The Whisperer by Fiona McIntosh

mean.’ He backhanded Lute in the chest. ‘Here, boy, in here! What does your heart, your very soul, say to you?’
    Lute felt the pinpricks of suspicion return. Felt the carefree sensation of just moments ago vanish. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Janko, I don’t know what you mean. I’ve already told you that I am very proud of this city. That’s how my heart feels.’
    His uncle sighed. ‘I’ve fought for years to keep this city safe, to watch it flourish as it does now. These days Floris in particular but also Drestonia as a whole is a very prosperous realm. It would be considered a prize catch by any marauding army and it is why old Besler would love to annex it.’
    Lute couldn’t shake the tension but he tried again to be polite. ‘Well, that’s why my father loves and admires you.’
    ‘Because I keep his realm safe, do you mean?’
    ‘Because you are loyal to Drestonia and want peace for it as much as its people do.’
    ‘Ah, spoken like a true king, Lute.’
    ‘I am not a king.’
    ‘But you wish to be,’ Janko said and there was a cunning note in his tone now.
    ‘I am its Crown Prince,’ Lute said carefully, silently acknowledging the turn of the conversation, alarm bells clanging in his head.
    His uncle barked a harsh, brief laugh. ‘Indeed. Heir to the throne of Drestonia? Why, it has to be the most envied position in the whole of the Moragans.’
    ‘The Moragans is a group of nine kingdoms, Uncle Janko. We are but one of them,’ he replied with care.
    ‘But your kingdom is the largest. Yours is the most powerful—it has the river network and its fine harbour. It has mineral wealth and fine black agricultural soil. Drestonia grows everything it eats and its surplus it sells to the rest of the realms it dominates. Please don’t pretend to me that you consider it one of the pack.’
    Lute bristled. ‘I don’t pretend anything. I am the son of the King and Queen, nothing more, nothing less.’
    ‘The only son of King Rodin.’
    ‘I can’t help that,’ Lute said, tiring of the banter and its curious undertone, and the need to remain polite. He wished Pilo were here to guide him. ‘Uncle Janko, why are you reminding me of something so obvious? I have known the crown was mine since I was old enough to understand words.’
    Janko’s expression lost all pretence at politeness. The man who looked so similar to the King suddenly became the lizard-like predator the Queen feared. His lips pulled back in a sneer and his voice seemed to drop a few notes into a growl. ‘Because, young Lute, I’ve no intention of allowing you that crown for I don’t believe you are the true heir.’
    And he reached for Tirell’s reins.

8
    Miralda gestured that the servants should leave and the palace aides silently left the salon where the King and Queen had been taking their morning porridge. It was not long past first light, with the sun lifting itself to brighten the dark sky with slashes of pink cutting across the inkiness. Mists rolled away from the palace towards the hills.
    ‘Are you feeling well, Rodin? You’ve hardly said a word. In fact you’ve been downright broody,’ she said. ‘Is it the early hour?’
    ‘Mmmm?’ Rodin seemed distracted, looking around from where he’d been staring.
    She repeated her enquiry.
    The King sighed. ‘Forgive me. I’m puzzled, that’s all. Last night I received a message from Captain Drew. I thought he was misinformed but it seems he’s right: Floris appears to be surrounded by soldiers.’
    ‘Pardon?’ Miralda said, pushing away her bowl. ‘What do you mean?’
    Rodin shrugged. ‘Exactly what I say. All the town gates were secured by the home guard at my behest last night but fringing the capital are the soldiers of the legion. It just doesn’t make sense.’
    ‘Upon whose orders?’ And then she answered her own question. ‘Janko? Janko’s done this?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
    Rodin seemed as incredulous as she did. He didn’t sound