The Still Read Online Free

hesitated to say “friend.” A Prince of Caledon dared have no friend.
    In the presence of his family we adopted semi-formal manners. In their company he was accustomed to give me the bow of intimacy, that nod of the head and the so-slight movement of the back. But, secluded in the orchard, we’d sprawl easily in the soft cool grass, and he would hear out my confidences, and offer his own.
    He knew how I felt about my uncles, about the earls of the realm. He’d heard which lessons I liked and which I could barely abide. Heraldry, for example. Why in Lord of Nature’s name should a young royal have to study the marks on shields and banners? We had clerks for that folderol.
    Today, we settled ourselves in his bedchamber on the third floor of the keep. He threw himself across a billowy divan; I crossed my legs in a thick, rough-carved cherrywood chair. I told him of my encounter with obstinate old Griswold. Rust said little, but snickered when I told how I’d been made to clean the stables.
    I glared. “Great consolation you give.” Still, I felt better for the telling.
    “Prince Rodrigo the stableboy!” Rust’s chest shook with a silent spasm.
    “You mock me?” I scrambled to my feet, hand momentarily brushing my dagger.
    “Oh, sit, dunce. Laugh at yourself before others do. Then they’ll have no need!”
    Nonsense, of course. But, grumbling, I bore it, and let him coax me back to my seat. Rust was the only one I could talk with about Tantroth, Duke of Eiber. There was no doubt of our family’s position in that regard; everyone, including the uncles, expected Rust’s father Llewelyn to defend his keep and the city or die in the attempt, and there’d be no forgiveness should Llewelyn falter.
    I led the talk in a roundabout manner, so Rust wouldn’t know my concern. We spoke first of clothing, and after a time I mentioned the bright dyes for which Eiber was famous. “They’re fitting me for a cloak of Eiber orange,” I said. Then, casually, “I suppose I should bid them hurry, lest the supply is interrupted.”
    “How? By war?”
    “It’s always possible.”
    Rust pondered. “They say Eiber bristles with war implements, and Tantroth seeks an excuse to use them. Just a year ago he seized the Isle of Malth under some silly pretext.”
    “And started a blood-feud with the Norlanders, who claim it.”
    “He keeps a full-time army, you know. Imagine armed men who never return to their crops. A wonder his whole earldom doesn’t starve. Of course with such a horde he’s in no danger of falling. The dye trade should be safe.”
    “Unless he wars on a second front.”
    Rust leaned back, crossed his arms behind his head. “Ah, why didn’t you say so?” A gentle amusement was in his eyes. “Yes, he’ll attack us, when the time is right. At least, that’s what Father says.”
    I listened.
    “He’ll try for what he’s always wanted, Roddy. You’ll have to face it.”
    “Imps take his grandfather, anyway.” I kicked at a pillow.
    It was ancient history. First came Varon of the Steppe, who wrested Caledon and Eiber from Cayil of the Surk, and held them as fiefdoms. The son of his second marriage was Rouel, grandfather of Tantroth, the Duke of Eiber. But Varon’s son by his first marriage was Tryon, my mother’s father.
    On Varon’s death the Steppe collapsed, overrun by the fierce Norlanders. Tryon seized Caledon, the most prosperous province, and was able to hold it even without benefit of the Still. His half brother Rouel, who seized Eiber, claimed Caledon was his by will of their father.
    Over a generation’s time the Seven Wars decided the issue in our favor. After Tryon died, Mother was able to wield the Still, which balanced Eiber’s Cleave that sundered friends and allies. Now, the descendants of Rouel were the Nordukes, who held Eiber, in theory, as a vassalage of Caledon.
    “Curse them all you wish,” said Rust. “It won’t help Elena hold the realm.”
    “If only she had the ...”