wavered between dread and anticipation. Almost I hoped that nothing would come of it, that the King would forget his words to me. But he did not.
Late that evening I finally wandered up the steps and let myself into Burrich’s chamber. I had spent the day pondering what the morning’s words might mean for me. I could have saved
myself the trouble. For as I entered, Burrich set aside the bit of harness he was mending and focused all his attention on me. He considered me in silence for a bit, and I returned his stare. Something had changed, and I feared. Ever since he had disappeared Nosy, I had believed that Burrich had the power of life and death over me as well; that a fitz could be disposed of as easily as a pup. That hadn’t stopped me from developing a feeling of closeness for him; one needn’t love in order to depend. That sense of being able to rely on Burrich was the only real stability I had in my life, and now I felt it trembling under me.
“So.” He spoke at last, and put a finality into the word. “So. You had to put yourself before his eyes, did you? Had to call attention to yourself. Well. He’s decided what to do with you.” He sighed, and his silence changed. For a brief time I almost felt he pitied me. But after a bit he spoke.
“I’m to choose a horse for you tomorrow. He suggested that it be a young one, that I train you up together. But I talked him into starting you with an older, steadier beast. One student at a time, I told him. But I’ve my own reasons for putting you with an animal that’s . . . less impressionable. See that you behave; I’ll know if you’re playing about. Do we understand one another?”
I gave him a quick nod.
“Answer, Fitz. You’ll have to use your tongue, if you’ll be dealing with tutors and masters.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was so like Burrich. Entrusting a horse to me had been
uppermost in his mind. With his own concern attended to, he announced the rest quite casually.
“You’ll be up with the sun from now on, boy. You’ll learn from me in the morning. Caring for a horse, and mastering it. And how to hunt your hounds properly, and have them mind you. A man’s way of controlling beasts is what I’ll teach you.” The last he emphasized heavily and paused to be sure I understood. My heart sank, but I began a nod, then amended it to “Yes, sir.”
“Afternoons, they’ve got you. For weapons and such. Probably the Skill, eventually. In winter months, there will be indoor learning. Languages and signs. Writing and reading and numbers, I don’t doubt. Histories, too. What you’ll do with it all, I’ve no idea, but mind you learn it well to please the King. He’s not a man to displease, let alone cross. Wisest course of all is not to have him notice you. But I didn’t warn you about that, and now it’s too late.”
He cleared his throat suddenly and took a breath. “Oh, and there’s another thing that’s to change.” He took up the bit of leather he’d been working on and bent over it again. He seemed to speak to his fingers. “You’ll have a proper room of your own now. Up in the keep where all those of noble blood sleep. You’d be sleeping there right now, if you’d bothered to come in on time.”
“What? I don’t understand. A room?”
“Oh, so you can be swift spoken, when you’ve a mind? You heard me, boy. You’ll have a room of your own, up at the keep.” He paused, then went on heartily, “I’ll finally get my privacy
back. Oh, and you’re to be measured for clothes tomorrow as well. And boots. Though what’s the sense of putting a boot on a foot that’s still growing, I don’t—”
“I don’t want a room up there.” As oppressive as living with Burrich had become, I suddenly found it preferable to the unknown. I imagined a large, cold stone room, with shadows lurking in the corners.
“Well, you’re to have one,” Burrich announced relentlessly. “And it’s time and past time for it. You’re
Christopher David Petersen