he felt he could lead me about like a pup on a string . . . ah!’ He had spied something in the alley and it sent him to his feet. Straightening his shirt, he reached for the scarlet long-coat that he had shaken out earlier and hung upon the awning poles. ‘Come along, Wyn. Up, up!’
She must have looked entertainingly confused, squinting up at him, because he smiled and nudged her with his boot. ‘Up!’ he said, shrugging into his coat. ‘You too, Christopher. Look lively, brush yourselves off and put on your cloaks, will you? Try and look a little dressed up.’
They climbed uncertainly to their feet and made a desultory effort to straighten their hopelessly crumpled clothes. Razi sighed and shook his head. ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘You will have to do.’
He turned to Alberon’s lieutenant, who was just at that moment coming to the mouth of the alley with three of Alberon’s personal guard.
The lieutenant bowed uncommonly low. ‘My Lord,’ he said, ‘his Royal Highness would see you now, if you have a moment.’
Razi nodded grimly and adjusted his collar. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘If we hurry, we will be just in time for David Le Garou to witness this.’ He followed the lieutenant out into the dust and noise of the camp. The soldiers fell protectively into place at his back, and Wynter and Christopher trailed behind.
‘Did he mean me to come along?’ whispered Christopher anxiously.
Wynter shrugged, frowning. It seemed unlikely that Razi would take Christopher into Alberon’s presence. Perhaps he meant to leave him on guard outside the tent? It would be a wonderful honour, but even so, a little presumptuous on Razi’s part, especially in light of his recent shaky relations with the Prince. She tugged nervously at her cloak and trotted along, struggling to keep pace with Razi’s long stride.
Christopher peered around the lofty entourage, trying to catch a glimpse of Alberon’s tent. ‘The Prince is watching from the top of the hill,’ he murmured. Then he straightened in alarm and ducked back in behind the soldiers. ‘Good Frith! He’s coming down!’
Wynter dodged swiftly to the left, glanced up the slope and dodged back again. Alberon was indeed striding down the steep path, blatantly heading towards his brother. Oliver followed calmly in his wake, his eyes scanning the crowd.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ hissed Christopher. ‘We misunderstood.’ He scrubbed his hands anxiously on his trousers. ‘Look at me,’ he moaned. ‘I’m like a God-cursed gypsy. I ain’t washed myself nor brushed my teeth. I don’t even have my sleeves rolled up! I’ll shame our lad!’
He began furtively trying to push his sleeves to the tops of his arms. Wynter gripped his hand to make him stop. ‘Stay easy,’ she whispered. ‘We’re just here for show, the Prince will pay no heed to—’
‘Brother!’ bellowed Alberon, loud enough to shake the birds from the trees. ‘I am delighted that you could attend!’
Razi answered, almost as loud, ‘You have but to think it, your Highness, and I am there!’
The soldiers on the road turned in curiosity, and Wynter understood at once that she was part of a display: the loud, public, irrefutable resumption of communication between the Royal Prince and his bastard brother. She glanced over her shoulder and saw David Le Garou leaning weakly at the corner of the supply tents. He was glowering at the proceedings with undisguised frustration and rage.
The brothers met near the middle of the hill, close enough that the men on the road could hear their exaggerated conversation, elevated enough that they could be seen by all. With practised diplomacy, Alberon’s lieutenant gestured his men aside so that all could witness the Prince clasp his brother’s forearm and, in a thoroughly courtly gesture of filial accord, clutch Razi to him in a brief embrace. They stepped apart and Razi bowed low. Then, to Wynter’s immense surprise, he turned to indicate her.
‘Your Highness,’ he said. ‘The Protector Lady Wynter Moorehawke has come in the name of the King to offer her affection and support. Despite her recent terrible loss, our beloved sister could not rest easy until she found you and confirmed your Highness’s health with her own eyes.’
Alberon turned to her.
‘Protector Lady,’ he said loudly, ‘we join you in mourning the loss of your great father. I am deeply moved that, despite the depths of your grief, you have journeyed here to find me. You are a credit to your sex, Lady, and an example to all.’