“But I do. If it is within my power to deliver you an army as dowry, then I shall do so. But after the battle is done, win or lose, I will be a Trelan no longer.” She gazed up at him with a smile more knowing than nervous. “Well, Lord Akadra? How do you answer?”

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Eight

“Father, I’m bored.”

Constans’ pronouncement startled a handful of doves from the church steps, scattering them to flight across a marketplace still hung with the wreaths and garlands woven for Ascension. Malachi’s enthusiasm for an afternoon with his son scattered alongside. With every step, the nagging sensation that he should have been doing something – anything – else grew stronger. Which at least gave him something in common with Constans. The boy had been no more impressed by the statues in the church than the changing of the guard. Worse, the boy had twice wandered off into the crowds, ever-curious about the brightly painted roamer wagons of the travelling fair, and seemingly oblivious to his father’s galloping heart.

A procession of serenes ascended the church steps, bearing candles and birch offerings for the evening service. Malachi put a hand to his son’s shoulder and steered him away.

“More or less bored than if you were at your lessons?” he asked.

Constans cocked his head, considering the weighty proposition. “Less. But my lessons don’t last long. Ada isn’t very good at hide-and-seek.”

Which meant that his son spent more time fleeing responsibilities than fulfilling them. Malachi supposed he should have scolded the boy, but felt oddly proud. Were his own life any proof, there’d be years of duty and rote ahead of Constans. Perhaps the boy should run free while he could.

Lily would not approve.

“So what would you like to do?”

Constans stared out across the bustling street. Beyond the striped canopies of the marketplace – beyond the close-set, crooked townhouses – the greensward and breeze-harried branches of the Hayadra Grove shone in the sunshine. “Climb a hayadra tree.”

Malachi blinked away his surprise, then rallied. “You do that, and the serenes will lock you away without food or water for three days. The white trees are sacred, and not for climbing.”

Constans harrumphed. “Mother would never allow it.”

“You’ve much to learn about your mother, young man. She tended those trees when she was your age. If you so much as scuff an inch of bark, we’ll both of us be in deep trouble.”

“Perhaps we could just take a look?”

Malachi had no doubt that once in the holy grove, his son would escape his guardianship as easily as he did Ada’s. Soon after, there would be a shout, a triumphant wave, and a proud child among the branches.

What Lumestra would think was anyone’s guess. Nor her heavenly sister, from whom the trees had been a peace offering. But Lily? That reaction was easily judged.

“I don’t think so, Constans.”