The Falcon Throne (The Tarnished Crown Series) by Karen Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

had turned to ice, freezing heart and bone. “I don’t remember lending you my tongue. Tell me, brother, what else did I say?”
    “Balfre—”
    “
What else?
”
    Grefin turned away, his own temper escaping. “D’you think you can defy the duke and be winked at? Kill a man, and be winked at? So you’ll wait one more year before you’re Steward. That’s
nothing
.”
    “Says the man who’s been made Steward in my place!”
    “Oh, Balfre.” Turning back, Grefin shook his head. “Can you think of no one but yourself? The duke held that old rump Herewart in his arms and
wept
. That old rump is broken with his grief. It was his
son
you killed.
Fuck
. I begged you not to hold that joust. Why, just once, didn’t you listen to me?”
    A good question, in hindsight.
    Abruptly exhausted, Balfre dropped again to the settle. “So that’s that, is it? You’re to be Steward and I’m to be made a laughing stock.”
    Grefin dropped to the settle beside him. “I’m sorry.”
    As if that made any difference. As if that made what he’d done all right.
    “Aimery does what he must for Harcia,” Grefin added. “He might not be the easiest of fathers but he is a good duke.”
    “Sometimes,” he admitted, grudging, then let out a slow breath. “But mostly he scares me shitless. He loves peace so much he’s afraid to think of war. He thinks Clemen is no danger. He thinks Harald—”
    “Is a fool and a rascal who’ll stumble into trouble without our help.” Grefin looked at him sidelong. “And he’s right.”
    “I know you think so. But Gref, what if he’s wrong?”
    “What if he is? Are you saying the only remedy must be the spilling of Clemen blood?”
    “Clemen’s spilled our blood, in the Marches.”
    “And we’ve spilled theirs,” said Grefin. “We’ve both of us done our share of bleeding. But do you want Marcher squabbles spilled over the borders? Would you flood both duchies scarlet?”
    “I’d never let it come to that. I don’t want Clemen ruined. Just brought to heel.”
    In the fireplace, flames flickered. Shadows danced on the tapestry-hung stone walls. With a muttered curse Grefin braced his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands to his face.
    “When we were boys,” he said, muffled, “after Malcolm was squired to Deness of Heems and it was just the two of us, you always wanted to play King of Harcia. Remember? You brandished a wooden sword and wore a crown you wove from willow-wands, and when I wouldn’t call you
Your Majesty
you’d get so angry…”
    Balfre’s heart thudded hard. “Doesn’t every boy dream of being a king?”
    “Maybe.” Grefin let his hands fall. Shifted a little, to look at him squarely. “But we’re not boys any more.”
    “More’s the pity. Things were fucking simpler then.”
    A startled moment, then Grefin laughed. “Yes. They were.”
    “And you have to admit, Gref, they’d be simpler now,” he pointed out, carefully careless, “if the old kingdom returned and Harcia and Clemen were reconciled under one rule. Clemen’s people would be happier were they rid of cursed Harald.”
    Grefin thudded his shoulder blades against the wall. “No doubt. Only the last king of Harcia died some two hundred years ago and those crowned days died soon after when the kingdom split. I know you still dream of the old Harcian kingdom reborn, Balfre, but you must know that’s folly. It’s far too late to turn the clock back.”
    Said Aimery and his faithful echo Grefin. But they were mistaken. Ancient wrongs could be put right. Stolen thrones could be reclaimed.The Kingdom of Harcia had been mighty, once… and would be again, when he was done.
    But that wasn’t something he was ready to share with his brother.
    “I know,” he said, heaving a deceptively rueful sigh.
    “Do you?” Grefin frowned. “Really?”
    “Yes, really.” He punched a fist to Grefin’s knee. “It’s late. You should go. Mazelina will be thinking I’ve shoved you down the