Mercedes Lackey - Anthology by Flights of Fantasy Page A

grown up in. I stared at it as we moved, dwelling
over the buildings, imagining him as a boy playing tag or kicking rocks, and
wondering with each moment if he had ever stood in the exact spot where I was
now.
                 I
glanced at Kiva.
                 She
rode anxiously on my arm. At first I attributed her demeanor to her distaste
for the city's closed space. But as we progressed she grew more agitated,
ruffling her feathers and stretching her wings often. A hawk's silhouette
graced the sky above, another of our birds following at a cautious distance.
                 I
had never previously known any of the birds to follow my father and me when we
traveled, and the novelty of its appearance in conjunction with Kiva's odd
discomfort made me feel uneasy.
                 As
we neared the king's castle, the gates opened and an armored guard approached.
                 "How
is the princess?" Parr said as he slid from his mount.
                
                 The
guard grunted and pulled at his well-trimmed beard. "Worse off, from what
I hear," he said, his expression grave.
                 Parr
gave a deflated sigh. "The king?" he asked.
                 "With the princess."
                 "Come
on," Parr said to me. "There is no time to spare."
                 I
swung my leg over my horse's saddle, glad for the opportunity to stretch.
                 The
guard pointed at Kiva. "We can put the bird in the aviary," he said.
                 Kiva
had not calmed any, and I would not leave her alone for fear of adding to her
anxiety.
                 "Thank
you," I responded. "But I will keep her with me."
                 The
guard glanced at Kiva, then looked to Parr with a
question in his gaze.
                 Parr
merely shrugged and motioned me to follow him.
                 "It's
all right," I cooed as I went, noting Kiva's heightened nervousness with
each of my steps and hoping my assertion was correct.
                 Kiva
opened her wingspan, then settled in a little.
                 We
walked across the manor yard. It was a large, rolling field that seemed to
absorb sound. Crows strutted across the green grass, scattering as I drew near,
their shoulders shimmering with blue-sheened lurching motions.
                 The
fragrance of corn and beans and tomatoes came from the king's garden.
                 Members
of the manor stopped as we passed them by. The weight of their awkward stares
burned on my back, I felt the presence of my father then, so close I could
smell the bitter reek of sorcery that had always hung around him. I had watched
him handle this situation time and time again, walking into a place where
people around him feared what he was, feared the whole of what he stood for.
                 In
an unusual burst of verbosity, he had once talked to me about it.
                 "You
must go into a new city as if you own it, Cullen. Or else it will own you."
                 Remembering
his words, I threw back my shoulders and set my face with the same firm
countenance that had once been his. We are very similar in features, my father
and I. I know this. And now I cast myself as him, twenty years younger and
walking into Ellingsworth with all the confidence in the world.
                 A
doorman opened the gates.
                 We
entered the castle, our footsteps muffled by plush rugs that lined the floor.
Clean-burning candles lit the expansive hallway of gray stone.
                 Paintings
and heavy tapestries lined the walls. Kiva grew suddenly subdued.
                 "Come,"
Parr said anxiously.
                 He
led me through the hallway and up a set of wide, sweeping stairs. A long
corridor led past several doors before we stopped at a guarded