When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (books under 200 pages txt) 📗

and windowless—another hint toward the opening being man-made. Teryk checked over his shoulder to make sure no one saw him. Confident of being alone, he squatted, bent closer to the hole. Here, naught but the length of two horses separated him from the woman sitting near the fountain, and her words floated to him through the warm air.

She's singing.

Though the lyrics remained indistinct, both the melody and her voice proved familiar.

"Mother?"

He whispered the word then felt compelled to glance around, be sure no one heard. He continued to be alone. Teryk lay flat on the grass, but wriggled forward, bringing his face to the opening in the hedge.

She sat on a marble bench to the left of the fountain, her profile visible as she gazed into her crossed arms. A blissful expression perched upon her visage as she cooed and sang and rocked back and forth. It took the prince a moment to realize she wasn't hugging herself and singing to her forearms. She held a bundled blanket, its contents hidden from him, but he realized what it contained.

It's me.

Teryk's heart swelled with equal parts joy and hurt. How peaceful and happy she appeared away from his father and the crown which weighed heavy on her head in his time. Here, now, the contented smile refused to leave her face, giving her a glow. How he wished to be the babe in her arms again, without a care or the fate of its people hanging on his shoulders like the yoke on an ox. With it to do over, would he follow Danya into the river under the castle? Insist on heeding the words of a prophecy written so many turns of the seasons ago? He didn't have answers to those questions and, truly, they made no matter. Here he was instead of his own era, with no way to change his circumstances.

His mother stopped singing and rocking, looked up from the bundle gathered against her, gazing toward the entrance to the topiary hideaway. Teryk followed her gaze, his eyes finding the man lingering beneath the green and leafy arch. He'd entered in silence, might have been watching for a few moments before she'd noticed him. He leaned against the hedge with arms crossed, a grin on his face. The prince didn't recognize him, though he thought he should.

Seeing him, his mother stood, her joyous expression expanding further. The new visitor strode toward her, his smile matching hers. As he approached and Teryk saw him more clearly, he realized who he gazed upon.

Trenan.

His gait gobbled up the ground between them and he put his arms around her in an embrace like he'd never seen the two of them share.

Both arms. He has both arms.

Blood rushed away from his face, his cheeks went chill. Trenan with both arms meant his father was dead, killed by his son. Thoughts swirled in his head, none of them landing long enough for him to grasp. The master swordsman bent and pressed his lips against the queen's. Teryk's eyes saw the kiss, but didn't register the act as it lingered, as Trenan's one hand cradled her head, his fingers finding their way through her hair while the other rested on her hip. She held him with her free arm, pulling him close against her as she twisted to keep the babe from being crushed between them.

My father is dead. The queen rules the kingdom in his place.

True, but he understood it wasn't the important thought he needed to pick from the morass in his head. He grasped for another as the couple before him separated, though their hands remained on each other—lovers unafraid of discovery.

How long since the battle?

Maybe it wasn't his mother, but someone who resembled her. Or perhaps he'd skipped farther forward in time than he thought and he wasn't the babe at all. The queen held Danya her arms—that must be it.

"How is the prince today?"

Trenan's question slammed into Teryk's brain like a dart into a board, pinning one of the unavoidable thoughts.

My father is dead; Danya will never be born.

His mother smiled, removed the blanket from the baby's face for the swordmaster to better see. "Happy. And hungry."

He didn't look at the baby, instead gazing into her eyes. He trailed the tips of his fingers along her cheek, over her shoulder, down her arm. "When can we tell the kingdom?"

She looked away, moving her gaze to the young prince in her arms; he did the same, but the smile disappeared from his lips as it did from hers. A weightiness filled the air between them, a palpable tension not present the instant before. The master swordsman ran a finger along the baby's cheek.

"You know we can't. The people mourn the loss of their king. The kingdom needs to believe he left an heir."

She whispered the words but, despite the gurgle and splash of the fountain, Teryk heard her as though she stood beside him, whispering in his ear. Trenan didn't respond, instead continued gazing at the babe in her arms. Teryk's teeth clamped together tight enough to hurt his jaw. His mind raced back through his life, searching for hints and signs of this between his mother and the man who trained him, raised him, for a memory of how long passed between what he recalled as Trenan losing his arm and his birth. Was she pregnant when the battle happened? He didn't recall the subject ever coming up.

The master swordsman nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He glanced up at her, forced the corners of his mouth to curve up into a strained smile. He stepped back and spread his arms.

"Can I hold the prince?"

"Yes, of course. Hold your son. The world will never find out he is yours, but their lack of knowledge doesn't change the identity of his true father."

Trenan took