Tyrant’s Blood

The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Forever.’

‘Forever being from when you were little…or from when you began talking?’

‘I’m not sure.’

Greven nodded, not entirely convinced he trusted that answer. ‘All right. When did you first use it?’

‘To heal a robin with a damaged wing.’ Piven tested the sharpness of the knife on his thumb.

‘When was that?’

‘In the woods, outside our hut.’

‘When, I said, not where.’

Piven gave a vexed sigh. ‘I can’t remember, probably three winters ago.’

‘And you’ve been using magic ever since?’

‘No. The next time was on you.’

‘Why?’

‘To give you back your face. I—’

‘No, Piven. I meant why did you wait? Between the robin and me?’

Piven shook his head. ‘I didn’t trust it. I didn’t really understand it.’ He hacked off another chunk of the apple and began chewing on it.

‘Didn’t trust it? Why?’

‘I’m Valisar.’

Greven frowned, reached for some bread. ‘In name only.’

Piven looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

‘Had you forgotten you were adopted?’

‘What I meant is, despite my seeming madness I’ve lived as Valisar and the royal family obviously made me nervous about magic. I didn’t trust it.’

Greven felt a nervous energy ripple through him. He threw the morsel of bread left in his hand to some inquisitive birds nearby. ‘So you could understand what they were saying around you?’

‘I suppose.’

Greven tried not to lose his patience. ‘Piven, help me. I’m trying to understand you.’

‘There’s nothing much to understand, Greven. I didn’t use my magic because I wasn’t sure about it. That’s all.’ Piven flicked the knife around in his hand, angrily.

‘If you didn’t use it, how did you know you possessed it?’

‘I knew, that’s all,’ Piven said, and Greven could tell that his young companion would not be drawn on this.

‘Do you know the extent of your powers?’

Piven shook his head, hacking at the grasses between his ankles ith the knife, his head lowered.

‘Forgive me all these questions, child, but you’re all I have. I love you. I want to understand so I can always help, always protect you.’

‘I know.’

‘How do you explain that you have this magic?’

Piven shrugged. ‘I’m Vested, I suppose.’

‘In which case you can understand why I’m worried, why I feel the need to protect you from those who would want to make use of that magic.’

‘If I have to use it, then I want to use it for the good of others.’

‘Exactly!’ Greven exclaimed. ‘Exactly,’ he repeated, relief flooding his body. ‘My fears, child, are that people might want to use it for reasons that do not help others.’

‘No one could make me do anything I don’t want to.’

‘You’d be surprised what people will do to avoid being hurt, or to prevent those they love from being hurt.’

Piven tossed away the apple core and wiped the knife blade clean on his trousers. ‘So you would agree that there are occasions when we must hurt others to protect ourselves…or those we love?’

Greven baulked at the question but he could see Piven wanted a direct answer. ‘I would do anything to protect you…or Lily. I would probably have killed or certainly harmed some soldiers once—if I’d been able—when your adopted brother, Leo, came into my life. That was a terrifying moment. Yes, I would have done anything to stop them hurting Lily—or him, come to that.’

Piven nodded as though an important admission had been made. ‘What do you think the man Clovis is after?’

It was a straight question; Greven could hardly answer it indirectly. ‘I believe he has been trying to hunt you down for many anni and was sure he had stumbled upon the right path at last. I think he wanted to see that it truly was you first and then I believe he would have tried to persuade you to join him.’

‘Why?’

‘That I can’t answer. He is Vested. Perhaps he is in touch with other Vested and can sense you, or perhaps—’

‘I think I can guess,’ Piven said, sounding as if he had wearied of the conversation.

‘Really?’

‘Rebellion,’ Piven stated, his tone bald and unimpressed.

Greven was shocked. He rocked back against the tree he was leaning against and regarded Piven. He’d underestimated his charge. For anni he’d just been delighted that something had unlocked the child from his prison of silence. But Greven was beginning to think he’d entirely misjudged Piven, accepting his quietness for lack of thought and his simple outlook for a lack of depth. ‘Rebellion?’ he repeated dimly.

‘Do you really think the entire population of Penraven—let alone the masses of the Set proper—were going to just lay down arms entirely and accept a barbarian ruler?’

Greven looked at his child, astonished. ‘But they have.’