The Dragonprince's Heir Read Online Free PDF Page A

red, and my left was swollen almost shut. The purpling bruise reached from my jaw to my brow. Looking at my own reflection, I shuddered.
    My mother nodded. "You need rest. You are in no state to see the king this afternoon. Read your lessons. I'll send up food and something for the pain. Perhaps tomorrow—"
    "Tomorrow?" It wasn't quite a wail. "But there will be a feast. There will be stories. Tonight—"
    "Tonight you'll rest," she said. "We will not discuss this further. If I must, I will place a guard—"
    "And what do you call Jen? And Toman?"
    "I call them your friends. If you want to see yourself as a lord, call them your bodyguards. They're certainly not jailers."
    "It's easy to forget. You did send Caleb to hunt me down like a city thief. You know he's the one who did this to me, don't you?"
    It took a moment before she answered. She stepped back from me, then turned away even from my reflection. "I will speak with him about it, but he was doing as I'd asked of him. You were not."
    The frustration she voiced in those final words hit me harder than Caleb's backhand. I squeezed my eyes shut. I had no answer.
    She sighed. "I think it would be best if you stayed here, in your rooms, until you're feeling better."
    My teeth ground together. "I feel fine, Mother."
    She ignored me. "I will be in counsel with the king for much of the day. When I am free, I will come speak with you some more. I promise."
    I didn't answer. She didn't seem surprised. After a moment my door opened and she stepped out into the hall. Before the door closed behind her, I heard a voice greet her with a question. It was too low for me to hear the words, but I knew Caleb's rumbling growl. Whatever he asked of her, I could hear his exasperation and contempt.
    The door shut so I didn't have to hear the same emotions in my mother's response. But they would be there. I knew they would. I was just another difficulty she had to sort out.
    I slammed a fist on the basin table, and the empty pitcher tottered once before it smashed to pieces on the cold stone floor. I barely even noticed.

     
    Late that afternoon I stood at my window, looking out over the south courtyard. I could see nothing of the gate, of the army stretching to the horizon, but beneath my window sprawled the town that had sprung up around the tower.
    It was laid out in orderly rows, carefully controlled and coordinated, and I knew every shop and stall. Now I saw the grocers and herbalists and leatherworkers all scurrying. They'd be busy, hurrying to serve the needs of the thousands gathered outside the gate. I imagined the butchers and bakers were just as busy here in the tower. It would take all our resources to feed that many men.
    I saw more activity among the shops, though. I saw forges firing up against the far wall—and not just the two or three we'd come to rely on for the last few years. As I watched, our men rushed from smithy to smithy, stoking long-dormant fires. A four-horse cart followed more slowly behind them, loaded with men delivering ore.
    I wondered how many smiths we would need to tend all the broken horseshoes in an army the size of the king's. I was still playing with the math when I saw the truth of it. The smiths were not firing up to serve the king. No, this would be Caleb's work. I remembered the show of force in the courtyard below. I remembered his quiet words with my mother. He'd been prepared to assassinate the king. And he had ordered Jen and Toman into battle dress already. I suspected those reawakened forge fires were destined to cast new blades. The man wanted a war.
    Thick black smoke began to gather above the forges. I couldn't yet smell its stink, but I could taste it in my memory. It had been long years since we'd worked our forges at full force, but I would not soon forget the war. I remembered well the bitter stench of war.
    And then at last I understood what Mother had been trying to tell me. She hadn't used as many words—perhaps she didn't dare