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“Probably not,” Heath acknowledged.
Percival sent him a sideways glance. “I’m glad to see you more like yourself, anyway. I think Kyona was good for you.”
Heath’s smile dimmed. He wished he could say the same for Percival.
The city gate loomed ahead, and the guard stationed on top of the wall set up a cry which spread out into the city. Heath knew the call was for the prince and princess in the carriage, not for him and Percival. But it was still a strange feeling to have their arrival heralded in such a way. Heath didn’t miss how Percival straightened in the saddle, or his thoughtful expression as he surveyed the crowd who gathered to watch the royal group pass.
There were no welcoming shouts like there had been when they’d rode into Kynton, but Heath saw that there were still plenty of eyes on the pair of them. Percival in particular was the focus of many admiring glances. The commoners of Bryford weren’t as open about expressing it as their Kyonan counterparts, but they were clearly also dazzled by the existence of magic in their court. Percival had lost none of his popularity during his absence.
Thanks to the presence of their grandparents, Heath and Percival would never know whether they would have otherwise been greeted by King Matlock himself. But as it happened, both the king and his eldest son welcomed them upon their arrival at the castle. King Matlock was focused on his elderly aunt and uncle, but Prince Lachlan gravitated toward Heath as soon as the general greetings were complete.
“How was your time in Kynton?” Prince Lachlan asked. “I trust King Eamon and Queen Luciana are in good health?”
“They certainly are,” said Heath, trying to make his smile reassuring. “We had a very pleasant visit, but I’m glad to be home.”
Prince Lachlan’s answering smile was almost warm for the reserved royal. “We are glad to see you safely returned to us. And I’m happy to hear that all is well in Kyona.”
Heath wasn’t sure if it was his power once again coming into effect, or just normal intuition, but he was sure he saw tension in Prince Lachlan’s face as the prince’s gaze flicked to Percival. It seemed his grandmother wasn’t the only one who shared Heath’s concern about Percival’s exposure to the culture in Kynton. It was very possible that Lachlan, as crown prince, had much better information about the state of King Eamon’s court than Heath had, prior to his visit. He may have known what his power-wielding second cousins would experience.
It was, of course, inevitable that the travelers would draw a comparison. Heath could almost feel Percival’s despondence at the stilted conversation happening between his brother and their future king. It was so markedly different from the lively camaraderie he’d been sharing with Prince Theodore, who would one day rule Kyona.
“We must send a courier to inform your parents of your arrival,” Prince Lachlan was saying. “They returned to their estate soon after your departure, but I understand that they intended to come back to Bryford as soon as you reached us.”
“Perhaps we should meet them at Bexley Manor,” said Heath quickly. It had been so many weeks since he’d been home, and if he was going to attempt to contact Reka about traveling to Vazula again, it would be ideal to already be at the coast.
Prince Lachlan hesitated. “I believe my father was hoping to meet with you in the next few days, Lord Heath.”
“Of course,” said Heath quickly, feeling foolish.
He was still getting used to the fact that he had an official role now. Naturally King Matlock would wish to hear a report of his time in Kynton. He would have to think carefully about how best to communicate what he had learned. Perhaps the king could be tactfully encouraged to celebrate his cousins’ magic more.
“I was hoping to speak with you as well,” Prince Lachlan continued. His eyes once again flicked to Percival, then back to Heath. “My father has given me responsibility to organize our first loyalty ceremony, and I would be grateful for your advice, as the crown’s liaison to our power-wielding community.”
Heath started, his eyes also flying to his brother. He’d momentarily forgotten about the ceremony. Percival would be twenty-one in a matter of months. On that day, he would be the first to undergo the king’s new requirement on power-wielders—a public ceremony at which they would swear their loyalty to the crown, and their intention to use their magic for the good of the kingdom.
In itself, it shouldn’t really be controversial. Heath and Percival—and all their power-wielding relations—were, and always had been, loyal to King Matlock. And Heath didn’t think any of them would hesitate to use their power to help Valoria. But Heath knew that Percival considered the ceremony to be an insult, implying that they weren’t loyal already.
And he had to admit he saw his brother’s point. It didn’t help that they were perfectly aware that the ceremony had only been instituted in response to pressure from those in the court who disapproved of the power-wielders, and wanted to place limits on the exercise of their magic. And it really didn’t help that Percival—who was the most resentful of the restrictions, and whom the crown seemed most concerned about—would be the first to turn twenty-one and have a ceremony.
“Of course,” Heath said carefully. “I would be glad to speak further about the ceremony.”
Prince Lachlan nodded, giving him a swift smile. “Tomorrow, then?”
Heath agreed to it, his eyes still on his brother. Perhaps by tomorrow their parents would be in Bryford, and Heath wouldn’t have to keep such a close eye on Percival. The Duke of Bexley had a way of looking at his sons when they were behaving childishly—with calm bemusement, as though he found their conduct utterly incomprehensible. Heath smiled to himself at the thought. Even the volatile Percival wasn’t immune to that look, and Heath didn’t think Percival would express his dissatisfaction over the ceremony in any outrageous way once their parents were in the capital.
In the meantime, Heath had a challenge of his own. It was still early in the afternoon, and he and Percival were quickly settled into the city residence their family occupied whenever in Bryford. Percival lost no time in going in search of some of his friends, and without actually confirming it, Heath allowed his brother to believe that he was going to rest, for the sake of his leg.
But as soon as Percival was out of sight, Heath made for the stables where his father kept a few horses for just such situations. The groom was well-trained to serve more exacting noblemen than Heath, and he asked no questions. Within minutes, Heath was riding out of the city, heading northeast, with no specific destination in mind.
Once he had left Bryford behind, he veered off the road onto a series of gently sloping hills. His horse thundered across the turf, glad of the chance for a canter. Heath winced a little—it had been a long few days in the saddle, after all—but he didn’t slow the pace. He made for the highest point in the area, pulling the horse to a stop at last when he crested the grassy hill.
He drew a deep breath, trying not to think too hard about what he was going to do. His emotions were still a tangled mess where Rekavidur was concerned, but his grandmother’s words had made enough of an impression on him that he knew something had to change.
“Rekavidur,” he called, the volume more for his own benefit than Reka’s. It wasn’t as though his shout could reach the dragon colony on Wyvern Islands by normal means. If his friend’s farsight was still trained on Heath, he would respond to his name. If not, then no volume would make a difference.
Heath waited, feeling nervous in a way he never had before when calling for Reka. There was no response, not that he expected one so quickly. Even if Reka was willing to come, it would take time for him to fly from his colony.
“Reka, can we talk?” Heath tried again, for good measure. He focused his thoughts on Reka, wondering if the dragon was really listening. Was he angry at Heath’s prolonged coldness? Perhaps it was too late to mend their friendship.
