Free The Making of a Mage King: White Star by Anna L. Walls Page B

Sean with a saddle in his lap and an oil rag in his hand, but he didn’t let that hinder him too much. “My lord… My lord, my name is Hugh Picardy. I have come to ask for your help.”
    The name caused Sean to forget his saddle. “Why me? Why now?” I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t come across him when I did .
    Picardy forged ahead, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Because of what you did here,” he replied as if that might be enough.
    He doesn’t look to be any older than Clayton .
    “I came to tell you that I am the last member of the Picardy family and I want what is rightfully mine. I want to see my mother in the surroundings she should have rather than scrubbing pots in some inn and avoiding the groping hands of smelly old men.”
    “We all would like to better ourselves,” said Sean. “And I am searching for the old nobility, but what qualifies you to be the man I need; what proof do you have that you have not just given me a name because I’m looking for it? Can you control the Picardy district if I hand it to you?”
    The young man clamped his mouth shut.
    “Do you have any following?” Sean asked next.
    He shifted and looked uneasy.
    “Do you know how to run a government?” continued Sean.
    He was clenching his fists solidly now.
    “What were you being arrested for in Ruhin?” asked Sean, changing tack.
    Picardy’s dark eyes flew to Sean’s face in astonishment. “How did you know about that?” he asked, before he even thought to deny it.
    “I helped you escape,” said Sean. “Tell me why you were arrested. I can make you.”
    “You weren’t there. No one was anywhere near. I know; I checked.”
    “ Tell me ,” compelled Sean.
    Picardy gasped. Sean felt him struggle. “I…I was…implicated in…in a plot…ugh…a plot to assassinate the king.” He staggered back and dropped to a knee in the small puddle of mud the water dripping from his cloak had created.
    Sean set his saddle aside and waited for him to recover.
    Picardy looked around at the sparse furnishings of Sean’s tent. “May I sit, my lord?” he asked, in a shaky voice.
    Sean pulled him to his feet and parked him on the foot of his cot then he brought his chair around to face him. “You were implicated in a plot to assassinate my uncle. That would be an impressive feat. Whatever led you to believe that you could pull it off?”
    He was still shaking, but he wasn’t clenching his fists anymore. “I have trained for it all my life.” He said that in a small voice, while he still looked at the floor. He looked like a child sitting like that.
    “You were trained as an assassin instead of a lord. Who trained you?”
    “My mother saw to it that I had whatever teacher I needed. All of my father’s wealth, everything, went to pay them. When the money finally ran out, they left. The only way I could make it worth…” He clenched his fists and muscles jumped in his jaw.
    Sean gripped his taunt wrists. “Unless you are far stronger than I think you are, it was a suicide mission. Where is your mother now?”
    He unwound a bit. “She’s in the city; she’s staying with her sister.”
    Sean sat back. “What am I to do with you?”
    Picardy looked up at him, but he had no suggestions.
    “Come with me,” said Sean. He took him outside and snagged a young officer who happened to be near. “This is Hugh Picardy; he’ll be staying with us for a while. Find him someplace where he can stay.” The man nodded and motioned Hugh to follow him, then Sean went over to Cordan who was talking to the morning’s watch commander. “Cordan, keep an eye on our new guest. He’s a trained assassin.”
    Cordan reared his chin up and looked at the retreating back of young Picardy. “Why are you letting him stay?”
    Sean shrugged. “He said he was the last member of the Picardy nobility; I may need him. Besides, he’s just a misguided kid who has been at the mercy of someone who could think of nothing but