Chapter 7: The King's Cousin

The king's cousin had come with forty knights in black enamel and a herald who blew his horn every time the cousin got off something.

The cousin got off his horse in the middle of the parade ground, and the herald blew.

He was perhaps forty, soft at the jaw, with rings over his riding gloves.

He looked at the army drawn up in front of him, and then at the general.

"Vantor," he said, as if the name smelled.

"My lord."

"The king sends his love. And his orders."

He held out a paper without looking at it, and his herald read it to the whole ground.

The first four companies, the veterans of Harl Bridge, Greyfield and Saltmarsh, were to be sent home at once with the king's thanks.

The rest were to come under the cousin's command at the ford.

The general was to keep his household guard.

A murmur went through the ranks.

The first four companies were Corvus's oldest men.

"And that," the cousin said, and pointed his riding crop at Seren.

Seren was standing at Corvus's shoulder in Varran black with Corvus's father's knife in his belt.

"I'm told the regent struck him off. So he isn't a prince, and he isn't your consort. He's a Caerwen commoner walking free in a Varran camp."

The cousin smiled at Corvus.

"Irons. Before supper. Unless you've grown attached to your Caerwen whore."

Corvus didn't move.

But Seren was standing close enough to see the general's bandaged hand close into a fist, and blood come through the linen.

If Corvus hit the king's cousin in front of the army, the king's cousin would have exactly what he came for.

Seren stepped forward before he could.

"My lord," he said. "May I see the king's seal?"

The cousin looked at him as if a horse had asked for wine.

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