He was somewhat amazed, a seven-day later, when he heard that Rulyar had Impressed a brown dragon who called himself Garanath. The Fort Hold boy had Impressed a green.
“That was to be expected,” he heard his father say, but he didn’t dare ask why that was expected. CHAPTER FIVE
Robinton was nine when his father, looking for some musical score, came across those Merelan kept safely in her worktop drawer.
“Whose scribblings are these?” he demanded, pausing to read the top one. Without even noticing that his wife was speechless, he looked at two more before tossing the tight roll back in the drawer.
She seemed stuck in the doorway, an open message in one hand, a very odd expression on her face.
“What are you looking for in my desk?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice reasonable. She was furious with him for discarding the – to her – priceless examples of her son’s musical genius, let alone going through her things.
“Any blank sheets. I’ve run out,” he said, irritably pawing through the variety of objects, rather disgusted by the clutter. “You really ought to clean this out once in a while, Mere.”
“I keep cleaned pieces there, in plain sight,” she said, enunciating each word with angry clarity and pointing with a stiff finger to the box on top of her desk.
“Oh, yes.” Lifting several out, he began to examine each one.
“Mind if I borrow these?”
“As long as you replace what you take.” She was having difficulty remaining calm and had mangled the message into a ball.
“Well, no need to get huffy,” he said, suddenly noticing her stiff
posture and angry glare. I’ll get more at lunch.” He started out of the room and then turned back. “Who did write those tunes? You?” He smiled in an effort to appease her anger. “Not bad.”
She was so angry at his condescending smile and tone that she blurted out the truth. “Your son wrote them.”
Petiron blinked in astonishment. “Robie wrote those?” He started back to her worktop, but she moved swiftly from the door to stand in front of it. “My son is already writing music? You’re helping
him, of course,” he added, as if that explained much.
“He writes them with no help from anyone.”
“But he must have had some help,” said Petiron, trying to reach around her for access to the drawer. “The scores were well written, even if the tunes are a trifle childish.” Then his jaw dropped. “How long has he been writing tunes?”
“If you were any sort of a father to him, paid any attention to what he does, ever asked him a single question about his classes,” Merelan said, letting rip all her long-bottled-up frustration, “you’d know he’s been writing music’ – she stressed the word – “for several years. You’ve even heard the apprentices singing some of the melodies.”
“I have?” Petiron frowned, unable to understand either of his mate’s shortcomings: not telling him about his own son’s musicality and not informing him that apprentices were learning songs written by his own son. “I have!” he said, thinking back to the tunefulness he’d heard from Washell’s classes. Of course, the songs were suitable to the abilities of the age group but … He stared at Merelan, coming to grips with a sense of betrayal which he had never expected from her, his own spouse. “But why, Merelan? Why keep his abilities from me? His own father?”
“Oh, so now he’s your son instead of mine,” Merelan snapped back. “Now that he shows some prowess, he’s all yours.”
“Yours, mine, what difference does it make? He’s what – seven Turns old?”
“He’s nine turns old,” she said, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door hard behind her.
Petiron stood staring at the closed door, the echo of the definitive slam ringing in his ears, the hand which held the clean sheets raised in entreaty.
knowing Rob’s age. But however did a man relate to his son until the boy was old enough to understand his father’s precepts and philosophies? Able to appreciate his father’s achievements? Able to accept his father’s training? No, Petiron decided at that instant, he would keep Robinton under his direction, to be sure that he received the requisite training. Nor would Petiron make a favourite of his son in the Hall simply because of their relationship. The boy would have to measure up to the same standards as every other apprentice …