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His father nodded. “Definitely. It’s more important than ever, especially after the fiasco that was last year’s Festival.”
“Percival won’t be happy,” Heath commented. “Aren’t you worried he’ll get up to mischief, stuck here on house arrest all alone?”
The duke sighed. “Worrying doesn’t achieve much,” he said wryly. He handed the parchment back to Heath. “What is this actually for?”
Heath took it, his eyes on the names of Laura’s twins. “I thought I sensed magic when Percival was attacked,” he said bluntly, making a snap decision. “I don’t want to believe it was any of the Kyonan branch. But the idea of it being a Valorian is even worse. And even less logical,” he added as an afterthought.
“Does the crown know about this?” The duke sounded alarmed.
“I told Prince Lachlan,” Heath said, glad of his father’s wording. If he’d asked whether the king knew, he would likely have sensed deception in Heath’s evasive answers, even without actual untruth.
“He will have told his father,” the duke mused, his expression hard to read.
Heath kept quiet, not responding to the incorrect assumption.
“You two look cozy.” Percival’s resentful voice brought an instant change to the mood of the corridor.
Both men looked around to see him approaching up the polished floorboards. The duke glanced from Heath to Percival, the hint of a question on his face.
“Yes, Percival knows,” Heath said, leaning his head back against the wooden frame of the window. “He didn’t sense the magic himself, and you know how extremely gracious he is in accepting anyone else’s opinion on anything.”
The look his father gave him was faintly exasperated, but Heath just shrugged. Why should he be the mature one all the time?
“Don’t tell me you’re still going on about that blasted theory of yours!” Percival protested. “For the last time, there was no magic there other than mine! And Rekavidur’s, when he showed up. That’s probably what you felt.”
Heath gave him a disbelieving look. “You think I could ever fail to recognize Reka’s magic? I know it as well as I know yours. And incidentally, Reka agrees with me that there was magic there. He said he didn’t notice it at the time, but in memory he thinks there was some kind of weak—”
“In memory?” Percival interrupted. “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”
“Rekavidur said that?” their father asked, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Then there must have been something there…but surely Kyona wouldn’t—”
“Of course you listen to his madness!” Percival said, outraged. “I’m no longer surprised Heath would find a way to blame the whole thing on magic—it makes sense he’s scared of it, given he barely has any himself. But I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Father!”
The duke stood slowly, his stiff and austere posture showing no hint of the hurt Heath’s power sensed beneath. His father, wise and respected as he was, remained vulnerable to the opinion of his sons. It was an unsettling revelation.
“Perhaps it will do you good, Percival,” the older man said calmly. “To experience the sensation of being deeply disappointed in the conduct and attitude of a family member whom you had thought knew better.”
Percival swelled, angry words clearly growing inside him. But the duke was already walking away. Left with no other audience, Percival turned his glower on Heath.
Heath raised his hands. “Don’t start,” he said coldly.
He rose, and had taken half a step when his magic—still active from reading his father—latched unexpectedly on to his brother. Heath faltered slightly. He’d been surprised to discover hurt underneath his father’s calm. He was even more surprised to realize that Percival’s anger hid not only hurt, but uncertainty, fear…even shame.
If only you’d show any of that on the outside, even a little, Heath thought. The rest of the family might have a little more patience with their overly-proud brother and son.
“Do you know what Father had to do to convince King Matlock to release you?” he asked quietly.
Percival rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in a lecture on the powers of diplomacy,” he said, his voice giving no hint of any of the emotions Heath had sensed beneath.
“He put himself as pledge for you,” Heath continued, ignoring his brother’s words. “The king knew you might prove difficult to capture and subdue if you broke the house arrest rules. But Father gave a personal assurance of your cooperation. Which means he agreed to face the consequences himself if you commit any further breach and can’t be detained to answer for it.”
Percival frowned. “So if I run away, he’ll get some slap on the wrist. I don’t see how—”
“No.” Heath cut him off in frustration. “You don’t understand, Percival. He would take your place. King Matlock is still deciding what to do about your actions. If he deemed that you should face punishment for past or future conduct, and you couldn’t be found, or you evaded capture somehow, Father would face that punishment. If the king decided you should be flogged, or thrown back in the dungeons, or executed, it would happen to Father, not you.”
Percival stared back at him, the restless shifting of his hands the only outward sign of his agitation. “I didn’t ask him to do that,” he growled.
Heath shrugged. “He did it anyway. Which means—”
