back down and stood squinting up at Úlfnaor, his hand shading his eyes.
‘His Royal Highness thanks you for your duty,’ he said. ‘You may give me the papers.’
Wynter’s heart dropped. Úlfnaor sat for a moment, his face a raw canvas of shock. Then his eyes hardened and he sat straighter, his expression cold. He said nothing.
The lieutenant went blandly on: ‘You have my permission to rest your people and your horses while you await your reply. There will certainly be food available, should you be short of supplies.’
He held his hand out for the papers, no trace of deference in his face. Wynter knew for certain then that he was acting on Alberon’s orders, and that this was a calculated snub against the Merron leader. She wondered if this was an indication of Albi’s attitude to Úlfnaor himself; or was it supposed to reflect his feelings for Marguerite Shirken, whom Úlfnaor represented?
Úlfnaor remained coldly silent. Sólmundr, however, abruptly clucked his own horse forward, forcing the lieutenant back until he was a respectful distance from the Merron leader. Then Sól drew his mare to a halt and sat looking down on the lieutenant with all the scorn an eagle might show an ant.
‘This my High Lord and Shepherd, Úlfnaor, Aoire an Domhain,’ he said softly. ‘He come bearing papers from Royal Princess Marguerite Shirken of Northlands. He come with permission granted to negotiate with Royal Prince Alberon of Southlands, on behalf of Princess and also on behalf of all the Merron peoples. You may to announce him to your master as a leader of state and member of royal line of Merron peoples. Then you have my permission for to escort us into Royal Prince Alberon’s presence.’
The lieutenant faltered for a moment, and Wynter saw him calculating his options. She felt sorry for the man, caught between the Merron’s fierce nobility and his master’s orders. But when the lieutenant turned to scan the party of coldly staring Merron, this sympathy did not prevent Wynter from straightening like the rest of them and glowering at him with all the haughty disdain she could muster. The lieutenant turned on his heel and took the long walk back to Alberon’s tent.
Once the soldier had disappeared from sight, Úlfnaor turned to look Razi in the eye. The question was plain in his face: If this goes the way we thought it would, shall I do as we discussed? Razi nodded, and Úlfnaor turned front as the lieutenant made yet another appearance. There was someone with him, and Wynter’s heart bumped when she recognised who it was. Oliver! Dear God, it was Oliver. Razi’s hands tightened on the pommel of his saddle, and Wynter saw him lean forward slightly as the man they had called ‘Uncle’ began making his way down the slope towards them.
It was five years since Wynter had last seen Oliver, but he was much as she remembered him. He was shorter than King Jonathon, his dark hair fine and straight, but he had the same vivid blue eyes as his royal cousin, the same athletic build. He was thin now, though, his face older than it should be, his eyes strained. Wynter watched as Oliver approached the waiting Merron and she remembered with sadness all this man’s great kindness, all his sly sense of fun. They had been such fast friends, Oliver, Jonathon and her father. He had been such a loyal subject. What had happened to cause him to plot in secret against his King, and to welcome Jonathon’s enemies to his table?
Oliver came to stand by Sólmundr’s horse, and Wynter felt cold determination close over her heart and seal off her fond memories. Uncle or not, this man was now a traitor to Jonathon’s throne. He had knowingly acted against the King, and he had enticed the King’s heir to do the same. At the very least, he had a lot of explaining to do.
‘You refuse to hand over the royal papers?’ Oliver asked, his Hadrish flawless, his cultured voice cold.
Sólmundr began to reply, but Úlfnaor raised his hand to silence him. The warrior bowed to his leader and drew his horse back into formation.
‘I feel certain in my heart that there has been mistake in carrying my introduction to the Royal Prince,’ said Úlfnaor quietly. ‘I certain of this, because if Royal Prince knowed that I am diplomatic envoy for Royal Princess, come with full permission also to negotiate for my peoples, he would have greet me with honour