Myrren's Gift Read Online Free PDF

palace; he wondered what those windows looked out onto. But the sound of voices called him back from his distraction and he heard the scratching of a pen on parchment.
    “Last one. I hope?” a gruff voice said.
    “It is, sire,” another man’s voice answered, and then the owner of that voice shuffled past them carrying rolls of documents.
    “Ah, Orto, you have the boy? Bring him in, bring him in.” Wyl emerged fully into the study and came face to face with the man he had met only briefly once, the man his father had died protecting. Magnus had headed north to Felrawthy almost immediately after Wyl’s arrival and this was their first occasion to meet again. He noticed that the King was tall but stooped and he appeared much older, even since their first, very hurried, talk. Magnus, he noticed now.
    looked very little like Celimus. although the strapping physique was there. A gentle push from Orto, on his way out of the room, reminded Wyl that he was in the presence of his sovereign. He bowed low.
    “You look like your father, boy.”
    It had been meant as a compliment but Wyl’s plain looks made him feel that almost any reference to them was a barb.
    “He always told me I look more like my grandfather, sire.” he replied politely.
    Magnus grinned then. “That’s probably true. son. But you remind me of how he was when we were both mere scamps together in this same castle.”
    Wyl could tell the King meant it sincerely. He knew how fond the friends had been of each other and imagined that Magnus losing Fergys Thirsk would be like him losing Gueryn. More than just painful.
    “I miss him. sire,” he admitted.
    The King gazed down at him with soft eyes. “Me too, Wyl. So keenly that I still find myself talking to him now and then.”
    Wyl regarded the King and saw no guile. He appeared nothing like his son in temperament either, thought Wyl.
    “So. Wyl,” the King said, sitting down and gesturing for Wyl to be seated too. “Tell me, how are we treating you in Pearlis? I imagine you must regret not being in that glorious world of Argorn. I know your father constantly did.”
    “Yes, sire, but…I am settling in.”
    Magnus scrutinized the lad before him, sensing he was cautious like his father—and probably just as unforgiving if he was wronged, judging by that proud jut of his chin.
    “I have seen your sister about the place. What a sunny, pretty young thing she is. I trust she is happy?” Wyl shrugged gently. “I think Ylena would be happy anywhere, your majesty, providing she has her dolls and fine dresses.” He smiled. “Thank you for all that you’ve given her, sire. She is pretty, that’s true.
    She’s the lucky one in looks—she took after my mother.”
    He was startled by the King’s sudden laugh. “Don’t put yourself down, Wyl.”
    “No, sire. I’ll leave that to others.”
    “Ah.”
    Orto reentered the King’s study and brought with him a small tray with two cups of blood-red wine.
    “Don’t tell old Gueryn, eh? He’ll think I’m corrupting you.” The King winked.
    Wyl could not help but like the man who sat before him. He wanted to be wary of him. He was the father of Celimus, after all, but still it was hard not to enjoy his company.
    “Now here’s to you, young Wyl,” the King said, lifting his glass.
    “And to your continuing good health, sire.” The underlying message was not lost on Masnus.
    “Has it been hard settling in?”
    “Oh, the usual stuff, sire.”
    Wyl felt Magnus fix him with his direct gaze. “Tell me about Celimus,” the King said.
    “What can I tell you, your majesty, that you don’t already know?” The King paused and Wyl thought it was a telling hesitation. “Tell me any good points you’ve noticed about him.”
    Now Wyl felt really cornered. “I don’t understand.”
    “Oh, I think you do,” Magnus said gently. “I grasp more than people credit me with, Wyl. Celimus has many imperfections. On the outside, however, he is a truly