"He has no more pigeons. He would have used the one you gave Reuth all those years ago; he never had one of his own. I reckon with a horse and some money I can find him faster than he can try and re-open the lines of communication."

Freath nodded reluctantly. "Money's no problem. We'll buy you a horse, though, from here. I don't think you should take a palace beast, just in case." There was suddenly nothing more to say. "So you'll leave, just like that?"

"Freath," Kirin began gently, then sighed. "Yes. I promise I will get word to you somehow."

"Won't you at least share a plate of Osh with me?"

Kirin gave a soft grin. "Do you always have to win?"

Seven.

Greven dug his staff into the ground and hauled himself up the incline.

"Are you all right?" Piven asked over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about me, lad. I'm as strong as an ox."

"Well an ox, as strong as it is, would be stupid to climb this hill. I still don't understand why we must."

Greven gave a brief bitter laugh. "Because only fools would."

"There's a perfectly good road below us."

"Perfectly good, yes. Also perfectly open, perfectly positioned for ambush, perfectly-"

Piven stopped and turned. "Ambush?" he interrupted, his voice leaden with sarcasm.

Greven waved a hand. "Just pause a while. Let me catch my breath." He looked up to see the sun low in the sky. It was nearly time to think about an evening meal. "You must be famished. Let's stop properly and eat something light. We can build a fire later and cook the rabbits we've brought."

Piven unslung the water skin and offered it to Greven, who took it gratefully and drank a few mouthfuls. "Ah," he sighed with relief. "I suspect I owe you an explanation."

"I would agree with that," Piven replied, sitting down beside Greven. "What are you frightened of? What happened yesterday?"

Greven knew the boy deserved to know. And he felt safer now that they had put some distance between themselves and the interfering couple. "A man called Clovis and his wife, Reuth, came to see me. They are looking for you." As he spoke he delved into a small sack of food, pulling out a tiny loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese and some nuts.

"Me?"

Despite the note of surprise in his tone, Greven sensed that Piven had already guessed as much. The boy's perceptiveness was unnerving for one so young. "I suppose it was wishful thinking to imagine that anyone from the former royal family would be left entirely alone," Greven grumbled, more to himself. He placed a knife on the stump of a nearby tree that had obviously been felled a long time ago, its surface smooth enough now to act as a makeshift table.

"They would do better to hunt Leo," Piven replied carefully.

Greven frowned. The boy was right. So why was he so frightened for Piven and, more to the point, of Piven and his powers? "They probably imagine that Leo is dead. And he could be, for all we know. But someone obviously suspects you're alive and while you may not be blood, you are still valuable as a figure of hope to any pockets of loyalism."

Piven shook his head. "It's been ten anni!"

"Some people have long memories, son."

"Do they know?"

Greven shook his head, understanding. "No one knows of your change but you and me. And no one should know, if we're sensible."

"You want me to pretend to still be simple?"

"I don't know what I want. I just don't want anyone to know about your true identity."

"But they still think I'm an imbecile."

"Imbecile? That's a harsh word. From what I could tell, Piven, everyone thought of you simply as an invalid. But you're right-they believe you to be older but exactly as you were when you were last at the palace. That's our one advantage. I'm hoping we can lose ourselves among people, especially as we are now hard to pinpoint given your maturity and the fact that my leprosy has miraculously cleared."

"Don't avoid the truth," Piven said, somewhat harshly. "It's not a miracle. It's magic."

"I know you're one for honesty, Piven, but you're never to speak of magic so openly again, do you hear?"

Piven scowled. "Why are you so scared of it?"

"You could be killed for admitting you possess it, and let me assure you that being killed would be the easy let-off. I told you a long time ago that the barbarians were hunting down all Vested. I heard they rounded up quite a horde but I have no idea what happened to them. I suspect many were killed."

"And was Clovis one of those rounded up?"

Greven's head snapped around. "You catch on quickly for someone who was an imbecile," he said, pointedly.

"That's because I never was one."

