“No—never you, lady,” the earl said, changing instantly to a penitent, his hands out and palms down. “You’ve heard of the shelter I gave your father, but surely you must know the old king needed it. I’ve only brought him to Hartfare, so he might find rest with Brona—this son of mine’s mother. It was kindness to a king I have loved, my lord, my lady. That is all.”
“Is kindness what made you write to Aremoria and offer allegiance against ourselves?” Connley asked, smooth and low as a wolf’s warning growl.
“Filthy traitor,” Regan said.
“Lady, I am none!” Errigal stepped to place himself nearer Ban, who noticed it with a sick sort of satisfaction. He fought against a terrible smile; he mustn’t show his hand too soon, but remember when Errigal came to Hartfare and tore Ban from his mother, without a care to what Ban needed or wished; when he shoved his son onto a horse, taking him away from love forever, saying it was for their own good, that Ban was too low for Elia’s glory; every fondly applied description ofbaseand so many hearty, easy laughingother sons,as if Ban would cease to exist if his father were to do so.
Connley said, “You deny your words?”
Errigal broadened his shoulders, ignored the remnants of rain trailing down his face and beard, and lifted his chin proudly. “I do not; though I deny—only—that they make me a traitor.”
“We thought you were our friend, Errigal.”
“You betray us by siding with my father!” Regan said. “You betray even murdering, terrible Lear and the entire island by turning to Aremoria!”
Errigal pointed a thick finger at her. “You betrayed him, and yourselves, and this island first, lady, by casting your king out, by treating him as the enemy—him who was nothing but father to you! You put yourself opposed to Lear and goodness, and the stars themselves, and soyouopposed this island and its crown.”
“No,” Regan said. “My sister and I are crowned here. By the stars and our own father’s word, him who you obey like an unthinking dog.”
Ban caught his breath. Surely Errigal would leave, attack, something, now—he could not stand for such talk. Ban’s palms tingled for action. He realized he stood poised on the balls of his feet.
Errigal seethed through his teeth and said, “I would never allow a man—a father—to suffer as you have allowed it—it is cruel, unnatural as this storm! You are unnatural.”
“Draw your sword,” Connley commanded, drawing his own. “You will die tonight, at my hand.”
Only Errigal wore no sword.
“Son—” Errigal said, reaching for Ban’s.
Ban felt lightheaded, abuzz with lightning energy. He was the storm outside, and he gripped his sword, pulled it a handspan free, then stopped. He stared at his father’s desperate face, at the uneven line where beard hung from cheeks, the damp corners of his big eyes, the handsome nose, his still-youthful mass of dark blond hair. How many times had Ban been so desperate, and his father refused to see or care?
Ban shoved his sword home in its sheath with a sudden, sharp snick. “I’ve seen no sign from the stars I should help you, sir.”
This moment was the last drop of honey, the first whisper from a beloved voice. Worth every betrayal, without space for regret.
“Ban!” Errigal cried.
The Fox smiled.
“There is no place to flee,” Connley sneered. “For my retainers are here, and yours will follow the Fox.”
Regan said, “Heis become Errigal, old man.”
Anger drained from Errigal’s eyes as he looked to his bastard. “Ban,” Errigal said, his voice a husk of its old rich self.
“They are your sun and moon now, Father,” Ban said, sickly triumphant, afire with revenge. “Your fate is in their star-sharpened hands.”
He could not stay, could not remain indoors, sheltered from wild nature and the reveling wind. Turning even from the duke and his lady, from the hot, raging fire, from the warmth of the room and his own father, Ban the Fox walked out into the storm.
ELIA
“WILL WE ARRIVEsoon, Elia? I don’t know how much longer these thighs can hug this beast,” Aefa called from behind her. They rode single file, for this track to Hartfare was narrow. Branches reached down for them, while ferns and sharp bushes reached up, making a constant scratch at shoulders, knees, boots, and their horses’ backsides as they pushed through.
Rain drizzled through the thick black trees, heavy enough that Elia was glad of the hunter’s hood, for her hair did not react pleasantly to being wet. Water drained down the back of the hood, occasionally pooling forward at the tip just above her eyes, then loosing a fat drop onto her breast. As with the ocean, this rain distorted the voice of the trees, and so she only could hear a jumble of the White Forest’s words.
Elia lifted her hand to wave her understanding back at Aefa. The girl did not like horses, but she had kept her groans to a minimum, since this was faster than walking. They’d borrowed the horses and Elia’s hood from Lear’s own retainers, whom they’d met at the outskirts of the forest. The men had set up their tents there, until their king would emerge again. According to Captain Seban, the king and his Fool had been led into the forest by the Earl Errigal himself, only a few days past. They couldn’t bring their entire force to Hartfare, and so there they camped on the plain.
Though Seban wished to send some guard with the princess, Elia insisted she did not need it, for she’d visited Hartfare before, and knew the way. At Elia’s first blood, Regan had brought her, reluctant to travel so far without Gaela, but determined to give Elia what their mother had once given Regan.
