Changes

“Maybe.” Bear finally stood up and straightened his back. “Let’s get some nuncheon.”

As Mags had expected, there was a new class schedule waiting for him in his room when he returned from eating. It wasn’t at all bad, actually. Weaponry practice every day at the end of the day, although it would be a much shortened version of the class and would include no riding. Three days a week, classes specific to being a Herald—on this schedule, property law, criminal law, and surveying. Three days a week, classes common to all three Collegia—history, math, geography. Seven-day off, except that Mags knew very well that Seven-day was likely to be spent trying to catch up with things he’d miss because Nikolas needed him and he’d skipped a class or two.

Still.

He grabbed what he would need for his afternoon classes and made his way over to Bardic, which was where the history class was going to be taught.

It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that the class was going to cover the reign of King Bedwyn, which just happened to be a period he knew something about. He’d come across a book about that time that was written so well he’d borrowed it and read it for pleasure—the dog-eared state of the book had given mute evidence that he was not the only person to have felt that way. Math he had never had much difficulty with, and although geography was a new subject for him, it was just memorization. He could do that while he was down in Haven at night.

He went to weaponry practice feeling that he just might manage to survive this summer in a relatively sane condition.

That feeling of confidence vanished the moment he stepped into his room and found Nikolas waiting.

The sounds of the crickets outside coming through the open windows seemed suddenly as loud as shouts.

The King’s Own tossed him a small saddlebag as he stood up, and Mags caught it. Since Nikolas was still in uniform and he was not suggesting that Mags change now, presumably the saddlebag held a change of clothing, and they would assume their disguises elsewhere. Mags felt his stomach tense up a little. He reminded himself that this was not the first time he’d gone into Haven in disguise for Nikolas.

But it was the first time he was doing so as Nikolas’ partner. He shivered a little, despite the still sultry heat.

“Rolan and Dallen are saddled and ready. I’ve already established myself as a pawnbroker and clandestine receiver of stolen goods,” the Herald said, holding open the door into the stable. “Time to add you to the mix. Now, it’s been my experience in these situations that the simpler the story is the better, and the more you can get people to assume things, the stronger your disguise will be. Your notion of playing deaf fits into that perfectly. No one can question you, and you can listen to whatever is going on and no one will ever suspect you of eavesdropping. I’d prefer if you were mute as well—” He paused, waiting for an answer to the unspoken question.

“I’d already recked t’do thet.” Mags nodded. “Bein’ mute means I ain’t got nothin’ I need t’keep straight. Ev’body ’spects lad what’s deaf t’be mute anyroad. We jest wiggle our finners at each other an’ Mindspeak what we’re sayin’, an’ nobuddy th’ wiser.”

He followed Nikolas out into the stableyard where Roland and Dallen were waiting. Mags noticed something he hadn’t, before. This groom was very familiar—in fact, every time that he recalled Nikolas going out clandestinely, it had been this groom who’d prepared Rolan. And now that he knew Nikolas had a special circle of assistants—

He’d be daft not t’hev a special groom.

They mounted up and rode out into the dusk. Fireflies danced over the lawns—it looked as if the King had planned for the Court to remain indoors tonight. Only lovers would be in the gardens at this hour.

The Companions’ hooves chimed softly on the road, but there were always Companions going up and down at most hours. No one would notice two more. The evening breeze was just beginning to cool things off. In a way, Mags regretted this. It would have been a fine night to just laze about . . .

Once they were on their way, Nikolas resumed the conversation.

“I am going to tell anyone that asks a different story about who you are and why I have you,” he continued, as they passed a Gatehouse with two Guards keeping a watchful eye on both sides of the wall. “The one thing I will never say is that you are my son. This will mean, of course, that virtually everyone will be sure that you are. If anyone calls you my son, I will deny it furiously, which will only cement their certainty. Willy Weasel is not the sort of man who would take in a deaf-mute for the sake of charity; only being my son could possibly prompt me to do such a thing.”

Mags had to chuckle at that name. “Willy Weasel? Where’d ye git thet name?”

“Allegedly I look like a weasel,” Nikolas replied, with an amused glance at him. “I am also very good at what they call ‘weaseling a bargain.’ People don’t win unless I let them.”

They were among the homes of the highborn and wealthy now. There were little garden parties going on in several. Mags was glad he had eaten, as savory scents wafted over the wall from one garden all lit up with tiny lanterns. One whiff and his mouth was watering a little even though he’d had dinner; if he’d been hungry, it would have driven him insane. “Aight. I be yer son, on’y ye ain’t gonna say so. What else am I?”

Nikolas pondered that for a moment. “The Weasel wouldn’t have a woman about, because he doesn’t trust them, so your mother must either have abandoned you or is dead.”

Mags shrugged. “Tell it both ways,” he suggested. “Let ’em guess. Hev ye ever talked ’bout me afore?”

“I actually have spoken of you now and again,” Nikolas said, and he turned slightly so Mags could see his grin. “I’ve been planning on getting you on this from the beginning. I’m usually grumbling that you are not there when I have taken in a piece of jewelry, or that you are asleep in the loft of the shop when I want something taken down off a high shelf. So you have been established as a young relative with an uncanny power for judging gemstones. No one will be particularly surprised to see you with me tonight. Although—” now Nicolas chuckled “—at least one person will be very disappointed. He has been passing me what I suspect to be inferior gemstones. You will put a stop to the practice.”

“Should be able to, sir.” Mags affirmed. Here he knew he was on firm ground. No one was going to be able to