The Falcon Throne (The Tarnished Crown Series) Read Online Free PDF

leave or invitation.
    “Your Grace, you must hear me! As a father, and my duke, only you can grant me the justice I seek!”
    “Hold,” he said to the men-at-arms who were moving to protect him. Then he looked to his steward. “Curteis, escort Lord Herewart within the castle. See him comforted, and kept company in the Rose chamber until I come.”
    Very proper, though he was also weary, Curteis bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
    “Your Grace!” Herewart protested. “Do not abandon me to an underling. My years of loyalty should purchase more consideration than that. I demand—”
    “
Demand?
” Summoning a lifetime’s worth of discipline, Aimery swung off his horse to land lightly on his feet. “My lord, be mindful. Not even a lifetime of loyalty will purchase a demand.”
    Herewart’s colour was high, his wet eyes red-rimmed and lit with a burning fervour. “A single
day
of loyalty should purchase the justice I am owed. And be warned, Aimery. Justice I’ll have, as I see fit, and from your hand–or there will be a reckoning. This is not cursed Clemen, where
in
justice wears a crown!”
    Silence, save for Herewart’s ragged breathing and the scrape of shod hooves on the flagstones as the horses hinted at their stables. Aimery looked to his sons. Grefin stood pale, arms folded, lower lip caught between his teeth. There was grief for Herewart there, and fearfor his brother. As for Balfre, he stood defiant. He knew no other way to stand.
    Belly tight, Aimery looked again at Herewart. “What has happened, my lord?”
    “My son is dead, Your Grace,” said Herewart, his voice raw. “My youngest. Hughe.”
    The blunt words tore wide his own monstrous, unhealed wound. “I’m sorry to hear it, Herewart. To lose a son untimely is—”
    “You must know he was murdered,” Herewart said, bludgeoning. “By your son and heir, Balfre.”
    “
Liar!
” Balfre shouted, and would have leapt at the old man but for Grefin’s restraining hand. “It was ill chance, not murder, and he’d still be alive had you taught him how he should speak of Harcia’s heir! The fault is yours, Herewart, not mine, that your son’s bed tonight is a coffin!”
    Aimery closed his eyes, briefly. Oil and water, they were, he and this son. Oil and flame.
Balfre, you shit. When will you cease burning me?
“What ill chance?”
    “None,” said Herewart, glowering. “Hughe’s death was purposed. Your son challenged mine to a duel and killed him.”
    “
Duel?
” Balfre laughed, incredulous. “It was a joust! I unhorsed him by the rules, and when I left him he was barely more than winded. How can you—”
    “No, my lord, how can
you
!” said Herewart, a shaking fist raised at Balfre. “My son made a ribald jest, harmless, and
you
, being so tender-skinned and pig-fat full of self love, you couldn’t laugh and let it go by. You had to answer him with your lance, you had to goad him into unwise confrontation in the company of churls and mudder knights and take your revenge by taking his life! He breathed his last this morning; his body broken, your name upon his blood-stained lips.”
    Pulling free of his brother’s holding hand, Balfre took a step forward. “Your Grace, Hughe’s death isn’t my—”
    Aimery silenced him with a look, then turned. “My lord Herewart, as a father I grieve with you. And as your duke I promise justice. But for now, go with Curteis. He’ll see you to warmth and wine while I have words with my son.”
    Herewart hesitated, then nodded. As Curteis ushered him within the castle, and the inner bailey emptied of servants, squires, men-at-armsand horses, Grefin tried to counsel his brother but was roughly pushed aside.
    “Balfre,” Aimery said, when they were alone. “What was Hughe’s jest?”
    His face dark with temper, Balfre swung round. “It was an insult, not a jest. And public, made with intent. I couldn’t let it go by.”
    “Grefin?”
    Grefin glanced at his brother, then nodded. “It’s true.