her against the oncoming storm. He turned his head to rest his chin in the crook of her elbow and scanned the map, his enormous eyes shining in the firelight. Wynter stroked him gently, her attention on Alberon. The Prince was staring down at his father’s kingdom, his eyes bright with some inner calculations. Razi was watching him closely.
‘Why have you not tried to work this out with the King?’ she whispered. ‘Why do you assume you must do this alone and outside of his consent?’
Alberon smiled. ‘You expect me to tell him of Marguerite’s planned usurpation of her father? He would go to Gunther instantly, and Marguerite would be dead.’
‘And this would be a bad thing?’ murmured Razi. ‘Only hours ago you were berating Father’s lack of ruthlessness in dealing with your own . . . disagreements.’
Alberon’s lips curved into a tolerant smile, his eyes roving the port road. ‘Gunther Shirken is an unpredictable canker. I am convinced it is only a matter of time before he turns on us. Marguerite will be a much stronger ally to Father’s throne – and I intend to see her take power whatever way she can. Of course, Father will never tolerate her insurrection, but once she is actually on the Northland throne Father will be free to accept her as an ally without ever having supported her deposition of the former King – it will be very neat for him.’ He chuckled bitterly. ‘Very politic.’
‘If you do not trust your father’s allies then you should discuss it with him, Albi.’
‘I tried, Wyn,’ said Alberon. ‘But thanks to your father and our brother, the King refuses to listen to me. Lorcan convinced him of Shirken’s strength and stability – regardless of Marguerite’s many testimonies to the contrary. And Razi here has convinced him that our allies in the Moroccos are as strong as ever. So Father remains confident of them both. He is quite thoroughly blind to their vulnerabilities.’
‘That is because those vulnerabilities do not exist!’ cried Razi. ‘The only threat here is Marguerite and you are aiding her in her plans!’
At this first open expression of Razi’s anger, Alberon’s face abruptly darkened and his mouth compressed with sudden impatience. ‘That is your opinion,’ he snapped.
‘Who would know the facts better than I? Listen, Alberon, for the last five years Lorcan and I have fought to keep Father’s alliances strong. We—’ ‘Fought?’ said Alberon. He slammed his hand down on the table, startling Wynter. ‘Fought? You have never fought a day in your life, Razi! What is battle to you? Nothing! Nothing but a word!’
‘Albi,’ said Wynter, shocked at the unexpected rage in her friend’s face.
‘No, Wyn! No! This must be said!’ Alberon leaned across the table and hissed directly into his brother’s face. ‘Where were you, brother? When the dead were piling up and we were soaked in the blood of our own men? Where were you, when we were waking morning and night to screams and the smell of rotting flesh? Fighting, were you? Fighting? I think not!’
Razi opened his mouth to speak and Alberon slammed the table again, making the beakers jump. ‘I will not see that again!’ he cried. ‘I will not wake to that again! All your words did not stop it, Razi! All your talking did not stop it! So do not sit there now, with your court speech and your court clothes, and tell me that you have fought, because YOU HAVE NEVER FOUGHT!’
Coriolanus mewed in fear, and Wynter clutched him to her. ‘Albi,’ she whispered, ‘stop.’
Alberon slammed his hands down again, small-beer splattering darkly across the face of his map.
‘This will work!’ he screamed. ‘It will work!’
He grabbed desperately at the stained map, his eyes huge and rimmed with red, and for a moment Wynter thought he would tear it to pieces. Then, to her immense surprise, Razi reached across and gently covered Alberon’s clenched fist with his hand.
‘Alberon,’ he said, ‘I am sorry.’
Alberon flinched and gazed down at Razi’s dark hand as if uncertain of what it was.
Razi squeezed his fingers. ‘I am sorry,’ he said again. ‘Of course I can never understand what you have endured.’
Alberon looked up into his brother’s face and slowly sank into his chair, apparently dazed.
His shouting must have alarmed his soldiers, because men began running up the hill towards them, their armour clattering in the dark, their panicked voices calling out, ‘Your Highness! Your Highness!’
Wynter and Razi sat back and carefully lifted their hands into sight.