“At least you have sparring to look forward to tomorrow,” Relam put in, grinning.
“Be ready. I’ll have plenty of frustration piled up,” his father warned. But he looked considerably more cheerful now that Relam had reminded him of their practice the next day. Relam just hoped that the pending discussion about Aven wouldn’t derail everything too badly.
The king finished his sandwich and stood. “Well, might as well get it over with. I suppose you’re off to other errands, Marc?”
“Yes, sire,” the king’s chatelain said happily. “I have some reports from my officials along the coast. A study on seasonal shipping routes and some of the dangerous weather we’ve been seeing recently.”
“Such as?” Relam asked, interested.
“Ice storms,” Clemon told him, shaking his head. “Massive thunderstorms that drop ice balls from the heavens and freeze the rigging. Several ships have been lost. Merchants are looking for alternative ways to ship their wares around the south rather than having their goods sunk.”
“Makes sense,” Relam muttered.
“The only problem is there are not many established land routes in the area,” Clemon went on, warming to his theme, his voice adopting a stuffy, all-knowing air. “With the Fells isolating Ishkabur and providing a significant barrier to trade east and west-”
“Fascinating,” the king interrupted. “I’m off to court.”
“Have fun,” Relam called. His father grunted in reply.
“-and with the rivers running high from all the heavy rains in the middle and upper latitudes, many of the fords are impassable. The world almost seems to be against trade!”
“I doubt that’s the case,” Relam said patiently. “Things will settle down and everything will get back to normal.”
“They better,” Clemon muttered. “There’s too much for me to keep up with right now.”
“Speaking of, I have work to do,” Relam said, standing quickly. “Excuse me, Lord Clemon.”
“Of course, your highness.”
Relam retreated to his room quickly and locked the door, before Clemon could start on another topic of conversation. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Relam sank onto his bed and closed his eyes. He knew he had just dodged a major bullet. The king’s chatelain was becoming an all too familiar visitor to the royal suite.
For the rest of the afternoon, Relam alternated between sitting quietly and thinking about the upcoming trials, and working on his carving. The hindquarters of the dragon were nearly finished now, but progress was slower. Every sliver of wood shaved from the block had the potential to either make the model slightly better or ruin it completely. He was contemplating how best to do the legs and feet when he heard his name being called from the main room.
Relam quickly stowed the carving and went to the door, opening it slightly. When he saw his mother standing there, he opened the door wider, smiling slightly.
“Nearly dinner time,” she said by way of greeting. “Did you have a good day off?”
“I still got some work done,” Relam said, shrugging. “A little training in the courtyard.”
“You may be the most dedicated and hard-working prince to ever live here,” his mother observed, smiling radiantly.
“I just want to make sure I pass the trials,” Relam said, stretching.
“There shouldn’t be any doubt about that,” the queen said. “You’re more than ready.”
“We’ll see. Is father back yet?”
“No,” his mother replied, shrugging. “You know how court days go sometimes.”
“Long,” they said in unison. Relam grinned, remembering long ago times when he had spent entire days in the company of one or the other of his parents. Now, that was restricted to moments like these. Moments he intended to take advantage of at every opportunity.
“How was your day?” Relam asked after a momentary pause.
“Empty,” his mother replied, smiling ruefully. “I got bored enough that I decided to visit some of the other ladies of the court.”
Relam nodded, remembering what the guards had told him when he returned from practice that morning. “Yes, the guards said you were visiting friends.”
“That may be stretching it,” the queen murmured. “The lords and great lords are difficult on the best of days. Their ladies are nearly as bad, and perhaps more dan-” She broke off, biting her lip worriedly.
“More dangerous?” Relam asked gently.
His mother shook her head. “Forget I said anything. They may be unpleasant, stuffy, and full of themselves, but what royal court isn’t?” She gave a wan smile and sat near the fire, shivering slightly, the traces of a frown still lingering on her face.
Relam leaned against the mantle, supported by his left arm, braced against the rough stone just above head height. “Do you ever get the feeling some nobles don’t like us?” he asked quietly. “That some may actually hate us?”
His mother looked up, startled. Then, just as quickly, she wiped the expression from her face, feigning puzzled concern. “Hate us? What makes you say that?” Then, she faked an understanding smile. “Young Garenes again, I suppose?”
Before Relam could answer, she plowed ahead. “You are young yet, Relam. These squabbles and rivalries will pass with time. Your father had some disputes with nobles growing up as well, but now he gets along with them.”
“Only when he has to,” Relam murmured thoughtfully.
“Well, you can’t blame him. He has a warrior’s heart after all. Both of you do, actually.”
Relam stared into the flames thinking, wondering if his continual spats with Garenes were just what his mother made them out to be. Or if they were something more significant. He was startled from his reverie when the outer door slammed open. Relam spun in a flash, reaching for his left hip, where his sword normally hung.
He relaxed as he recognized his father stumping wearily across the room, scowling fiercely. If he had noticed Relam’s reaction, he gave no indication.
“Perfect timing,” the queen said, rising. “How was
