third son of Lord Harris. A happy family living in some comfort, with sun and orchards, vines and river fishing. Byron’s stories did indeed help Edyon forget his headache and even his buttocks until they approached their next destination.
* * *
• • •
That evening, as he entered the banqueting hall and saw another feast laid out, he muttered, “Shits, I’m going to have to do this every night?”
Lord Regan was just behind him and replied, “Indeed, Your Highness. And I’m curious as to what subject you’ll educate us about this evening. Another treatise on prison life? Or another attempt to heap acclaim on your ‘friend’ who helped you face the trials of your journey?”
Edyon winced. Byron hadn’t mentioned that, though perhaps only Regan noticed, as he knew who March was. He knew who March was, of course, because March had been part of a plot to kill him.
Well, damn them both. Edyon poured himself a large goblet of wine. The hair of the dog will help, and I’ll make as many ridiculous speeches as I like.
And that night he made another speech, this time passionately talking of the demons and their powerful smoke, how it can make boys strong and also heal. “The threat from Aloysius and his boy army is something we all must face one day,” he said.
When he’d finished, their host, Lord Haydeen, thanked him with a smile. “The smoke certainly is powerful, as is this wine!”
Edyon looked around the room and wondered if anyone had actually listened to him, if anyone believed anything about the demon smoke or the jails or anything at all.
Edyon made his excuses about being tired after his jour-ney and left the hall to go to his bedchamber. As he got there, he saw a servant leaving the room next door with Regan’s boots. “What are you doing with those?” Edyon asked.
“Taking them to be cleaned and polished, Your High-ness.”
“Take mine too,” Edyon said, and he showed the servant to his room, where his riding boots were. All the time Edyon had that old feeling buzzing in his head, his arms, his fingers. “Shits,” he muttered to himself.
He watched the servant leave. Regan’s room was a few steps down the corridor. He could be in it in a moment. No one would know.
Edyon went to his bed, sat on it, and muttered to himself, “No. I mustn’t. I must resist. Stealing is bad. Even though it’s Lord ‘I’m curious as to what subject you’ll educate us about this evening’ Regan. He won’t even take the threat of the smoke and the boy army seriously! He’s got off lightly so far. He’s lost a pair of gloves and a shitty little vase. He could lose everything.” And, before he knew it, Edyon was out of his room and entering the one next door.
Regan had been given a large room, with a seating area and the bed at the far side. Edyon wandered around, his fingers twitching.
Regan’s clothes were laid over the stool and a very nicely embroidered nightshirt lay on the bed. “I somehow can’t imagine Regan in a nightshirt,” Edyon whispered to himself and held the shirt up. It was of fine fabric and very soft. “Who’d have thought it?” He threw the nightshirt to the floor, resisted the urge to stomp on it, and went to the stool. Regan’s riding trousers and jacket were there, as were his knives. Edyon drew one out, inspecting it—long and slender, it caught the candlelight brightly and looked to have the sharpest of blades. Had this knife fought against March?
Edyon dropped the knife and it speared the floor. He picked it up and put it back in the sheath.
There was a large, heavy chest of drawers, on which was a small mirror and two silver hairbrushes. The mirror was made for traveling, it seemed, as it folded apart to make a stand and then together again to be compact and to protect the mirror itself. The silver surround was finely engraved with the picture of a tree by a river.
Edyon had to have it.
“It’s too beautiful to belong to Regan.” With that, he slid it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He was opening the door to leave when he heard footsteps approaching. And a voice.
Regan! Shits!
Edyon shut the door quietly and ran back into the room. But now what?
Under the bed? Out of the window?
Too late. The door was opening and all Edyon could do was slide behind a large, solid wooden corner chair and