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and more than enough.”

      Vars groaned at the trap in that, then went and dressed, finding a flask of wine and sipping it as he went. He offered it to Lyril, who also took some. They headed out into the castle, making their way through its twists and turns, down toward the great hall.

      “Your highness, my lady,” a servant said as they passed, “the feasting has already begun.”

      Vars rounded on the man. “Do you think I need you to tell me that? Do you think I’m stupid, or that I have no idea of the time?”

      “No, my prince, but your father—”

      “My father will be busy with the politics of it all, or he will be listening to Rodry boast about whatever my brother has done now,” Vars said.

      “As you say, your highness,” the man said. He made to go.

      “Wait,” Lyril said. “Do you think that you just get to go? You should apologize to the prince, and to me, for interrupting us.”

      “Yes, of course,” the servant said. “I am most—”

      “A proper apology,” Lyril said. “On your knees.”

      The man hesitated for a moment, and Vars leapt in. “Do it.”

      The servant sank to his knees. “I apologize for interrupting you, your highness, my lady. I should not have done it.”

      Vars saw Lyril smile at that.

      “No,” she said. “Now go, get out of our sight.”

      The servant all but ran off at her command, like a greyhound after a rabbit. Vars laughed as he went.

      “You can be deliciously cruel sometimes,” he said. He liked that in her.

      “Only when it is amusing,” Lyril replied.

      They kept going, down to the feast. Of course, by the time they entered, it was in full swing, with everyone drinking and dancing, eating and enjoying themselves. Vars could see his half-sister up at the front, the center of attention along with her husband-to-be. Why the child of a king’s second wife should warrant such attention was beyond him.

      It was bad enough that Rodry was there with a cluster of noble youths in one corner, receiving their admiration as he told and retold stories of his exploits. Why had fate seen fit to make him the oldest? It made no sense to Vars when it was obvious that Rodry was about as suited to the future role of king as he was to flying by flapping his over-muscled arms.

      “Of course, a wedding like this provides possibilities,” Lyril said. “It brings together so many lords and ladies…”

      “Who can then be made into our friends,” Vars said. He understood how the game worked. “Of course, it helps if one knows their weaknesses. Did you know that Earl Durris over there has a weakness for smoking blood amber?”

      “I did not,” Lyril said.

      “Nor will anyone else, if he remembers that I am his friend,” Vars said. He and Lyril continued through the crowd, slowly drifting in their separate directions. He could see her eyeing up the women, trying to decide all the ways that they were less pretty than her, or weaker, or just not of her level. Probably trying to decide all of the advantages she could gain with them, too. There was a hardness to that assessment that Vars liked. Maybe that was a part of why he’d been with her so long.

      “Of course, that’s another reason not to join the hunt tomorrow,” he said. “With all the idiots away, I can do what I want, maybe set things up to my advantage.”

      “Did I hear some mention of the hunt?”

      His brother’s voice was as booming and as bluff as ever. Vars turned to Rodry, forcing the smile he’d learned to force through so much of his childhood.

      “Rodry, brother,” he said. “I hadn’t realized that you were back from… where was it you and Father went again?”

      Rodry shrugged. “You could have gone and found out.”

      “Ah, but you went running,” Vars said, “and you’re the one who matters to him.”

      If Rodry caught the sharpness of it, he didn’t show it.

      “Come on,” Rodry said, clapping him on the back. “Join me and my friends.”

      He made joining the bunch of young fools who all but worshipped him as a hero sound like some great gift, rather than a horror Vars would have paid solid gold to avoid. They played at being like his father’s Knights of the Spur, but not one of them had made a name for himself yet. His smile became more strained as he walked into the heart of them, and he grabbed a goblet of wine as a welcome distraction. In just a brief space, it was gone, so he grabbed another.

      “We’re talking about all the hunts we’ve been on,” Rodry said. “Berwick says that he once took down a boar with a dagger.”

      One of the young men there gave a bow that made Vars want to kick him in the face. “I was gored twice.”

      “Then perhaps you should have used a spear,” Vars said.

      “I broke my spear on the training grounds of the House of Weapons,” Berwick said.

      “When were you last on the training grounds, brother?” Rodry asked, obviously knowing the answer. “When will you be joining the knights, as I have?”

      “I train with the sword,” Vars said, probably a little more defensively than he should have. “I just think that there are more useful things to do than spending every waking moment doing so.”

      “Or maybe you just don’t like the thought of facing up to an enemy ready to cut you down, eh, brother?” Rodry said, clapping Vars on the shoulder. “The same way you don’t like going on the hunt, in case something happens to you.”

      He laughed, and the cruelest thing was that his brother probably didn’t even see it as hurtful. Rodry wasn’t a man who went through the world with any care, after all.

      “Are you calling me a coward, Rodry?” Vars said.

      “Oh no,” Rodry said. “There are some men who are meant to be out in the world fighting, and others who are better off staying at home, right?”

      “I could hunt if I wanted to,” Vars said.

      “Ah, the brave knight!” Rodry said, and that got another of those laughs that no one there would see as cruel except Vars. “Well then, you should come with us! We’re going down into the city to make sure we have the weapons we need for the morrow.”

      “And leave the feast?” Vars retorted.

      “The feasting will last days yet,” Rodry shot back. “Come on, we can pick you out a fine spear so you can show us how to hunt boar.”

      Vars wished he could simply walk away, or better yet, smash his brother’s face into the nearest table. Maybe keep smashing it until it was a pulp, and he was left as the heir he should always have been. Instead, he knew he was going to have to go down into the city, across the bridges, but at least down there, he might find someone on whom to take his anger out. Yes, Vars was looking forward to that, and to more beyond it. Maybe even to being king one day.

      For now, though, the part of him that screamed to stay safe to avoid danger was telling him not to confront his brother. No, he would wait for that.

      But whoever got in his way down in the city was going to pay.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Devin swung his hammer, bashing it down on the lump of metal that was due to become a blade. The muscles on his back ached as he did it, the heat of the forge making sweat run through his clothes. In the House of Weapons, it was always hot, and this close to one of the forges, it was almost unbearable.

      “You’re doing well, boy,” Old Gund said.

      “I’m sixteen, I’m not a boy,” Devin said.

      “Aye, but you’re still the size of one. Besides,

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