Relations between Akielos and Patras were friendly and extensive, but Prince Torveld and Prince Damianos had never met. Torveld had spent most of the last eighteen years on Patras’s northern border, in dealings with the Vaskian Empire. Damen knew of him by reputation. Everyone knew of him. He had distinguished himself in the campaigns to the north when Damen was still in swaddling. He was fifth in line to inherit, after the King’s litter of three sons and a daughter.
Torveld’s brown eyes grew markedly warm and appreciative when he looked at Laurent.
‘Torveld,’ said Laurent. ‘I’m afraid my uncle is delayed. While we wait, I thought you could join my pet and I for some air on the balcony.’
Damen thought Laurent’s uncle probably wasn’t delayed. He reconciled himself to an evening of listening to Laurent lying a great deal, about everything.
‘I’d be delighted,’ said Torveld, with real pleasure, and gestured for one of his own servants to accompany them also. They strolled together in a small party, Laurent and Torveld in front, and Damen and the servant following a few steps behind.
The balcony had a bench for courtiers to recline on and a shadowed alcove for servants to discreetly retire to. Damen, his proportions suited to battle, was not built to be discreet, but if Laurent insisted on dragging him about by the neck he could suffer the intrusion, or find a balcony with a bigger alcove. It was a warm night, and the air was perfumed with all the beauty of the gardens. Conversation unfolded easily between the two men, who surely had nothing at all in common. But of course, Laurent was good at talking.
‘What news from Akielos?’ Laurent asked Torveld, at one point. ‘You were there recently.’
Damen looked at him, startled. Laurent being Laurent, the topic was not an accident. From anyone else, it would have been kindness. He couldn’t help his pulse quickening at his first word of home.
‘Have you ever visited the capital, at Ios?’ asked Torveld. Laurent shook his head. ‘It’s very beautiful. A white palace, built high on the cliffs to command the ocean. On a clear day you can look out and see Isthima across the water. But it was a dark place when I arrived. The whole of the city was still in mourning for the old King and his son. That terrible business. And there were some factional disputes among the kyroi. The beginnings of conflict, dissent.’
‘Theomedes united them,’ said Laurent. ‘You don’t think Kastor can do the same?’
‘Perhaps. His legitimacy is an issue. One or two of the kyroi have royal blood running through their veins. Not as much as Kastor, but gotten inside of a marriage bed. That situation breeds discontent.’
‘What impression did you have of Kastor?’ asked Laurent.
‘A complicated man,’ said Torveld. ‘Born in the shadow of a throne. But he does have many of the qualities needed in a king. Strength. Judiciousness. Ambition.’
‘Is ambition needed in a king?’ said Laurent. ‘Or is it simply needed to become king?’
After a pause: ‘I heard those rumours too. That the death of Damianos was no accident. But I don’t credit them. I saw Kastor in his grief. It was genuine. It cannot have been an easy time for him. To have lost so much and gained so much, all in the space of a moment.’
‘That is the fate of all princes destined for a throne,’ said Laurent.
Torveld favoured Laurent with another of those long, admiring looks that were starting to come with grating frequency. Damen frowned. Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.
To hear that Akielos was
weakened was as painful as Laurent must have meant it to be. Damen’s mind tangled with the thought of factional disputes and dissent. If there was unrest, it would come first from the northern provinces. Sicyon, maybe. And Delpha.
The arrival of a servant, trying not to show that he was out of breath, forestalled whatever Torveld might have said next.
‘Your Highness, forgive my interruption. The Regent sends that he is awaiting you inside.’
‘I’ve kept you to myself too long,’ said Laurent.
‘I wish we had more time together,’ said Torveld, showing no inclination to rise.
The Regent’s face, when he saw the two princes enter the room together, was a series of unsmiling lines, though his greeting to Torveld was genial, and all the right formalities were exchanged. Torveld’s servant bowed and departed. It was what etiquette demanded, but Damen could not follow his example, not unless he was prepared to wrench the leash bodily out of Laurent’s hand.
Formalities done, the Regent said, ‘Could you excuse my nephew and I for a moment?’
His gaze came to rest heavily on Laurent. It was Torveld’s turn to withdraw, good naturedly. Damen assumed that he was to do the same, but he felt Laurent’s grip tighten subtly on the leash.
‘Nephew. You were not invited to these discussions.’
‘And yet, here I am. It’s very irritating, isn’t it?’ said Laurent.
The Regent said, ‘This is serious business between men. It’s no time for childish games.’
‘I seem to recall being told to take on more responsibility,’ said Laurent. ‘It happened in public, with a great deal of ceremony. If you don’t remember it, check your ledgers. You came out of it richer by two estates and enough revenue to choke every horse in the stables.’