WindSeeker (41 page)

going to do to the bastard who didn’t even bother to acknowledge his kinship to Conar. He had brooded

long and hard on his other problem, but as he had walked Seayearner off the boat at Boreas Harbor, it

had come suddenly to him exactly how he was going to get Liza back, as well. At the moment, he was

right with the world, and it with him.

He watched the sheets of the Boreal Queen billowing out in the sharp, southwesterly wind as her crew

unfurled the sails. He loved the sea and the tall ships that sailed upon her. He could smell the tang of salt

and hear the creaking of the ship’s timbers as she strained at her anchor, and a calm and peacefulness

settled over him every time. He would have loved to have gone aboard the ship to visit with Holm, but as

he had told the captain, he had business with his father that couldn’t wait. When the ship put back into

port again in six weeks, he’d have that visit.

He had spent many a pleasant hour with Legion, Rayle, and Roget du Mer when they were in their late

teens, sailing and diving off the big ships, learning the ways of the seamen who risked their lives to master

the ocean. It had been a younger Holm who had taken him on his first cruise, who had taught him to read

a sextant, how to sail the big ship. He could well remember the first time he had been out in heavy seas. It

had been with Holm. He had become deathly sick and Van de Lar had chuckled, administering a

foul-smelling, awful-tasting brew that squelched the seasickness, but made him drunk as a skunk. He

couldn’t wait to get back to shore to give some of the elixir to Teal du Mer, who got seasick even on dry

land. Unfortunately for du Mer, the elixir hadn’t worked on him; instead, it had turned du Mer’s skin an

odd shade of red and brought up tiny blisters that drained and ran and itched and taught the gypsy lad

words he never knew he could say.

Now as he looked at the massive ship bobbing on the green water, Conar felt the sweep of that same

joy he had felt as a carefree lad of fifteen go through him. He looked to his son, pleased that he had

encountered Wyn by the redoubt. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn Wyn had been lying

in wait, eager to show off his riding skills. The boy was proving to be quite a horseman and that made

Conar proud.

The prince cantered over the planking between the two conical-roofed guardhouses and nodded at the

men standing watch. He urged ’Yearner onto the cobblestone pathway beyond the guardhouses and

under the high archway of the barbican. Slowing his mount to a walk, he crossed the second, smaller

drawbridge and glanced at one of the turrets where Thom sat with one of the guards. He waved.

"Good to have you home, Milord!" Thom called. He waved his huge fingers in greeting.

"My men already here?" he asked, sheepishly. He felt a touch of remorse at having left them behind in

Ciona. It was a wonder they hadn’t followed him, but he doubted they’d had enough money between

them to book passage.

"Came in just last eve."

Conar took the left-hand path to the stables, smiling as he saw Wyn and Storm Jale waiting.

"Wyn is getting to be almost as good as you, Coni!" Storm quipped as he took Conar’s reins.

Throwing a leg over his horse’s neck, Conar slid to the ground. "He will be if he remembers not to let

the animal stand about with sweat running down its side." He tousled his son’s mop of flaxen curls.

The boy smiled. "He’s as good as rubbed down, Papa."

"Then see to it, Lord Wyndon," Storm cautioned.

Wyn grinned. No one but Storm called him by that name. He looked at his father.

"You heard him, Milord, be about it!" Conar scolded and turned for the steps leading to the covered

passageway to the palace.

"Papa?" the boy called in a hurt voice.

Conar glanced over his shoulder and raised a tawny brow.

Wyn lost some of the joy in his face. He had waited everyday for hours on end on the redoubt waiting to

catch sight of his father’s arrival. He’d sat for nearly two hours that morning in a parching, blistering sun

that scorched the earth around the stonework, hoping for a glimpse of his father’s personal standard atop

the mast of every ship that came into the harbor. When he’d spied the Serenian Star and his father’s coat

of arms hoisted to signal the prince’s arrival, the young boy had whooped with delight.

"Welcome home, Papa," Wyn mumbled. "I’ve missed you." He dug the toe of his boot into the sand.

