“Come nearer, boy—”
Tretar coughed delicately.
Agah’ran took the hint. “Come nearer, Your Highness, that we may look at you.”
The count breathed again. The emperor was charmed. Not literally, of course. Agah’ran wore strong talismans that protected him against magic. Tretar, in his first interview with Bane, had been amused to see the human boy attempt to work some type of crude magic upon himself, some sort of enchantment spell. The magic had no effect, but its use was one of the first indications Tretar had that the boy might be telling at least part—if not all—the truth.
“Not too close,” said Agah’ran. Not all the perfume in Aristagon could mask the human smell. “There, that’s near enough. So you claim to be the son of King Stephen of Volkaran.”
“No, I do not, O Exalted Being,” said Bane, frowning slightly.
Agah’ran cast a stem glance at Tretar, who inclined his head. “Patience, My Liege,” he said softly. “Tell His Imperial Majesty your father’s name, Your Highness.”
“Sinistrad, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Bane proudly. “A mysteriarch of the High Realm.”
“A term the humans use for a wizard of the Seventh House, My Liege,” explained Tretar.
“Seventh House. And your mother’s name?”
“Anne of Ulyndia, Queen of Volkaran and Ulyndia.”
“Dear, dear,” murmured Agah’ran, shocked, though he had himself fathered more illegitimate children than he could count. “I fear you’ve made a mistake, Count. If this bastard is not the king’s son, then he is not the prince.”
“Yes, I am, My Liege!” Bane cried in childish impetuosity that was quite becoming and, moreover, quite convincing. “Stephen claimed me as his legitimate son. He made me his heir. My mother forced him to sign papers. I’ve seen them. Stephen has to do what my mother says. She’s head of her own army. He needs her support if he wants to remain king.”
Agah’ran glanced at Tretar.
The count rolled his eyes as much as to say, “What do you expect of humans?”
The emperor almost smiled, refrained. A smile might muss his paint. “Such an arrangement sounds quite satisfactory to all concerned, Your Highness. We sense something happened to upset it, since you were found on that Geg place. What’s its name…”
“Drevlin, My Liege,” Tretar murmured. “Yes, Drevlin. What were you doing down there, child?” “I was a prisoner, Your Radiance.” Bane’s eyes glittered with sudden tears. “Stephen hired an assassin, a man called Hugh the Hand—”
“Surely not!” Agah’ran’s painted eyelids fluttered.
“My Liege, please, do not interrupt,” Tretar admonished gently.
“Hugh the Hand traveled to the High Realms. He murdered my father, Your Imperial Majesty, and was going to murder me, but, before he died, my father managed to fatally wound the assassin first. But then I was captured by an elven captain named Bothar’el. He’s in league with the rebels, I think.”
Agah’ran glanced again at Tretar, who confirmed this with a nod.
“Bothar’el took me back to Volkaran. He figured that Stephen would pay to have me back safely.” Bane’s lip curled. “Stephen paid to have me out of the way. Bothar’el sent me to the Gegs, paid them to keep me prisoner.”
“Your Radiance will recall,” Tretar struck in, “that around this time, Stephen let it be known among the humans that the prince had been taken prisoner and murdered by elves. The story stirred up the humans against us.”
“But tell me, Count, why didn’t Stephen simply do away with the child?” Agah’ran asked, regarding Bane as if he were some sort of exotic animal, let loose from its cage.
“Because the mysteriarchs had, by this time, been forced to flee the High Realm, which, our spies tell us, has become untenable for their kind. They moved onto Volkaran and told Stephen it would be as much as his life was worth to harm the son of Sinistrad, who had been a powerful leader among them.”
“Yet the queen permits her child to remain a prisoner. Why would your mother allow such a thing?” Agah’ran asked Bane.
“Because if the people found out she’d been whoring with one of the mysteriarchs, they would have burned her for a witch,” said Bane, with an air of innocence that made his use of the crude, if descriptive, verb quite charming.