Iridal smiled reassuringly. “Very well done, Magicka,” she said.
Trian flushed in pleasure, not immune to praise for his art. He had serious business at hand, though, and moved to it swiftly.
He laid a hand on the arm of the stranger, who had risen when his king entered, then resumed his seat near the wizard’s desk. Stephen had been staring at the stranger as if he knew him, but could not place from where.
“I see Your Majesty recognizes this man. He has changed much in appearance. Slavery does that. He is Peter Hamish of Pitrin’s Exile, once royal footman.”
“By the ancestors! You’re right!” stated Stephen, banging his hand on the arm of the chair. “You went for a squire to my lord Gwenned, didn’t you, Peter?”
“That I did, sire,” said the man, smiling broadly, his face red with pleasure at the king’s remembrance. “I was with him at the Battle of Tom’s Peak. The elves had us surrounded. My lord was struck down, and I was made prisoner. It wasn’t my lord’s fault, sire. The elves come upon us unexpected—”
“Yes, Peter, His Majesty is fully aware of the truth of the matter,” interposed Trian smoothly. “If you could proceed on to the rest of your story. Don’t be nervous. Tell it to Their Majesties and the Lady Iridal as you told it to me.”
Trian saw the man cast a longing glance at the empty glass near his hand. The wizard immediately filled it with wine. Peter made a thankful grab for it, then, realizing he was drinking in the presence of his king, paused with the glass halfway to his mouth.
“Please, go ahead,” said Stephen kindly. “You’ve obviously been through a terrible ordeal.”
“Wine is good for strengthening the blood,” added Anne, outwardly composed, inwardly quaking.
Peter swallowed a grateful gulp, sending the sweet wine to join another glassful, given him by the wizard, already strengthening the blood.
“I was took prisoner, sire. The elves made most of the others oarsmen in those devil dragonships of theirs. But somehow or other they found out I’d once served in the royal household. They hauls me off and asks me all sorts of questions about you, sire. They beat me till the whites of my ribs showed, Your Majesty, but I never told them fiends nothin’.”
“I commend your bravery,” said Stephen gravely, knowing full well that Peter had probably poured out his soul at the first touch of the lash, just as he’d told the elves he was a member of the royal household to save himself from the galleys.
“When it was clear to them fiends that they couldn’t get nothin’ from me, Your Majesty, they set me up in their own royal castle, what they calls the ‘Imp-er-non.’ ” Peter was obviously proud of his ability to speak elven. “I figured they wanted me to show ’em how things should be done in a royal household, but they only set me to scrubbin’ floors and talkin’ to other prisoners.”
“What other—” Stephen began, but Trian shook his head, and the king fell silent.
“Please tell His Majesty about the latest prisoner you saw in the elven palace.”
“He warn’t no prisoner,” Peter objected, on his fourth glass of wine. “More like an honored guest, he was. The elves are treating him real good, sire. You needn’t be worried.”
“Tell us who it was you saw,” urged Trian gently.
“Your son, sire,” said Peter, growing a bit maudlin. “Prince Bane. I’m happy to bring you news that he is alive. He spoke to me. I woulda brought him along, when me and the others was plannin’ to escape, but he said he was too well guarded. He’d only hinder us. A true little hero, your son, sire.
“He gave that there to me.” The footman pointed to an object lying on Trian’s desk. “Said I was to bring it to his mother. She’d know, then, that it was him as sent it. He made it for her.”
Peter raised the glass in an unsteady hand. Tears came to his eyes. “A toast to His Highness and to Your Majesties.”
Peter’s bleary attention was focused on the wine in his hand, as much as his attention could focus on anything by now. Thus he missed the fact that the joy fill news of Bane’s return caused Stephen to go rigid, as if struck by a poleax. Anne stared at the man in horror, sagged in her chair, her face ashen. Lady Iridal’s eyes flamed with sudden hope.