Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword by Karyn Henley Read Free Book Online Page A

to the archway.
    Trevin laughed at Pym’s wet hair, spiked in all directions like weeds in the woods. “Don’t tell me you took a bath for this occasion.”
    “As much of a bath as I could stand.” Pym handed Trevin the reins. “I can abide the water. It’s the soap I don’t take kindly to.” He scratched his scalp. “Flustrations! Makes me itch, it does.”
    Trevin stroked Almaron’s broad, smooth forehead. “Here’s one who enjoys being cleaned and curried.”
    “I might enjoy it too if someone gave me a rubdown after.” Pym took a pack from the stableboy, who led Pym’s roan.
    “We’ll beg for baths after a fortnight of traveling the roads,” said Trevin. “Lord Beker will be here within the week. I intend to leave as soon as we get his counsel.”
    “Then you have a week to accustom yourself to carrying this.” Pym slid an oval shield out of the pack.
    Trevin squinted at the black-and-gold design painted on it. Each comain had carried a shield adorned with an animal—a leaping white stag, a proud ram, a regal osprey. “What is this symbol?” he asked.
    Pym scratched his head. “The painter said the princess chose it. He claims it’s an eagle.”
    Trevin turned the shield this way and that. “The painter must have been in a hurry.”
    Pym took the reins of the roan. “I wasn’t lucky enough to see my old master Undrian appointed comain. I’m pleased to serve you, Trevin, but once we find Main Undrian …” He heaved himself onto the horse.
    Trevin mounted Almaron, impressed that Pym had not given up hope of finding his comain alive and well. “When you serve Undrian as armsman again, I’ll have Dwin at my side,” he said. “If he can avoid getting himself hanged before then.”
    Trumpets blared, and Trevin urged Almaron through the archway. As he and Pym cantered over the bridge and down the crowd-lined path, cheers filled the air.
    Across the field Melaia and King Laetham stepped onto the platform where two thrones stood. Prince Varic and his cronies had seats of honor in the stands on the right. Dwin was all smiles in the crowd to the left, standingbetween Iona, the lovely raven-haired priestess, and Nuri, the dimpled novice. Hanni, the high priestess of Navia, looked on, her almond eyes attentive to her charges, who served with her at Redcliff until the Navian temple could be repaired from the damage it had received during a raid the previous fall.
    Trevin and Pym dismounted within the broad ring of spectators. Trevin handed his shield and Almaron’s reins to Pym, then strode with a confident air toward the platform, where he bowed on one knee. He smiled to himself. Melaia was not wearing the gold medallion today.
    King Laetham rose and welcomed the crowd, gesturing broadly with the hand that wore the ruby ring. This was the demeanor Trevin admired in the king, the calm manner that inspired confidence. No one would know that the monarch held “healthy suspicions” of the Dregmoorian peace delegation—or of his new comain.
    A bard flamboyantly readied his lyre. As the music began, Prince Varic leaned over and, with a look of amused disdain, spoke to Hesel and Fornian. They laughed.
    Trevin clenched his teeth and swore to do everything in his power to make certain the king did not pawn off Melaia to this gash breath.
    As the last strains of the ballad drifted away on the breeze, King Laetham stood and fixed his dark gaze on Trevin. His deep voice rang out. “Trevin, you have been chosen as comain because of your courage defending this kingdom and this crown.” His eyebrows met in a frown. “Do you pledge to faithfully serve Camrithia?”
    “I do,” said Trevin.
    “Do you
vow
to aid those who support this realm and oppose those who threaten it?”
    Trevin felt Varic’s gaze. “I do.”
    King Laetham nodded. “I therefore grant you the favor and authority of the king’s house.” He took Melaia’s hand, and they descended to the field, where Melaia lifted a sword from a