Three strikes, then four. On the fifth, Skyre struck low and feinted left, and his blade found the prince’s throat. Jor gazed at him with those amber orbs, burning with a fire all their own.
For a moment, Skyre thought he recognized it.
“It’s a nice trick.” He backed away and lowered his sword. Jor hesitated before doing the same. “I admit,” Skyre said, glancing down at his arm, “I expected better gifts.”
“Apologies… my Vaich.”
“You’re a good fighter. You’ll make a strong addition to my Féin.”
The prince had no time to answer, as Greyv came up and slung an arm around Skyre’s shoulder. “Giving out invitations already? What a busy man you are.”
“Indeed,” said Jor. “In truth, I’d hoped to make introductions at my father’s vigil. Unfortunately, His Majesty’s schedule proved unwieldy.”
Skyre cut his eyes to him. “It has been… a trying week.”
“The ceremony was just there.” Jor nodded towards the tower that peeked over the bailey wall. “Things are certainly dire if our king hasn’t time enough for a short walk.”
“I met your father once,” said Skyre, sending a jolt through the other man’s features. “Long ago, he came to visit me at Righnach’Dúir. I would spare you what he said to me.”
Jor’s lips stayed taut. “Surely, he spoke honorably. He was an honorable man. Atrueking.”
Skyre stepped forwards, but immediately, Rask was between them.
“Enough! Air’s full of elch. Get a drink or a tug—I dinnae care which, just get a move on.” The elder waved off the younger men, guiding Skyre away by the shoulder. The Vaich tried to resist, but the man’s fingertips dug in. “Squirm all you like, there’s nae getting off this leash.”
Skyre scowled. “I had it under control.”
“Horseshit,” Rask grumbled. “If you did, we wouldn’t be here a-nis. You forgot, didn’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
Skyre glared, but said nothing, and that was answer enough.
Rask shook his head. “All those years I spent teaching you, and you’re still an idiot.”
Skyre opened his mouth to protest, but the older man silenced him with a look. Suddenly, he was small again, standing amongst the grove. Rask—fifteen years younger—watched over him with a stern look.
That never changed.
Skyre sighed. “I wasn’t lying. It’s been a rough week.”
“You think this rough? I rode with Lach’Dun against the Swarm of Escgalia. Three years we fought the bastards, till our skin rubbed bare and our bones shone. You have no idea how rough the shit can be, and the more you speak, the bigger fool you look. Men dinnae want a king that’ll lose a spar to them. They dinnae want a king who cannae tell his head from hisass. You’re not in the woods anymore, boy. The days of spoiled heir are over. You are Vaich. And right now? You’redistracted.”
Skyre wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, feeling like a scolded child. He knew better than to think Rask the man who’d coddle his bruises, and yet he felt small, still, beneath his eyes.
“We raised you better than useless apologies.”
“I’ll work harder.”
Rask nodded. “You ken, when I first saw you, I thought… this little bastard’ll kill me.”
Skyre smiled as the old man continued, a memory playing across his weathered face.
Even when speaking of distant things, Rask was rarely sentimental. To him, everything was a duty, and the past was nothing more than a lesson. He’d been a man of the kingsguard since he was old enough to serve, thus he had never had children of his own; No sons of seed to grow or teach.
Maybe for that reason, when he spoke of those bygone days, his stony eyes almost twinkled.
“Two kings I’d grown aside. But I wasn’t so young the second time. I remember the eagerness on your face. Holding a sword for the first time—the blade damned near bigger than you.” The old man chuckled. “You were ready, but more, you werewilling.”
