as boys, teaching hunting and woodcraft. But he had also been a commoner, though as Huntmaster he stood as a highly placed member of Duke Borric’s staff. With the revelation that he was their father’s bastard, an elder half brother, all three had passed through a time of adjustment. Since then they had endured the false camaraderie of those seeking advantage, the hollow promises of friendship and loyalty from those seeking gain, and during this time they had discovered something more. In the others, each had found two men who could be trusted, who could be confided in, who understood what this sudden rise to pre-eminence meant, and who shared the pressures of newly inflicted responsibilities. In the other two, each had found friends.
Arutha shook his head, laughing at himself. “I guess I have known from the first as well, though I had doubts. She’s so young.”
Lyam said, “About our mother’s age when she wed Father, you mean?”
Arutha fixed Lyam with a skeptical look. “Do you have an answer for everything?”
Martin clapped Lyam on the back. “Of course,” he said. Then softly he added, “That’s why he’s the King.” As Lyam turned a mock frown upon Martin, the eldest brother continued. “So when we return, ask her to wed, dear brother. Then we can wake old Father Tully from before his fireplace and we can all be off to Krondor and have a merry wedding. And I can stop all this bloody travel and return to Crydee.”
A voice from above cried out, “Land ho!”
“Where away?” shouted the captain.
“Dead ahead.”
Gazing into the distance, Martin’s practiced hunter’s eye was the first to perceive the distant shores. Quietly he placed his hands upon his brothers’ shoulders. After a time all three could see the distant outline of tall towers against an azure sky.
Softly Arutha said, “Rillanon.”
The light tapping of footfalls and the rustle of a full skirt held above hurrying feet accompanied the sight of a slender figure marching purposefully down a long hallway. The lovely features of the lady rightly acknowledged the reigning beauty of the court were set in an expression of less than pleasant aspect. The guards posted along the hall stood face front, but eyes followed her passage. More than one guard considered the likely target of the lady’s well-known temper and smiled inwardly. The singer was in for a rude awakening, literally.