Conar felt his heart lurch. He walked back into the stables and threw his arms wide to his son. "Come

here, bratling. You didn’t give me a hug."

A smile so bright it rivaled the sparkle of crown jewels flashed over Wyn’s face. He bounded into his

father’s arms, almost sending them both to the ground in a heap. "I love you, Papa," he whispered against

the pale yellow cambric of Conar’s shirt.

Conar hugged the boy. "And I love you, son."

Storm cleared his throat. "Come on, brat. I’ll help you rub down your papa’s steed."

If there was anything Wyn loved more than his own horse, it was his father’s. He looked at Conar for

permission.

"Go on!" Conar said, sighing, releasing his son. "I know where your loyalties lie."

"His mama raised him well," a voice called from behind Conar. Turning, Conar saw the tall form of one

of his Elite standing at the door leading into the medical wing.

"Aye, she did."

"She would be proud of him," the man said in a soft voice.

"That she would, Morgan." Conar looked away. "Say a prayer for her for me, will you?"

Morgan Luz’s face creased with pain. "I will, Your Grace."

Conar slowly climbed the steps. He couldn’t even remember the woman’s name, the woman who had

been Wyn’s mother. He had trouble even bringing her small face clearly to mind. She had been a slight

woman, an Ionarian, with flaming red-gold hair. She had died from a lung infection, and he had not gone

to her funeral. He should have. But it had been at a time when such things didn’t matter to him. He

vowed to make a point of visiting her grave, for she had, indeed, given the boy a good sense of

self-worth. She had been a prostitute in one of the huts along the beach when he gave her to Morgan

Luz. From the looks of it, it had been a match well made.

"Welcome home, Highness," Sadie told him as he came through the main doors of the receiving hall.

If Conar wondered why she was there, he didn’t ask. She held out a chilled tumbler of spiced ale. His

face lit up. "How’d you know this was what I was needing, Sadie?" he asked, smiling.

Sadie sniffed. "Oh, I be knowing just what you need, Highness." She grinned as he drained the tall

tumbler.

He wiped his mouth and bent forward, surprising the old woman by kissing her weathered cheek.

"Thank you, Sadie."

Her old eyes followed him as he climbed the stairs. "Oh, you be most welcome."

At first he thought he had climbed one flight too many and had gone to his father’s chambers, for there

sat the King as Conar opened what he thought was the door to his room. He backed out, looked down

the hall, and realized he was where he was supposed to be. He had wanted to refresh himself before

seeking out his father to brief him on what had happened in Ciona; he wasn’t prepared to find the man

seated on a settee in his room.

"Come in and close the door, Conar," his father said, his face lined with fatigue. He felt he should be

sleeping instead of dealing with Conar.

"What’s wrong?" Conar went to stand before his father.

"I came to ask you the same thing." Waving a hand to the chair flanking the settee, he motioned Conar to

sit. "I like not having to crane my neck to look up at you."

Conar flung himself into the chair. stretching his long legs, an act that annoyed his father and offended his

King.

"Please have the good manners that we have attempted to instill in you, Conar, by sitting in that chair as

though you were an adult!"

His father was wearing what Conar called his "disciplinarian face." Conar sighed. Drawing in his legs, he

rested his left ankle on his right knee and folded his hands in his lap. "What have I done now, Papa?" he

asked with a resigned voice.

King Gerren stared at his son for a long time. This was not the same boy who had stormed out of the

keep nearly three weeks ago. This boy was calm. This boy’s eyes were clear and direct. This was the

son he knew and loved. He decided to change tactics. His face relaxed; his voice became warmer.

"You’ve been gone longer than the week needed to take care of the problems in Ciona. Where have

you been the rest of the time?"

Conar knew his father had been apprised of his conduct in Ciona just as he knew perfectly well his

father was aware of where he’d gone afterward. He stared at the frieze along the tall ceiling, wondering

how many hours it had taken the craftsman to sculpt the intertwined leaves and vines, wondering how to

tell his father what he had to tell him…stalling.

