They walked in silence the rest of the way, arriving at the Citadel shortly. The guards hardly glanced at them, heaving the doors open and letting them in. Cevet was a regular, one of D’Arnlo’s students and his father was the greatest of the minor lords. There was no reason to delay them.
As they passed through the gate, Lord Thius pulled one of the guards to the side. “Do you know where D’Arnlo is?” he asked quietly.
“In his office, probably, preparing for training,” the guard said, nodding to Cevet. “Does that sound right to you, sir?”
“Seems reasonable,” Cevet agreed.
“We’ll look there first,” his father said, smiling. “Thank you, soldier.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
As they moved deeper into the Citadel, Cevet leaned towards his father. “What do you want to see Master D’Arnlo for?” he murmured.
“There are some things we need to discuss,” his father said evasively, looking around and straightening his robes and stoles. “Urgent business.”
“He won’t like you delaying training,” Cevet warned.
“He’ll understand, trust me,” Lord Thius replied breezily, starting up the stairs that led to D’Arnlo’s study. “Now, come along, quickly.”
Cevet followed his father up the stairs, wondering what this was all about. They passed the exit onto the third level courtyard, where soldiers were drilling under the watchful eyes of their sergeants. Cevet watched for a moment, lingering in the stairwell. What it must be like to be a professional soldier, a Citadel guard! There was no more honorable posting for a warrior, no more prestigious assignment.
“Cevet! Come along,” his father urged. “Don’t want to delay D’Arnlo any long than I have to.”
Cevet followed obediently, though their rapid ascent was beginning to wind him a little. The stairs were steep, meant to be climbed by athletic, strong men who spent every day in physical training. In short, meant for warriors. Not for slightly undersized sons of minor lords, skilled as Cevet might be.
Finally, they reached the top of the central tower, emerging into the wide hallway that circled the top level. The view was spectacular, even with the dreary season. Cevet walked to the nearest window and gazed south over the harbor, marveling at the frosted ships and the glittering, ice-covered harbor mole. His father, meanwhile, went straight to D’Arnlo’s door and rapped peremptorily.
The door was answered by a Citadel guard in burnished armor, who looked Lord Thius up and down disinterestedly. “Can I help you?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m here to speak with Master D’Arnlo,” Cevet’s father said grimly.
“He is busy preparing for morning training,” the guard informed him. “If you would care to wait until later, you may, or I can take a message-”
“Like hell you can,” Lord Thius growled, shoving past the Citadel guard and into the room. The guard chased after him and the door slammed, leaving Cevet alone in the corridor.
The young warrior blinked, surprised. He had never seen his father lose his composure so easily. Something must really be wrong for him to be in such a state. Was it the disappearance of Relam? Cevet tried to remember if his father had ever been particularly fond of the prince. But no such recollection came to mind. Curiously, Cevet moved to the heavy wooden door and put his ear against it, listening.
“Really, Ryker, I don’t see what the problem is,” he heard D’Arnlo snarl. “Now, out of my way. I have students to train and you are delaying me.”
“No,” Cevet heard his father reply. “I want answers. Were you involved with what happened last night?”
Cevet gasped, and pressed his ear closer to the door. What was happening?
“Perhaps,” D’Arnlo said in his oily smooth voice. “Why? Are events moving too fast for you to keep up?”
“A blatant attack like that looks immensely suspicious,” Lord Thius said quietly.
“Ah, but it gives us the opportunity we have been waiting for,” D’Arnlo countered. “The royal family gone, and a search must be organized. The military is best suited to step in and take control, don’t you think?”
“Seizing power now would look extremely suspicious. You can’t possibly-”
“Are you trying to back out, Ryker?”
“Well, no, but-”
“How fortunate. Because if you were, I would have to do the same thing to you that I did to the assassin I sent last night. The one who failed me.”
“Failed you? Does that mean the prince is on the loose?” Lord Thius asked, his voice hoarse.
“Perhaps.”
“This is a disaster. With him on the loose and not imprisoned he could reappear at any moment, expose us, and take the throne back. We need to back off, immediately, scrap the plan and wait for another opportunity.
“You fool, this is our opportunity.”
“How dare you speak to me that way,” Thius snarled. Cevet privately agreed, though he was too stunned by the implications of the conversation he was overhearing.
“Why shouldn’t I? You have been nothing but trouble, overcautious, timid, always second guessing my master plan to take the throne. And you tried to bring the Council into this despite my misgivings!”
“They preferred a more . . . peaceful resolution. I went along with their plan to send the king demands because I never expected him to do anything about them. If the demands had not been met, they would have joined us in a heartbeat.”
“It appears to me that you misjudged them badly.”
“Perhaps. In hindsight, it was a mistake to involve any of them. But at the time it seemed a good risk to take. Had we succeeded-”
“I’m beginning to wonder, Ryker, if it was a mistake to bring you into this,” D’Arnlo spat. “Your gambit with the bandits was pitiful.”
“It was working! Their continued operation was making the arm of the law look weak!”
“Weak enough that an untrained boy could lead a force of cavalry to wipe them out. You’re lucky
