Free The Eunuch's Heir by Elaine Isaak Page B

wish to assist you directly, sir.”
    “Did any of your countrymen have any part in his disappearance?”
    “Not that I am aware of.” Ghiva stood carefully under their scrutiny, appearing at ease, and eager.
    “Dylan?”
    The young man hesitated. “He hasn’t lied to you, my lord.”
    “You don’t look convinced.”
    “I felt something…strange, on that last answer.” He lifted his hand to rub his bandaged nose, then stopped and lowered it again.
    “Have you an explanation, Ghiva, or should we invite the guards in to ask a little more forcefully?”
    “No, sir, that would be most unnecessary. If my answer were doubtful, it is only that my countrymen were at the gate where the Highness was last seen. I am not aware that they had any involvement, but I was considering more carefully, that is all.”
    One by one, they questioned most of the men in the camp. The few women they saw immediately turned away, or hid inside their tents until the strangers were gone. By the end of the long afternoon, Dylan began to droop, and Gwythym’s attention strayed between the matter at hand and his concern for his son. Finally, Fionvar agreed they should let it rest: these ragged people had nothing to hide. Living as they did under the scrutiny of the city watch and subject to deportation, they had every reason to cooperate.
    “I’m for the barracks, then, talk to the scouts.” Gwythym paused before he left them at the gate. “I am sorry about this, Fionvar, I had hoped…”
    “Me, too. I know you’re doing all that you can.”
    “Aye, we’re trying. See to the lad, eh?”
    Dylan rolled his eyes, but Fionvar replied, “Of course.”
    Watching his father stride off, Dylan breathed a loud sigh.
    “He’s just looking out for you, you know.”
    “Aye, but I’m not a child anymore. I can get to the observatory on my own.”
    “So it won’t hurt you to show me what you’re studying, right?” Fionvar smiled. “Not as much as your father’d hurt me if he knew I’d let you go alone.”
    Dylan led the way down the corridors and up numerousflights of stairs, his steps seeming to grow lighter as they went. At the top, he opened the door with a key that he wore on a chain around his neck. A few others manned positions in the round chamber, mostly monks in long, dark gowns, their bald heads glinting in the late-autumn sunlight. Tubes of brass and piles of small mirrors and lenses scattered the workshop tables as they worked to create new instruments based on the latest science. Tinkers and coppersmiths in the city kept busy constructing the various stands and armatures, and etching the delicate markings needed to keep accurate records. Scraps of parchment littered the floor and decorated the walls, covered with minuscule notes and calculations. A long bookcase ran down the center, bearing all the charts and diagrams these monks had copied in various other nations.
    “It’s coming along more than I thought,” Fionvar remarked. “I should really keep better track of this project.”
    “We’re a long way behind,” Dylan said, picking his way across the room to a ladder. “You needn’t come up.”
    Fionvar followed. “Yes, but this tower has the best view in the kingdom.”
    They emerged onto the flat roof, ringed by a low wall. Dylan pulled up a stool beside one of the instruments mounted on the stone. From a chest at the base of the wall, he removed a thick sheaf of parchments and flipped through them.
    While Dylan prepared his evening’s work, Fionvar gazed down upon his city. The tower stood just over the roof of the new temple, and Fionvar could see the circular hole in its center. Begun during the Usurper’s reign, the temple bulged out from the original wall of the city, the refugees’ tents spreading like a multicolored skirt around it. Turning toward the castle, Fionvar leaned on the wall. A few stories lower than the observatory stood the King’s Tower, where King Rhys had presented his new bride,