perhaps his gruff, impatient manner didn’t prove anything one way or the other.
“Sorry, sir,” Starros replied, straightening a little. “Travin said you wanted to see me?”
“Aye.” Almodavar fell into step beside Starros and they continued walking through the training yards. The day was clear and crisp. The captain’s hands were clasped behind his back, his expression thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering his words. After several moments of strained silence, which took them past the yards and out towards the stables, Almodavar finally spoke again. “You’ve been here a long time, lad.”
“Since I was five,” Starros agreed, although Almodavar hardly needed reminding of that. He was the one who had brought Starros to the palace. “Ten years.”
“And have you given any thought to what you want to do, once you leave?”
Starros looked at the captain curiously. “I wasn’t aware I was leaving, Captain. Is there something I should know about?”
“Princess Marla is due back soon,” Almodavar reminded him. “She mentioned on her last visit that you should start giving some thought to what you want to do with your life.”
“I have a choice?” Starros asked, a little surprised.
“The most powerful woman in Hythria thinks of you as her foster-son, Starros. You have been raised as a member of the family of the next High Prince of Hythria. Young Damin treats you like a brother and, most importantly, you can make him see reason when he gets his head full of some of the more harebrained schemes he’s becoming famous for.”
“He’s not a bad lad, sir. He just likes to test his limits.” Starros smiled. “A lot.”
“And you are one of the few with the ability to rein him in. The princess knows this.”
“She’s never said anything to me.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate. She mentioned it to me, though. You’ve a rare chance to make something of your life, you know.”
“I assumed if I had any future here at all, it was as a member of the Palace Guard. Isn’t that usually what happens to fosterlings?”
“You’re too well educated for a life in the barracks.”
Starros stared at the captain, surprised to hear the warrior suggesting anything other than a life in the barracks. An avid follower of the God of War, for Almodavar there was simply no more noble profession than being a warrior in the service of your prince.
“What did she have in mind?”
“Every High Prince needs a steward.”
Starros stopped dead and stared at the captain. “You think I’m capable of becoming Damin’s steward some day?”
“It’s not an unlikely scenario,” Almodavar replied. “You’re a bright lad. Damin trusts you. With the right training, you could be anything you want.”
“I’m a bastard fosterling, Almodavar,” Starros reminded the captain. “That sort of limits my options a little, don’t you think?”
“Hablet of Fardohnya’s chamberlain is a slave and a eunuch,” Almodavar pointed out. “And yet Lecter Turon is one of the most powerful men in Fardohnya.”
“Is losing your balls a job requirement?” Starros asked, a little alarmed.
The captain smiled. “Not unless you’re planning a career in Fardohnya.”
“Then I think I’ll stay right here in Hythria,” he replied with a shudder. “With all of me right where it belongs, thank you.”
“But you’ll give it some thought?”
“I suppose,” Starros shrugged, seeing no harm in agreeing to this. He couldn’t imagine himself ever being offered such a powerful position, despite how highly the princess thought of him. The best Starros thought he could really hope for was to become an officer in the Raiders, albeit one with very important and influential friends. “What sort of special training would I need?”
“I don’t really know. More lessons in economics, I guess. And history. Probably diplomacy. And protocol. Princess Marla has it all worked out, I don’t
“Sorry, sir,” Starros replied, straightening a little. “Travin said you wanted to see me?”
“Aye.” Almodavar fell into step beside Starros and they continued walking through the training yards. The day was clear and crisp. The captain’s hands were clasped behind his back, his expression thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering his words. After several moments of strained silence, which took them past the yards and out towards the stables, Almodavar finally spoke again. “You’ve been here a long time, lad.”
“Since I was five,” Starros agreed, although Almodavar hardly needed reminding of that. He was the one who had brought Starros to the palace. “Ten years.”
“And have you given any thought to what you want to do, once you leave?”
Starros looked at the captain curiously. “I wasn’t aware I was leaving, Captain. Is there something I should know about?”
“Princess Marla is due back soon,” Almodavar reminded him. “She mentioned on her last visit that you should start giving some thought to what you want to do with your life.”
“I have a choice?” Starros asked, a little surprised.
“The most powerful woman in Hythria thinks of you as her foster-son, Starros. You have been raised as a member of the family of the next High Prince of Hythria. Young Damin treats you like a brother and, most importantly, you can make him see reason when he gets his head full of some of the more harebrained schemes he’s becoming famous for.”
“He’s not a bad lad, sir. He just likes to test his limits.” Starros smiled. “A lot.”
“And you are one of the few with the ability to rein him in. The princess knows this.”
“She’s never said anything to me.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate. She mentioned it to me, though. You’ve a rare chance to make something of your life, you know.”
“I assumed if I had any future here at all, it was as a member of the Palace Guard. Isn’t that usually what happens to fosterlings?”
“You’re too well educated for a life in the barracks.”
Starros stared at the captain, surprised to hear the warrior suggesting anything other than a life in the barracks. An avid follower of the God of War, for Almodavar there was simply no more noble profession than being a warrior in the service of your prince.
“What did she have in mind?”
“Every High Prince needs a steward.”
Starros stopped dead and stared at the captain. “You think I’m capable of becoming Damin’s steward some day?”
“It’s not an unlikely scenario,” Almodavar replied. “You’re a bright lad. Damin trusts you. With the right training, you could be anything you want.”
“I’m a bastard fosterling, Almodavar,” Starros reminded the captain. “That sort of limits my options a little, don’t you think?”
“Hablet of Fardohnya’s chamberlain is a slave and a eunuch,” Almodavar pointed out. “And yet Lecter Turon is one of the most powerful men in Fardohnya.”
“Is losing your balls a job requirement?” Starros asked, a little alarmed.
The captain smiled. “Not unless you’re planning a career in Fardohnya.”
“Then I think I’ll stay right here in Hythria,” he replied with a shudder. “With all of me right where it belongs, thank you.”
“But you’ll give it some thought?”
“I suppose,” Starros shrugged, seeing no harm in agreeing to this. He couldn’t imagine himself ever being offered such a powerful position, despite how highly the princess thought of him. The best Starros thought he could really hope for was to become an officer in the Raiders, albeit one with very important and influential friends. “What sort of special training would I need?”
“I don’t really know. More lessons in economics, I guess. And history. Probably diplomacy. And protocol. Princess Marla has it all worked out, I don’t
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