‘And announce the Protector Lady Moorehawke and the Lord Razi to his Majesty the King!’
There was a sound within the tent of something clattering to the ground, and the captain ducked inside, leaving the lieutenant to stare anxiously at Wynter’s angry face. Within the tent, Jonathon’s voice said, ‘It is him? It is him?
’ ‘Announce us,’ she hissed, ‘or suffer the consequences.’
‘I suggest you do as the lady commands,’ said Razi darkly.
The lieutenant opened his mouth, but the door was pulled back before he could reply, and the captain stepped out again, his face tight with anxiety. ‘My Lord Razi,’ he said formally, ‘Protector Lady Moorehawke. The King bids you enter.’
He stood aside, leaving the door clear, and Wynter hesitated.
Razi, her noble friend, looked solemnly down on her from his great height. He radiated all his usual kindness, an indomitable source of strength; but Wynter knew he was depending on her. She knew everything was depending on her. Alberon, the King, the very kingdom itself: it all rested on her shoulders. Without thinking, she turned to Christopher. Wordless, her heart fluttering in her chest, she gazed at him. He gazed silently back.
I can’t do this, love. What do I say?
‘Protector Lady?’ said the captain.
What do I say?
‘The King awaits, Protector Lady!’
‘In the end, you can only tell him the truth,’ murmured Christopher. ‘How he reacts is up to him.’
He was right, of course. Anxiously, she clutched Alberon’s folder and stepped back. She felt on the point of being overwhelmed; still, her voice was steady when she said, ‘Wait here, Freeman Garron, Lord Sólmundr. Please keep the dog in check.’ They bowed, and Wynter turned to go.
Christopher said, ‘Protector Lady.’ She turned back. He leaned in to speak warmly in her ear. ‘We’ll be all right, lass, you and me, no matter what. Just do your best, it’s all anyone can do.’
She tilted her head just for a moment, so that her cheek touched his, then pulled back. He smiled at her – that shamelessly blatant, lopsided smile – and Wynter felt the familiar warm surge of affection for him. ‘This will be done soon,’ she said. ‘And then we shall decide where it is we most want to go, and what it is we shall do with our lives.’
‘That would be nice,’ he said. He glanced up at Razi. ‘Don’t worry, Doctor.’ He tapped his temple. ‘You don’t need anything more than what you’ve got up there already.’
Razi squeezed Christopher’s hand for a moment. The captain coughed pointedly. Wynter nodded. And she and Razi turned and headed for the door.
The King had just begun to rise when they ducked into the tent, but at the sight of Razi, he paused in mid action, his face slack with shock. The captain made as if to follow them inside, and the King whispered for him to get out. For the briefest moment, the captain hesitated in the doorway; then he nodded, stepped outside and pulled the tent-flap shut behind him.
The King stayed where he was, staring at his son.
Razi moved cautiously into the tent. He looked the King up and down, and Wynter could see him trying to reconcile his memory of the small, dark Victor St James with the hugely imposing, blond man who was actually his father.
‘Your Majesty?’ he asked.
‘Razi?’ whispered the King. ‘Son.’
Jonathon pushed himself upright and Wynter’s heart sank as she realised that he was, once again, quite drunk. ‘Son!’ he cried and shoved out from behind his table, toppling a folding chair in his haste.
The King descended upon them. Razi flinched, lifting his hands as if to ward off a blow. But Jonathon just grabbed him and pulled him into a rough embrace, causing Razi to stagger under his unsteady weight. Clenching his fist in Razi’s dark curls, the King buried his face in his son’s shoulder.
‘You live,’ he said. ‘You live.’
Razi, his hands held out from his sides, submitted with alarmed confusion. His eyes met Wynter’s across the top of his father’s head, and she lifted Alberon’s folder, nodding encouragingly that he should speak. ‘We have . . .’ he said uncertainly. ‘That is, the lady and I have . . .’
At Razi’s mention of her, the King turned to Wynter. ‘Child,’ he said, ‘I am sorry. Poor Lorcan. There was nothing I could do.’
Wynter made a tiny sound of grief, but that was all she could manage. Her throat was suddenly too small to allow words. She had not realised that she had been clinging