Her face gave nothing away, as ever. “I will do what I can,” she merely said.
Elyon thanked her with a nod. There was little more he wanted to say right now. “Prince Raynald, would you join me for a private word?” He looked around. “Unless there’s anything else we need to discuss?”
No one came forward with anything pressing, so at that the council dispersed. Sir Karter strode quickly out, perhaps to update his lord father on proceedings, while Marian set off to her task. Rikkard and Killian remained, moving to the command table, discussing strategy. Rammas stamped out of the pavilion in a rage, seeking to purge his pent-up frustrations by engaging someone in a duel. “I need a challenger,” he bellowed as he left. “Two or three good knights. And no holding back.”
Raynald was smiling as Elyon joined him. That handsome smile of his father’s. “Lord Rammas is a character, isn’t he?” the young prince said. “I enjoy these councils for him alone. It was so dull back in Ilithor.”
“It must have been frustrating, with Robb away at war?”
“More than frustrating, Elyon. What’s that they say? An heir and a spare. You were the spare for Aleron, but with me it was even harder, being twins. To be left behind with the women and the old men while Robb went off to win glory?” He shook his head. “No. I wasn’t going to live with that.”
“So you came here,” Elyon said, smiling easily. “To win glory of your own.”
“I suppose that was a part of it. Personal glory. But it’s about defending Tukor as well, and the north. That is my primary motivation, as I’m sure it is yours.”
Elyon nodded. He’d won enough personal glory by now to fill ten lifetimes, but even so it all felt empty. If the north should perish, the world fall to ruin, what good would all that do him? “I wanted to ask you about something that may be considered sensitive, Ray. Do I have your permission to speak plainly?”
The boy looked at him curiously. “Yes. Of course. Go right ahead.”
Stop looking at the Windblade, stop staring at it with those eyes. You want it, I know you do. You want it for your own…Elyon’s mouth twisted into a rictus smile as those thoughts ran through his mind, unwelcome and uncontrolled, though they did not pass his lips. There was something about those looks Raynald gave the blade, those covetous little looks and glances, that made the whispers hiss and holler somewhere in the back of his mind. Once more he drowned them out by repeating his father’s mantra. And all the while, that smile. That strange, fixed smile that made Raynald ill at ease.
“It, er…it must be something hard to express, Elyon. You look…very serious.” He glanced to the side, where a table was set up with jugs of ale and wine and water. “A cup of ale, perhaps, to make it easier? Watered ale, of course. I know you’re flying.” He stepped away and poured, giving Elyon time to drag that smile from his lips and drown out the whispers in his head.
“My thanks, Ray,” Elyon said, thick-voiced, when the prince returned. He took a sip, whispers fading, anger too, then decided it was simply best to tell the truth. “It’s the Windblade,” he explained. He understands. He knows. He saw what happened to his grandfather. “I feel it becoming more…more protective of me.” It wants to stay with me. With me and me alone. “Sometimes the way you look at it…”
“You think…you think I would try to steal it from you?” Raynald looked aghast, even angered by the notion. “Gods no, Elyon. Is that why you look at me like that?”
Elyon wasn’t sure what he meant. “Like what?”
“With that glare. As if you want to kill me. Perhaps you don’t even know you’re doing it?”
Elyon shook his head, frowning.
“Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. It’s not so bad as all that. Just the occasional narrow-eyed glare, you know. Like I’ve kissed your sister or something.” Raynald took a long draught of his drink.“So. This sensitive matter? Was it the Wind…” He dare not even say it. “Sorry. Your blade you wanted to talk about?”
Well, don’t I feel the fool. “No. It’s the Book of Thala. I wondered if you knew where it was?”
The young prince clearly thought that Elyon had gone mad. He gave a loud scoff. “No. Why should I know where the Book of Thala is?”
It was an honest enough answer. “No reason.”
Because we’re of the belief that your grandfather has it stored somewhere in his private quarters in Ilithor, he might have said instead. Lythian and Walter and Ralf had the bright idea that the Book of Thala might contain some clue they could use, about mastering the Eye of Rasalan, or combining the Blades of Vandar. Elyon had told them he would make enquiries. Another task to add to my list.
But clearly Raynald didn’t know.
“Was that all?” the prince asked.
Elyon was inclined to say ‘yes’ and leave this awkwardness behind, but he had a little more to say first. “I’m planning to fly to Thalan, see what I can find out about your sister, and will stop off at Ilithor on the way. It isn’t so much of a detour and I feel beholden to update them on our news. Is there anything you would like me to report, from you directly? Any word you would like me to share with your mother?”
It was the last thing in the world Elyon wanted to do, meet with that crazed old shrew who had spat in his face once before, but Raynald had earned that much.
The young prince pondered, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just make sure she knows that I’m safe. She’ll like that. You don’t have to visit her yourself.”
“I don’t mind, truly…”
“Truly?” Raynald said. “Truly I think you’re a liar, Elyon. She’s a bitch and we all know it. I’d not want to subject all her spiteful ramblings onto you. And I know about the spitting.”
“Oh. You do?”
“An unseemly business, but sadly not unusual for her either. No, just have one of the maidservants or guardsmen bring her the news. That should serve.”
“As you say.”
Raynald sipped his ale. “So…Thalan. You’re flying there all for the sake of my sister, are you? I didn’t know you cared about her.”
“She was to wed my brother.”
“As my brother was to wed your sister. These things don’t seem to turn out too well, do they?” His mouth hardened, as he looked at the Windblade, more pointedly this time. “That was the same night you stole it from Dalton Taynar. The night of my sister’s wedding to Hadrin. That was when your auntie Amara got up and announced Robb was betrothed to Lillia.”
Elyon had mixed memories of that night. The horrid spectacle of the wedding ceremony. The feast during which he pretended to get drunk. The tension of the heist, and jubilation at their triumph. The horror of what happened after, with Mel, when she confessed her part in Aleron’s death and sawed open her very own throat.
“That was part of it, wasn’t it?” Raynald went on. Elyon raised his eyes. “Your auntie making that great spectacle, with Wallis Kanabar? That was part of the distraction so that you could steal the blade?”
“We didn’t steal it,” Elyon said, defensive. He could feel his face growing hot. “We were only righting wrongs.”
“Righting wrongs? What about Lady Melany? They say you killed her.”
“I didn’t.”
