Tyrant’s Blood. Fiona McIntosh

      Piven scowled. ‘Why are you so scared of it?’

      ‘You could be killed for admitting you possess it, and let me assure you that being killed would be the easy let-off. I told you a long time ago that the barbarians were hunting down all Vested. I heard they rounded up quite a horde but I have no idea what happened to them. I suspect many were killed.’

      ‘And was Clovis one of those rounded up?’

      Greven’s head snapped around. ‘You catch on quickly for someone who was an imbecile,’ he said, pointedly.

      ‘That’s because I never was one.’

      Greven hadn’t expected an answer and he certainly hadn’t anticipated a response that would shock him. ‘Pardon?’ Piven smiled. Normally, Piven’s smiles were warm and bright but Greven glimpsed cunning in this one. It was gone quickly but he’d seen it and it felt unnerving. Once again he was reminded to strengthen his resolve against his urges. Were they being unwittingly whittled away by Piven’s power? Did the boy even understand it? ‘What do you mean, child?’

      Piven shrugged. ‘I wasn’t mad. I was lost, just as you said. There’s a difference.’

      Greven’s gaze narrowed. ‘We’ve never really talked about what happened, have we?’

      ‘We’ve never needed to,’ Piven said, pulling himself up by a tree branch. ‘We’ve always just been glad I turned out as I have.’

      Greven didn’t move. He checked all the mental barriers he’d taught himself to erect. His mind was tight; no thoughts, no clues were leaking. ‘You’re right. It was as though Lo himself smiled upon you.’ Again he saw Piven’s lip curl slightly in a half smile, bordering on a smirk. ‘It was enough for me. Do you recall when I found you?’

      ‘Greven, why are we doing this?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Talking about old times while perched on a hill that we are using to run away from the life we enjoyed.’

      ‘Do you know, you’ve said more in the last day than you’ve uttered in your lifetime?’

      Piven shook his head. ‘I hate exaggeration.’

      ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten how silent you were.’

      ‘You’re deliberately trying to upset me, I think.’

      ‘I love you, Piven. I would never deliberately do anything to upset you.’

      ‘Then stop probing me.’

      ‘Why?’

      Piven kicked at a small rock. ‘Because I don’t want to answer lots of questions.’

      ‘Although it seems you have answers.’

      ‘Not necessarily.’

      ‘Look at me, boy,’ Greven demanded.

      Piven sulkily met Greven’s eyes. ‘What?’

      Greven could remember Lily being much like this when she had been around the same age as Piven. Sullenness and taking the opposite view of adults seemed to be the disposition of all youth. But he was certain there was something else between himself and his boy. ‘What’s eating at you?’ Greven asked, his tone as reasonable and as friendly as he could make it.

      ‘I’m just angry.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I liked where we lived.’ Piven shrugged. ‘I liked our life. I don’t see why strangers should send us on the run and I don’t see why I don’t have any say in it.’

      Greven nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you.’

      Piven said nothing but Greven could see the boy’s jaw working furiously. He was angry, and had disguised it well until now. ‘Shall we talk about it?’ he tried.

      ‘Will it make any difference? Will it make you turn back?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Then there’s no point in talking about it.’

      ‘Nevertheless, I think we should talk about those olden times you refer to.’

      Piven gave a long sigh as though bored. ‘And if I don’t want to?’

      ‘Then let me talk.’

      Piven nodded, although Greven sensed that the boy felt he didn’t have much choice.

      ‘I want to talk about your magic.’ He saw Piven’s jaw clench.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I don’t understand it. Apple?’ Greven held out the fruit he’d dug from his sack. ‘Help yourself.’

      Piven picked up the small knife and cut off a chunk of the apple. He bit into the fruit as he replied, ‘What do you want to know?’

      ‘You told me a while back that you could wield this magic. But you’ve never said how long you’ve known you’ve had the skill.’

      The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Forever.’

      ‘Forever being from when you were little…or from when you began talking?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’

      Greven nodded, not entirely convinced he trusted that answer. ‘All right. When did you first use it?’

      ‘To heal a robin with a damaged wing.’ Piven tested the sharpness of the knife on his thumb.

      ‘When was that?’

      ‘In the woods, outside our hut.’

      ‘When, I said, not where.’

      Piven gave a vexed sigh. ‘I can’t remember, probably three winters ago.’

      ‘And you’ve been using magic ever since?’

      ‘No. The next time was on you.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘To give you back your face. I—’

      ‘No, Piven. I meant why did you wait? Between the robin and me?’

      Piven shook his head. ‘I didn’t trust it. I didn’t really understand it.’ He hacked off another chunk of the apple and began chewing on it.

      ‘Didn’t trust it? Why?’

      ‘I’m Valisar.’

      Greven frowned, reached for some bread. ‘In name only.’

      Piven looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

      ‘Had you forgotten you were adopted?’

      ‘What I meant is, despite my seeming madness I’ve lived as Valisar and the royal family obviously made me nervous about magic. I didn’t trust it.’

      Greven felt a nervous energy ripple through him. He threw the morsel of bread left in his hand to some inquisitive birds nearby. ‘So you could understand what they were saying around you?’

      ‘I suppose.’

      Greven tried not to lose his patience. ‘Piven, help me. I’m trying to understand you.’

      ‘There’s nothing much to understand, Greven. I didn’t use my magic because I wasn’t sure about it. That’s all.’ Piven flicked the knife around in his hand, angrily.

      ‘If you didn’t use it, how did you know you possessed it?’

      ‘I knew, that’s all,’ Piven said, and Greven could tell that his young companion would not be drawn on this.

      ‘Do you know the extent of your powers?’

      Piven shook his head, hacking at the grasses between his ankles ith the knife, his head lowered.