“If I were twenty years younger—”
“But you’re not, Father,” Jera admonished.
“I can get around better than he can!” the earl thundered, pointing a bony finger at Alfred.
“But you can’t do anything to help Haplo.”
“All our plans will remain the same, My Lord,” added Tomas. “We just include one more in our numbers, that’s all.”
“Perfectly simple and safe, the way my wife and Tomas have worked it out,” Jonathan stated, regarding the duchess with pride. “When we have the prince, we’ll meet you at the gate, just as we’ve planned.”
“Everything will be fine, Father.” Jera leaned over, kissed the old man’s wrinkled cheek. “This slumber time will mark the beginning of the end for the Kleitus dynasty!”
The beginning of the end. Her words passed through Alfred like the ripple of the Wave, tingling his nerves, leaving him feeling wrung out and flattened when the sensation had passed.
»
“You can’t appear at court in those clothes,” Jera told Alfred, eyeing his faded velvet knee breeches and shabby velvet jacket. “You would call far too much attention to yourself. We’ll have to find robes that fit you.”
“Begging your pardon, my dear,” said Jonathan, after Alfred’s transformation had been effected, “but I don’t think you’ve improved matters much.”
Alfred’s stoop-shouldered walk gave a false impression of his height, making him seem shorter than he actually was. Jera had first thought of clothing him in a gray robe of Tomas’s, but the young man was short for a Sartan and the robe’s hem hit Alfred about mid-calf. The effect was ludicrous. The duchess searched for the longest garment she could find and eventually outfitted the Sartan in one of Tomas’s cast-off court robes.
Alfred felt extremely uncomfortable in the black robes of a necromancer and made a feeble protest but no one paid the least attention to him. The robes hit him at a point slightly above his large, raw-boned ankles. He was able to wear his own shoes, at least; no other pair could be found that came close to fitting over his feet.
“They’re bound to take him for a refugee,” said Jera, with a sigh. “Just keep your hood over your head,” she instructed Alfred, “and don’t say a word to anyone. Let us do the talking.”
The robe was worn loosely belted around the waist. Tomas added an embroidered purse to be carried at the belt. Jera would have added an iron dagger—to be hidden in the purse—but Alfred adamantly refused.
“No, I won’t carry a weapon,” he said, recoiling from the dagger as he might have recoiled from one of the deadly jungle snakes of Arianus.
“It’s only a precaution,” said Jonathan. “No one trunks for a moment we’ll actually have to use these weapons. See, I have mine.” He displayed a dagger made of silver, inlaid with precious jewels. “It was my father’s.”
“I won’t,” Alfred said stubbornly. “I took a vow—”
“He took a vow! He took a vow!” the earl mimicked in disgust. “Don’t force it on him, Jera. It’s just as well. He’d probably cut off his own hand.”
Alfred did not carry a weapon.
He had supposed that they would sneak into the palace in the dead of the dynast’s slumber hours. He was considerably astonished when Tomas announced shortly after dinner that it was time they departed.
The farewells were brief and matter-of-fact, as between those who know they will meet again shortly. Everyone was excited, on edge, and didn’t appear in the least fearful or cognizant of danger. The possible exception was Tomas.
Having caught him in what he was certain was a lie about Haplo, Alfred watched Tomas carefully and fancied that the easygoing smile was forced, the carefree laugh was just a split second too late to be natural, the eyes had a tendency to dart away whenever anyone looked at him directly. Alfred considered mentioning his suspicions to Jera, but rejected the idea.
I’m a stranger, an outsider. They’ve known him far longer than they’ve known me. She wouldn’t listen to me and I might make matters worse instead of better. They don’t trust me, as it is. They might decide to leave me behind!