Greven hadn't expected an answer and he certainly hadn't anticipated a response that would shock him. "Pardon?" Piven smiled. Normally, Piven's smiles were warm and bright but Greven glimpsed cunning in this one. It was gone quickly but he'd seen it and it felt unnerving. Once again he was reminded to strengthen his resolve against his urges. Were they being unwittingly whittled away by Piven's power? Did the boy even understand it? "What do you mean, child?"

Piven shrugged. "I wasn't mad. I was lost, just as you said. There's a difference."

Greven's gaze narrowed. "We've never really talked about what happened, have we?"

"We've never needed to," Piven said, pulling himself up by a tree branch. "We've always just been glad I turned out as I have."

Greven didn't move. He checked all the mental barriers he'd taught himself to erect. His mind was tight; no thoughts, no clues were leaking. "You're right. It was as though Lo himself smiled upon you." Again he saw Piven's lip curl slightly in a half smile, bordering on a smirk. "It was enough for me. Do you recall when I found you?"

"Greven, why are we doing this?"

"What?"

"Talking about old times while perched on a hill that we are using to run away from the life we enjoyed."

"Do you know, you've said more in the last day than you've uttered in your lifetime?"

Piven shook his head. "I hate exaggeration."

"Perhaps you've forgotten how silent you were."

"You're deliberately trying to upset me, I think."

"I love you, Piven. I would never deliberately do anything to upset you."

"Then stop probing me."

"Why?"

Piven kicked at a small rock. "Because I don't want to answer lots of questions."

"Although it seems you have answers."

"Not necessarily."

"Look at me, boy," Greven demanded.

Piven sulkily met Greven's eyes. "What?"

Greven could remember Lily being much like this when she had been around the same age as Piven. Sullenness and taking the opposite view of adults seemed to be the disposition of all youth. But he was certain there was something else between himself and his boy. "What's eating at you?" Greven asked, his tone as reasonable and as friendly as he could make it.

"I'm just angry."

"Why?"

"I liked where we lived." Piven shrugged. "I liked our life. I don't see why strangers should send us on the run and I don't see why I don't have any say in it."

Greven nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry I didn't consult you."

Piven said nothing but Greven could see the boy's jaw working furiously. He was angry, and had disguised it well until now. "Shall we talk about it?" he tried.

"Will it make any difference? Will it make you turn back?"

"No."

"Then there's no point in talking about it."

"Nevertheless, I think we should talk about those olden times you refer to."

Piven gave a long sigh as though bored. "And if I don't want to?"

"Then let me talk."

Piven nodded, although Greven sensed that the boy felt he didn't have much choice.

"I want to talk about your magic." He saw Piven's jaw clench.

"Why?"

"Because I don't understand it. Apple?" Greven held out the fruit he'd dug from his sack. "Help yourself."

Piven picked up the small knife and cut off a chunk of the apple. He bit into the fruit as he replied, "What do you want to know?"

"You told me a while back that you could wield this magic. But you've never said how long you've known you've had the skill."

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. Forever."

"Forever being from when you were little...or from when you began talking?"

"I'm not sure."

Greven nodded, not entirely convinced he trusted that answer. "All right. When did you first use it?"

"To heal a robin with a damaged wing." Piven tested the sharpness of the knife on his thumb.

"When was that?"

"In the woods, outside our hut."

"When, I said, not where."

Piven gave a vexed sigh. "I can't remember, probably three winters ago."

"And you've been using magic ever since?"

"No. The next time was on you."

"Why?"

"To give you back your face. I-"

"No, Piven. I meant why did you wait? Between the robin and me?"

Piven shook his head. "I didn't trust it. I didn't really understand it." He hacked off another chunk of the apple and began chewing on it.

"Didn't trust it? Why?"

"I'm Valisar."

Greven frowned, reached for some bread. "In name only."

Piven looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

"Had you forgotten you were adopted?"

"What I meant is, despite my seeming madness I've lived as Valisar and the royal family obviously made me nervous about magic. I didn't trust it."