The Traitor's Heir Read Free

preparation, but the families of such men were well honoured. Men who glorified the Master in the Gauntlet guaranteed honour for themselves and for their heirs; the exceptional were promoted and made draybants and captains, and some were taken from the Gauntlet’s ranks to join the Hands.
    For most, dreams of the Gauntlet were enough. Many young men sought to realize them, and Cadet Eamon Goodman of Edesfield was no exception. He had joined the Gauntlet later than most others, and at twenty-three he was one of the oldest cadets that hoped to take their oath that day in Edesfield province.
    But as he sat in the yard of the smithy where he lived, Eamon despaired of it. He had sold his hope in a futile act the night before. He had lost everything with it. How could he have been such a fool?
    â€œEamon?”
    A young woman was passing the yard. She had auburn hair, pulled back in loose tresses. As he met her gaze her look grew worried. He realized that his pale face was stained with tears.
    â€œGood morning,” he tried, hoping that his tone might mask what his face could not, but his voice sounded frail and hopeless even to himself. He rubbed a dirty hand across aching eyes.
    â€œI’ve been looking for you since last night.” His friend sat down on the wall beside him. As she cocked her head at him her hair flashed like gold in the light. “Have you slept at all?”
    â€œNo.” He fell silent, staring angrily at his dagger.
    â€œEamon?” she prompted. “What happened?”
    â€œWhat happened?” He looked at her, unable to form words. “I ruined everything, Aeryn!” he spat at last. “That’s what happened!” He flung the dagger aside, willing it to disintegrate.
    Aeryn didn’t flinch. “I don’t believe that.”
    Eamon looked at her incredulously. “They’re not going to let me swear!”
    His words hung in the air. “That’s not the drying of the River,” Aeryn replied gently.
    â€œNot the drying of the River?” Eamon could only stare at her. “How can you say that? You know how much this means to me!” he cried, pointing to his uniform, its distinctive Gauntlet red barely visible between rips and mud. Eamon let out a cry of disgust.
    â€œI know what you think joining the Gauntlet means,” Aeryn told him.
    â€œDo you? Put yourself in my place for a moment, Aeryn!”
    â€œEamon –”
    â€œYou know this is all I’ve ever wanted!”
    Aeryn pursed her lips. “That’s not true, Eamon. I’ve lost count of the number of times that you told me your mother wanted you to go to the university.”
    â€œDon’t bring her into this, Aeryn!” Eamon snapped. “She’s been dead for more than a decade; if she was alive I’d still be in Dunthruik, not this forsaken backwater!”
    â€œI’m just saying that it hasn’t always been your dream,” Aeryn placated.
    Eamon glared at her. “How would you know? How could I go to the Gauntlet when my father was alone? How could I even talk about it?” He gripped his dagger hard. “He needed me. He wanted me to learn his trade. And we got by without dreams.”
    Aeryn laughed. “You more than got by, Eamon! You loved it. The smell and the feel of the books, the taste of story on your tongue? Your father practically had to force you to come and play with other children; all you ever wanted to do was read! That was how I first met you – sobbing, because he had taken your books away and sent you outside.” Her eyes shone. “Don’t you remember?”
    Eamon did not answer her. He remembered. The books had seemed his only comfort in a world that had shorn him of home and mother in a night. He had loved them. He had loved sharing them with his father.
    â€œYes, I loved it. I loved being the bookbinder’s son – even after my father died. I was still a boy, but I scraped