Tyrant’s Blood

‘Clovis and Reuth Barrow,’ the man replied. ‘These are our children.’ He held out his hand.

Greven prided himself on being a good judge of character. The face of the man standing before him struck him as sensitive. Despite his broad chest and height, Clovis Barrow didn’t seem to be in any way threatening. In fact, it was the dark-eyed woman in whom Greven sensed real strength. He shook both of their hands.

‘Welcome to Minton Woodlet, though what interest it could possibly hold for you I don’t know.’ He forced a gentle smile. ‘This is a very sleepy hamlet.’

His amiable tone broke through the initial tension. ‘Will you join us?’ Reuth said. ‘We’ve just finished breaking a late fast but—’

‘Dinch is on the way,’ Greven said reassuringly. Curiously, they sounded more unsure about him than he felt about them. Why would they be so hesitant?

‘Please,’ Clovis said, gesturing to a third chair at the small table.

‘Forgive our mess,’ Reuth added, trying to clear away the debris of four meals.

Greven sat, watching his hosts fuss. They were both roughly the same age—the woman slightly older, perhaps—and now that he looked at them more closely he would put them at approaching fifty anni, older than he’d first thought. The woman was silvering at the hairline while the man’s hair and beard were streaked with grey throughout—and yet their children were young. Second marriage, Greven guessed. But what had this family to do with him? He waited, preferring to let them do the talking.

‘I know you must be wondering why we asked to see you,’ Clovis began.

‘I am,’ Greven replied.

‘Please don’t fear us, Mr Lark,’ Reuth assured, looking at her husband and nodding encouragingly.

‘I don’t,’ Greven lied.

‘We’re not here to cause trouble,’ Clovis continued.

‘Thank you,’ Greven said, determined to give little of himself away.

Reuth looked up as the door into the courtyard banged. ‘I think your dinch is here, Mr Lark.’

‘Call me Jon,’ Greven said, ‘since apparently we’re all old friends.’

The man and wife nodded, glancing nervously at each other. They were frightened, Greven realised. That made him feel more assured than he’d felt since the moment he’d first received word of being asked after. And Piven was safe in the woods, where no one would find him.

The pot of dinch was served. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ the girl asked his hosts.

They both shook their heads and she smiled sweetly and left. Greven poured from the pot, more for something to do than from a desire to drink. When the couple remained silent, he spoke up boldly.

‘Master Clovis, Reuth, I don’t know either of you but I’ve had to pretend I do in order not to confuse the folk I live alongside each day. Now whether you’re from Medhaven or as far flung as Percheron I could not care, but I require an explanation for why you are here, masquerading as old friends.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t care for secrets,’ he lied.

Reuth nodded. ‘Tell him everything, Clovis.’

Clovis cleared his throat and Greven gave the man his full attention, surprised to see the couple give a surreptitious glance around.

‘We are alone,’ he assured. ‘Whatever you have to say will not be overheard.’

‘I was at Brighthelm soon after the invasion of Penraven—so was my wife. We had been rounded up and taken with other Vested to learn our fate. Some of us they wanted, others they killed. There was no way of knowing which we’d be. It was a terrible time,’ Clovis said and Reuth placed a hand on his arm. ‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘That’s all history. We were saved by a man called Freath—one of the close aides to the Valisars. We never fully appreciated his perilous position and how he endangered his life daily to keep us safe and to protect the Valisar sons.’

‘Forgive me. While tragic though it all was, I have to wonder at this point why I’m here…what your story has to do with me,’ Greven said, as politely but firmly as he could.

Reuth smiled. ‘Clovis is always one to tell a story.’

Clovis cleared his throat. ‘I shall finish it quickly then,’ he said but without any offence in his voice. ‘While Reuth was fortunate to be given an escape route by Freath, I was kept behind and became privy to some of Freath’s plans. I know not only did the heir, Leonel, escape the palace but I also know that the other adopted son who was simple of mind, also somehow got away. He was lost, in fact, for want of a better word. Freath was inconsolable and as I did not have the stomach for his intrigues and what they required, I agreed to leave the relative safety of the palace to find Piven. I found Reuth first but I have never stopped looking for the boy.’

‘This is all fascinating, I’ll admit,’ Greven said, eyeing the couple, masking his despair with an ingenuous smile and a soft shake of the head. It seemed his fears had finally come home to roost this bright Blossomtide day. ‘But I fail to see how—’

‘The boy you live with is the son of the Valisar royals, isn’t he?’ Reuth pressed, leaning forward.

Greven didn’t know how to answer. He froze, searching for the right response that did not incriminate him or Piven.

Clovis sighed. ‘Master Lark, you should know that as a Master Diviner, my inherent skills have assisted in finding you. But, more importantly, my wife has visions. It was her magic that, after years of me searching, led me to you.’

Greven regarded them both, his face deliberately devoid of expression but his insides churning with anxiety.

‘You have nothing to fear from us, Master Lark,’ Clovis repeated. ‘As I explained, it has been my mission for the last decade to find the boy.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you admit that the child you call Petor is Piven, the invalid adopted son of the Valisars?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Greven replied, his throat threatening to close on the lie. He filled his lungs with indignation and continued, ‘This is an outrageous claim and I’ll ask you not to levy such accusations publicly.’

Clovis shook his head. ‘I only want to protect him. I would do nothing that might bring him harm. I know you wish only the same, which is why you are covering Piven’s true identity.’

‘Master Barrow—’

‘May we meet him?’ Reuth asked, cutting across Greven’s outrage.

‘Pardon?’

‘May we meet the boy? Although I only know of the child, Clovis has seen him at close range. He will know him.’

‘I have no intention of permitting you to scrutinise my son,’ Greven snapped. ‘How dare you,’ he muttered. ‘How dare you walk into my life like this and make such claims.’

Clovis shook his head with sorrow. ‘Master Lark, I witnessed many people lose their lives brutally on the order of the barbarian tyrant. Reuth watched her beloved former husband led away to be slaughtered in a dingy courtyard; she could hear his death cries alongside those of the others who posed as Vested. My first wife and my precious infant daughter were hacked to death by the barbarian warrior who calls himself general. Our magnanimous emperor who now masquerades as a just and good ruler stole his crown in a sea of blood, Master Lark. I’m sure you know that.’

Greven nodded unhappily, shocked and helplessly touched by the tale of this pair.

‘We have reason to hold a grudge against the tyrant.’

‘But what does my son have to do with your mission?’ Greven asked carefully.

‘If he is your son, then he has nothing to do with us,’ Clovis said. ‘If he is Piven, as we believe he is, then he is integral to the struggle.’

‘The struggle? What are you talking about?’

Clovis lowered his voice still further. ‘To reinstate the true king onto his throne.’

Greven looked back at the intense expressions on the couple’s faces. They were earnest. ‘Piven?’