“If you were trained to it, certainly,” said Romilly, “but you should begin with a small hawk, a ladybird or sparrow hawk so that your arm will not tire and your fatigue trouble the bird. I had better take Prudence now,” she added, for the small arm was trembling with tension. She set the bird on a perch. “And laran can do nothing but help you to make your mind in tune with the bird’s mind. But the climate here is too cold for ordinary hawks; for that you must wait till you return to the lowlands, I think.”
The boy sighed, looking regretfully at the bird on the perch. “These are hardier than hawks, are they not? Are they akin to kyorebni?”
“They are not dissimilar in form,” Romilly agreed, “though they are more intelligent than kyorebni, or than any hawk.” It seemed disloyal to Preciosa to admit it, but after the few days rapport with the sentry-birds, she knew these were superior in intelligence.
“May I help you, dom-Rumal?”
“I have mostly finished,” Romilly said, “but if you wish, you can mix this green stuff and gravel with their food. But if you touch the carrion, your hands will stink when you go to choir.”
“I can wash my hands at the well before I go to the choir, for Father Cantor is very fat and always late to practice,” said the boy solemnly, and Romilly smiled as he began portioning the gamy-smelling meat, sprinkling it with the herbs and gravel. The smile slid off quickly; this child was a telepath and the son of Lyondri Hastur, he could endanger them all.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“I am called Caryl,” the boy said. “I was named for the man who was king when I was born, only Father says that Carolin is not a good name to have now. Carolin was king, but he abused his power, they said, and was a bad king, so his cousin Rakhal had to take the throne. But he was kind to me.”
Romilly told herself; the child was only repeating what he had heard his father say. Caryl finished with the bird-food, and asked if he might give it to one of the birds.
“Give that dish to Prudence,” said Romilly, “She is the gentlest, and already, I can see, you have made friends.”
He carried the dish to the bird, stood watching as she tore greedily into it, while Romilly fed the other two. A bell rang in the outer court of the monastery, muted softly by the intervening walls, and the boy started.
“I must go to choir,” he said, “and then I must have my lesson. May I come tonight and help you feed the birds, Rumal?”
She hesitated, but he said earnestly, “I’ll keep your secret, I promise.”
At last she nodded. “Certainly, come whenever you like,” she said, and the boy ran away. She noticed that he wiped his hands on the seat of his breeches, like any active youngster, quite forgetting his promise to wash at the well.
But when he was out of sight, she sighed and stood motionless, ignoring the birds for the moment.
Lyondri Hastur’s own son, here in the monastery – and it was here that Dom Carlo was to meet with King Carolin, with his gift of valuable sentry-birds, and to raise an army in the city. It was not impossible, she supposed, that he might know the king by sight, so if Carolin was in the city in disguise and came near the monastery, he might recognize him, and then…
What do I care which rogue keeps the throne? Her father’s words echoed in her mind. But Alderic, who seemed quite the best young man she had ever known beside her own brothers, was Carolin’s sworn man, perhaps even his son. Carlo and Orain, too, were loyal to the exiled king. And his councillor, Lyondri Hastur, whatever his son might say, seemed to be one of the worst tyrants she had ever heard about – or so the story of what he had done to Alaric’s children seemed to indicate.
And she was Dom Carlo’s man, at least while she took money in his service. He should know of the danger to the man he called his rightful king. Perhaps he could warn Carolin not to come near the monastery, while there was a child there who would recognize him and penetrate whatever disguise he might wear. Sharp indeed were the boy’s eyes and his laran … he had seen that Romilly was a woman.