“Ever since he threw me out?” Kaz suggested.
Adrik shook his head sadly. “No, Master Kasmir, though it has to be said he never was the same after that. No, this is”—he checked himself—“well, it’s not for me to say. Best you hear it from the family. Good day to you, Master Kasmir.” With that, he turned and trudged away along the inside of the wall without looking back.
The other servants reacted in much the same way when Kaz arrived at the house. Many of them looked at him as if he were somehow familiar but they couldn’t put a name to the face. He was leaner and harder than the disgraced cadet hey remembered, and his eyes had acquired the permanent squint of one accustomed to scanning the sun-baked grasslands for enemies. In some eyes he saw disapproval; in others, he thought, a trace of pity. His presence seemed to make everyone uncomfortable. It was understandable, he told himself. He didn’t expect to be welcomed like a returning hero.
Steeling himself, he knocked on the huge door of iron-bound oak. He knew that his father might refuse to see him, and order him off the estate as he had done before. But when Sattel the butler admitted him to the house, his father chanced to be looking down on the hall from the upstairs landing. Kaz noticed how tired he looked, and how old. For an instant the two regarded each other without emotion.
Then, a spark of recognition flashed across the eyes of the elder ir’Dramon, and his face twisted into a mask of rage, Hurling himself down the stairs with an incoherent cry, he flew at his son’s throat.
“Vulture!” he howled, as Sattel tried to drag him off. Have you no respect for our grief?”
Kaz remained still, frightened that he might hurt the old man if he resisted. He tensed the muscles of his neck against his father’s grip but kept his arms passively by his sides.
The disturbance brought several other servants running, and they helped Sattel restrain their master, finally helping him to a tall-backed chair that stood against the staircase. He trembled with a mixture of rage and exhaustion, spewing curses at his son.
“Adalbert?” Kaz recognized his mother’s voice before she came out of the drawing-room. “Whatever … ?” Her voice trailed off as she saw Kaz. For a moment he thought she was going to cry—she had been crying the last time he saw her—but she took control of herself with a visible effort.
“Sattel, take the master to his bedroom and give him some brandy,” she ordered. “Milla, bring tea to the drawingroom. Levro, take our visitor’s cloak. The rest of you, back to your duties. Quickly, now!” The knot of servants stopped staring and went about their business. As Kaz relinquished his cloak, his mother stared in shock for a moment at the stump of his left wrist. Then she motioned her son to follow her.
“I knew you’d be back when you heard,” she said coldly, once the tea had been brought.
Kaz looked at her. “Heard about what?”
“Oh, yes,” she said with a derisive snort, “You’re very good at protesting your innocence. You always were.”
“Did something happen to Gali?”
At the mention of her elder son’s name, the brittleness went out of Grethilde ir’Dramon. Her hand shook slightly as she set down her teacup, and tears stole into her angry eyes.
“On the Day of Mourning,” she said, her voice husky with emotion, “the Lancers were deep inside Cyre. They were all killed.” Her words tailed off into soft sobbing.
Kaz closed his eyes, trying to absorb what his mother had said. Gali was dead? The halfling shaman’s warning made it sound as though he was in danger now—but the Day of Mourning was more than two years ago.
“So,” his mother’s cold voice brought him back to the present, “now you’re the heir, you’ve come back to claim your birthright. Well, you may not have long to wait—the sight of you nearly killed your poor father. As if he hasn’t endured enough already.”
Kaz felt very tired. He set down his cup and rose from his chair.
“You needn’t worry about that, mother. I’m going.”
For the first time since had arrived, his mother looked startled. “What … ?”
“I came to find out about Gali, that’s all.” He turned to leave the room.
“Oh, that’s right!” Her voice was like a slap. “You just go off back to—to Dollurh, or wherever you’ve been hiding! Walk away from your family, from your responsibilities, from me and your father!”
Kaz shook his head wearily. He had learned early that there was no way to win.
“I’m sorry about Gali,” he said softly, “but we both know things would be worse if I stayed. And I’m not the heir to anything here—father made that quite clear when he threw me out. Besides, I’m still wanted.” He paused, but for the first time he could remember, his mother was at a loss for words. “You’re right about father,” he continued. “He needs help. Cousin Thandred’s next in line, I think. Maybe you should talk to him.”
He left the drawing room without a backward glance.
“Kaz Mordan, you are under arrest!”
