nicking themselves with knives to let a few drops fall into a table goblet while they mouthed all sorts of holy prayers. Of course, each prince would naturally be the chosen heir, and so these little charades usually ended with the young princes rolling on the floor trying to thump the 'impostor' senseless. Pinch had always enjoyed egging them into a fight.
Why not? he decided. There was an irony that appealed to him. Now he could playact with the real thing while his dear cousins would go through the real ceremony with fakes.
The master rogue grinned and rolled up the sleeve on one arm. 'As you will, Sprite; I will show you.
'First, there's a whole lot of business that consumes time and makes the whole affair important. Every candidate has to step forward, announce his lineage, something like, 'I am Janol, only son of Sir Gedstad of Alkar.''
'Sir Gedstad?'
'My father, Maeve, or so I've been told.'
'Go on, go on. What happens next?' Sprite eagerly chattered. He propped his chin in his hands and watched intently, always keen on a good story. Even Therin, still hesitant about where he stood, leaned in a little closer.
'So then there's some business from the priests, presenting the Cup and Knife to each candidate. A lot of prayers and the like for blessing the whole thing.' Pinch actually managed to remember a few and mumbled them out while making pompous passes over the regalia. Without realizing it, he was letting himself get caught up in the business, letting it distract him from his own woes.
'When that's done, the two objects are passed down the line.' Setting the Cup in front of him, he took up the
Knife and very carefully sliced the tip of his thumb. The knife cut through his skin like soft cheese. It stung sharply for such a small cut and, given what he'd been through in the past two days, Pinch was surprised that he noticed it so much. Almost immediately blood began to form a ruby red bead. 'The prince pricks himself and squeezes a little blood into the cup.' He let a few drops fall into the golden goblet.
'The cup gets filled with wine'-Sprite hopped up and, cradling the jug, sloshed the goblet full-'and the prince drinks.'
Pinch raised the heavy goblet, waved it in toast to his friends, and drained it in one long draught. He set the Cup down like a tankard and let out a hearty belch before continuing. 'If the prince is the chosen heir, then he'll be surrounded by a-
'Glow!'
It was a breath of whispered astonishment, simultaneous from the three of them. Their gazes were fixed on him, wide eyed beyond all possibility. Sprite tried to step back and practically fell off his chair, while Therin had to lean forward and support himself on the table. Maeve's weak little chin trembled up and down as she tried to form her lips to say something.
'What is wrong with you three? What's going on?'
'You…'
'… you're…'
'… glowing.'
'What? I'm what? You're all drunk.'
They shook their heads.
Pinch snatched up the Knife and looked in the polished blade at his reflection. There it was, a golden nimbus around his head, like the sun setting behind a cloud. Looking around now, he noticed that the whole dark corner of the commons was awash in the sunset hue. In terror, he dropped the Knife and ran his hands over his body to make sure there wasn't some weird growth manifesting itself on him. There was nothing.
'Maeve!' he roared when he couldn't deny that he was indeed glowing. 'If this one of your tricks-the lot of you put me up to this!'
'No, dearie-I wouldn't. Honest,' Maeve squeaked. She was still staring at him wide eyed. 'Sprite?'
'Not me, Pinch. Wouldn't know how,' he gulped in terror.
The regulator just glared at Therin, and the man's mute astonishment was enough to set his innocence. Pinch sank limply into his seat. The reflection in the blade showed the glow was still there, slowly fading as he watched. At last it was gone, like the sun behind the horizon.
He felt drained. 'It's impossible.'
'It happened, Pinch. We all saw it.'
'It can't. It only works on those with royal blood.'
'What about your father?' Maeve questioned.
'He was a no-account knight who died in battle. Not him.'
'Your mother?'
'A lady-in-waiting to the queen, I'm told.'
'Are you sure?' Sprite asked.
'I don't remember my parents. All I know is what people told me about them.'
'Maybe they lied to you,' Therin suggested.
'Lied? Why?'
Therin looked thoughtful for a moment, fingering the Cup. 'You say this thing works only for royal blood. So who's got that in Ankhapur? The princes and Manferic-anybody else? Dukes, earls, counts, brothers of the king, people like that?'
Pinch shook his head. 'Manferic did in his brothers-and his uncles and sisters, the whole lot. Purged his family tree. He was determined that no one would challenge him.'
Sprite goggled. 'He murdered them all?'
'He was king-he had absolute power. If he wanted you dead, you were dead. The beauty of it was he didn't even have to do it himself. That's what lackeys like Cleedis were for.'
'If they're all dead,' Therin continued, 'and, like you say, that thing works only on royal blood-then Pinch, there's only one place it could've come from.'
The regulator swallowed a great gulp of wine. He needed it. 'You're saying-'
'Maybe that knight's not your papa.'
The four all stared at each other, nobody wanting to agree but unable to deny the conclusion.
'Crap.' Pinch broke the silence. 'Crap! Damn Manferic's cursed soul!' Years of pent-up fury surged out of him. He hurled his mug across the room, flung aside the table, and kicked away the chairs. Sprite went scrambling for the treasures as they skittered across the floor, while the landlord hurried in from the back room, brandishing his mace. He was confronted by a raging madman, swearing and cursing at demons he couldn't see. The sight of Pinch in this state was more than enough to keep the landlord at bay. Seeing as he had their belongings upstairs for security, the landlord wisely scuttled well out of the way.
The three let Pinch rage, not that they had any power to stop him. He fumed about the room, sullenly kicking at chairs and cursing Manferic with every oath he knew. When he'd run out of damnations and tortures to inflict on the lich and his kind, Pinch stopped and turned to the trio who waited at the table.
'That bastard robbed me of my birthright,' the master said as his shoulders quivered with exhaustion and rage. 'He let his precious sons drive me out fifteen years ago and didn't raise a hand to aid me. I was supposed to have been a prince, not some back-alley bravo.'
He righted a chair and slid it over to join the others. Enthroned on it, he lapsed into a dark silence. The others held their tongues. Their master was in one of his scheming moods, not to be disturbed until he returned to the surface with some plot in his grasp, like the diver who swims through the blind murk in search of the pearl.
Pinch pondered for a long time. There were so many questions and so many pieces: Manferic, Cleedis, Iron- Biter, and-most of all-the woman in the tunnels. Was she his mother? A nursemaid? A madwoman? Or something yet he could not fathom? There were too many questions.
'Therin, Maeve, Sprite-gather in,' he said when he at last raised his head and noticed them. With his arms beckoning he drew them close. 'How would you like to be rich-and respectable?' he asked with a conspiratorial whisper.
'Us, Pinch?' Sprite snickered. 'There ain't nothing respectable about us.'
' 'Struth for you, you little weasel, but I've a mind to be a lady someday,' Maeve sniffed. 'I could stand for