When Conar didn’t answer, the King cleared his throat. Still failing to gain his son’s attention, Gerren

nudged Conar with his foot.

Coming out of his reverie, Conar massaged his eyes with the heels of his hands. "You know I went to

Oceania, Papa."

"So I was told. They are well there?" the king asked, trying not to smile.

"Well enough," Conar remarked and laid his head on the back of the chair. He was tired, bone tired, and

his head was beginning to ache over his right temple. He put up a hand to massage the dull throbbing. He

didn’t need one of his infamous migraines right now.

"Things went well, then, in Ciona, I take it. No problems?" Gerren already knew what had transpired at

the trade meeting. He also knew of his son’s rudeness when he had left. That had been the major part of

the talk he had planned to have with his errant son as soon as Conar came home. Having been told that

Conar had ordered a ship to Oceania, and was planning on going there himself to bring his wife home,

the King had been elated. Now that Conar had come home, alone, Gerren rightly surmised something

was amiss.

"No problems," came the offhanded reply. "Everything went as planned."

"Everything?"

"Aye."

"Then we can begin shipping next week."

"I suppose so."

Gerren looked closely at his son and realized Conar wasn’t paying attention. A slow, mischievous grin

settled on his face. No doubt the young couple had fought again and Conar was mulling over his latest

idiocy.

"You didn’t do something in Ciona that you shouldn’t have, did you?" Gerren inquired in a normal tone

of voice.

"Everything’s fine, Papa."

"You didn’t offend anyone?"

"Everything went as planned."

"I see." Gerren laid his right arm along the back of the settee. "Ambassador Andelson and his lady-wife

are well?"

"Aye. They send their regards."

"And their three daughters?"

Conar sighed. "Getting taller, I guess."

The king hoped not, since all three were full-grown as it was. "I thought to send a new representative to

Oceania to handle our interests there…Teal du Mer. I know how he loves to sail. He will be the best

choice to head up our commission on sea trade and run interference on all the ships since he can live right

on board a specially provisioned ship. Don’t you agree?"

"Aye, Papa. Du Mer," Conar mumbled. "Good choice."

"And I have appointed Sadie as our Ambassador to Rysalia. You know how diplomatic she is and we

do need someone who can be polite and respectful in that Inner Kingdom Emirate."

"Very astute, Sir. A wise choice." Conar stared at the carpet.

"And what do you think of those flying cats that Legion is entering in the horse race this weekend? I

think Conar’s-A-Nitwit will take the cup, though. What do you think?" He could not control his laugh as

Conar looked at him in bewilderment.

"What?" Conar asked, offended that he was being laughed at.

"Have you been listening to me?"

"I heard every word, Papa." Conar raised his chin. "You know more about these things than I. I bend to

your choices of commissioner and…and…whatever."

"So glad you approve," Gerren said with a smile. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

Conar’s head was beginning to pound. He rubbed a tight little circle over his eye. "Why haven’t you

asked about Liza?"

"Liza who?" his father politely inquired.

Making a rude sound with his tongue, Conar’s mouth puckered with heat. "Liza McGregor! Who else?

Your daughter-in-law; my lady-wife!"

"Ah, so you’ve decided you have a wife, have you?" his father shot back with equal warmth.

"Whatever the problems between me and Liza—"

"As I see it, Conar, you’re the one with the problem! The one who has done the evil here."

Conar’s voice was merely a whisper as fear shot through his gut. "What does that mean?"

Gerren waved a hand in anger and stood. "You blamed her for what Galen did!" Seeing his son’s

emphatically shaken denial to the contrary, the King went on. "Oh, aye, you do! She is the innocent and

yet you put the blame at her doorstep. Don’t you think for one moment I don’t know you accused her of

it? I thought you more a man than to let this happen. You can deal with her abduction like a man or

wallow in self-pity like a child—it’s up to you. But I will tell you, it is evil what you’ve done to her. Evil!"

Conar stood slowly, overcome with relief that his father hadn’t meant the evil visited upon him by Tohre