Читать онлайн «The Ash-Born Boy»

The market coiled like a colored snake through the streets of Dale, patterned with the brown of the stalls, and the yellows and greens and reds of the things they sold.

People chattered, and children laughed beneath the rare blue stretch of sky, cloudless and perfect, and, bolstered by the sun, they darted between parents and booths, making up games as they went. A group played a messy kind of tag that involved weaving and racing, everyone both a target and a pursuer. A boy grabbed for a girl, who dodged desperately, clipping the edge of a fruit stand as she went. She recovered and ran on with a high laugh, but the stand, heaped high with apples, started to tip. The vendor turned, but lunged too late. The apples were already rolling, and the table was already falling, and he cringed away from the inevitable crash.

But it never came.

A hand caught the table’s edge and steadied it. The apples settled, all but a small green one, which escaped, rolled to the lip, over, and into the rescuer’s other hand. The vendor let out a sigh of relief.

“Master Dale,” he said. “Good day, and thank you. ”

The rescuer, a boy of sixteen, brushed the apple along the sleeve of his cloak. It was a velvety black, just like his hair. “Please, Peter,” he said. “That is my father, not me. ”

The vendor bowed his head. “Pardon, but I thought the son went by Master and the father by Lord. Have customs changed since I went to bed?”

“No.

The vendor cast a nervous glance around the market, unsure of what to do. All royals had two names, the one they were born with, and the one they took if they became a member of the ruling family. The first name could be anything, but the second was always Dale. It was the name of the city itself, and it was an honor. Peter knew that to call the boy anything else was a punishable offense, but he also knew of his temper, and even if he didn’t believe the rumors––deals with gods or devils, or worse, witches––he didn’t want trouble.

“Apologies, Master…Hart. ” He cast another glance around when he said the name, and this time swore he saw two people turn, an eyebrow lift, a word or two whispered beneath the din of the market.

The boy brightened. It was his mother’s name, and it gave him some small pleasure to defy Robert by using it.

“Thank you,” he said with a genuine smile. “And William’s fine, really. Now, how much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. ”

He frowned, digging in his pocket. “Peter––”

“Don’t matter what name you want to go by, William, I can't take money from you. ”

Will took another bite of the apple, and set three white disks on the table with an audible click. “Then I will simply forget a few coins here. A harmless mistake. ” He drew a hand through the air above the market. “So many customers here today, you couldn't know whose coins they were. ”