Wizard of the Grove by Tanya Huff

these old cliches.”
    â€œYes, Father.”
    â€œI’m going to see that this burden goes to you. Perhaps I’m doing you no favor.” He sighed. “A king has no conscience, my son, he gives it to the people.”
    â€œI will remember, Father.”
    Raen snorted. “They’re not likely to let you forget.”
    Attendants moved the king to a litter and carried him through the halls of the palace, Rael keeping pace alongside. Although they tried, it was not always possible to keep the litter even and once, when it jerked on a stair, Raen bit back a pained cry. Choking back a cry of his own, Rael reached out a hand and his father’s wasted fingers closed gratefully around it.
    Belkar, in the formal, ornate robes of a Duke of Ardhan, stood by the Great Door.
    â€œMy liege.” He knelt and kissed the shadow of a hand stretched out to him.
    â€œJust help me off this thing,” Raen snapped. Friendship could weaken him now as easily as pain and he still had much to do. “I’m not dead yet!”
    The king had not stood unassisted since he had been carried off the battlefield for the second time, but when he was on his feet he shook off the supporting hands of his son and his friend.
    â€œThis I must do alone,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let it begin, Belkar.”
    Belkar shook his head at the prince’s pleading look, a look that said as loudly as if Rael had spoken,
You can’t let him do it alone!,
and gave the signal. Trumpets called and the great doors swung open.
    The People’s Square was full and overflowing with the entire population of King’s City and, as commanded, all six dukes. They represented only a small percentage of the population of Ardhan, but they would spread the news and by the end of the week, the whole country would know. And then the people would judge.
    Raen did not call up deep reserves of hidden strength so that he walked proudly, shoulders back and head erect to the edge of the dais—he had no reserves to call. He tottered that twenty feet, sweatrunning and lips snarling against the pain. One foot went in front of the other by strength of will alone.
    The people saw what it cost him and began to cheer. First those near the dais and then the noise moved back through the crowd until the walls shook with it and Raen felt it through the stones under his feet. He stopped and raised his hands for silence, but the crowd refused to quiet until he swayed and collapsed.
    â€œFather!”
    Rael, Belkar, and the king’s attendants rushed forward, all expecting the worst, but the king still clutched at life.
    â€œGet me on the litter,” he rasped, “and raise it so I can see and be seen. I must say what I have come to say.”
    â€œFather, it isn’t important, I . . .”
    â€œThis isn’t just for you. I will not have my country torn by civil war!”
    With gentle hands, Rael lifted his father and laid him carefully on the litter. Some of the crowd hissed at this show of his strength—wasted or not, the king was a large man still—but Rael didn’t care. His only thought was for the man he loved who lay dying.
    Two of the attendants hoisted one end of the litter to their shoulders. Raen stared out at the Square from the dark hollows his eyes had become.
    â€œI am still your king!” he cried in a voice surprisingly strong.
    The people cheered.
    â€œThis,” he continued, taking Rael’s hand, “is my son.”
    Only a few cheered. Most muttered sullenly and one, a weaver, apparently the chosen spokesman, twisted his cap in his hands and called out: “We don’t doubt you are his father, Sire, but we have concerns about his mother.”
    â€œYou know who his mother is.”
    The weaver squirmed and reddened but he persisted. “And that’s the problem, Sire. He isn’t human and who’s to say with you gone that he won’t turn on