Nobody's Son by Sean Stewart Read Free Book Online Page B

young men; my heart tells me that he speaks the truth.”
    Mark looked at him gratefully. Now that’s more like a knight should be. When you’re a Duke, make that man welcome in your castle any time .
    “We…” The King faltered. “We confess ourselves amazed. Anujel, Vultemar: advise us.” Two head bowed down to whisper in his ears, one gaunt and grey, the other pink and fat.
    The Queen waved her ample arms. “Well if he must remain, at least he should be clean. Lord Peridot, your honour and your courtesy would like arise in our esteem were you to be a gentleman and give this boy your cloak.”
    A courtier in fawn- and peach-coloured silks bowed, a smile quirking his thin face, and unbuckled a flowing apricot cloak, trimmed with ermine.
    The Queen turned to a lady-in-waiting. “Cousin Lissa, an you will, take the mantle from this gentleman,”—her nose wrinkled—”and have it burned. Ready a chamber, and in it salvers of steaming rosewater, and a ball of soap.” She frowned at Mark. “Perhaps two balls.”
    In her place beside the youngest princess, Lissa nodded.
    A smile lit Her Majesty’s plump face. “You swear that this is not some prank, set to tease the humour of the Court? ‘Tis very like your sense of wit, Lord Peridot, to send a cloddish knave to us, enwreathed in borrowed glories.”
    Can’t you hear the sword, you daft awd sow ? “No joke, Your Majesty, though I look like a scarecrow and stink like a sty.”
    The Queen clapped her hands. “Ooh! And witty to boot!”
    O Lord.
    Should I have bowed when she yapped at me?
    Mark had felt strong and free when he despised them all, all the preening courtiers. But now his moment was slipping away, sinking between the King’s scowl and the Queen’s silly smile. He glanced at Her Highness, trying to guess if she was waiting for him to kneel or something.
    … And found his eyes caught by the youngest princess, the one who had grinned when he burst into the room.
    Mark had always imagined princesses as tall and willowy, with straw-coloured hair and a distant expression; rather like Lissa, the lady-in-waiting. But Princess Gail was short and stocky; she had a vixen’s face, shrewd and small, with short brown hair and gold-brown eyes. She wore tights and tunic of the royal black, belted with’ a gold sash at the waist: Too short for the butter-churn style , he guessed. She even had a knife jammed through her sash; no toy neither, but a good dagger like the one he’d left in the Wood, with a broad blade and a worn bone handle.
    Gail looked at him like an archer staring down a target.
    Mark’s heart stopped; jumped; and died, a stag shot leaping.
    “What fun!” the Queen exclaimed. “Lissa, also Master Civet find, and Master Bolt,” she said, as the lady in waiting approached to take Mark’s grimy cloak. “By their craft those tasteful gentlemen must turn this Shielder’s Mark from duckling into swan, if he will paddle in our pond.”
    Lord Peridot was bowing to Mark. Mark’s jaw snapped shut and with a supreme act of will he dragged his eyes off the Princess.
    Peridot was a small man, and slender. As he bowed he held his right hand across his chest; Mark saw that he was missing the index finger. “My greetings, cousin. May I offer you my cloak while yours is… on its way?”
    “Th-thank you,” Mark stammered.
    “Is something wrong?” Peridot’s thin lips quirked into a sharp smile. “Perhaps, my country cousin, you find in my disfigurement the footprint of the Devil. Do you long to hold your fingers horned to ward against my Eye, or step so that my shadow does not fall across your own? You would not be the first to blanch at my affliction.”
    “No, no, not at all,” Mark said, flushing. His eyes fled Lord Peridot’s hand.
    Sir William was staring at him.
    So was the Princess.
    He wished himself under the earth.
    … No, goddammit !
    He had braved the Ghostwood, and broken the spell not even Aron could undo. Is the man who holds