The Whisperer Read Free Page A

didn’t need to join his parents to know that right now they had a wonderful vantage from on high and could lookstraight down the long, wide street all the way to the grand royal fountain a full mile away. He also knew that, at this moment, that street was lined either side with crowds of Florians, eager to glimpse their brave general—Lute’s uncle—and his triumphant return to the capital.
    ‘It’s the least I can do under the circumstances,’ King Rodin added, putting his arm around his wife. ‘Janko is a hero. He’s quashed every rebellion that the mountain horde has thrown at us. They may not fear our army, testing it at every turn, but they fear Janko and his reprisals.’
    ‘Are you sure his brutality is always the answer?’ Miralda questioned gently, leaning against the King’s broad shoulder.
    ‘Diplomacy has failed me, my love. That old rogue, King Besler, clearly has nothing better to do with his time than sacrifice his young men in pointless war with us. Janko’s got every pass through the mountains covered. Besler should have taken my offer last time. It was a good bargain for his people. Now he makes a bitter enemy of us.’
    ‘But Janko’s so ruthless, Rodin. Why does he have to fling healthy young men off the mountains, for instance?’
    Lute’s attention was riveted. Suddenly the fruit and his vague thoughts held little interest in comparison to what his parents were discussing. He began to believe that maybe this time they had forgotten his presence, to be talking this openly.
    ‘He has to kill them, my love, because those young men want to see me dead. They want to overrun our realm and claim Floris as their own. It’s us or them.’
    Miralda sighed, turned her head slightly and now Lute knew she stared out across the magnificent lush gardens of the palace and further—to the fountains where dragons spouted water in which the children of Floris loved to play. ‘But what if it were our son, Rodin? What if it were Lute? Could you condone such murder, then? It’s your mercy that people will remember your reign for, not Janko your henchman and his cruel lessons. I’m just so glad that our land permits a child—blood kin or otherwise—to be lawfully deemed your heir.’
    Lute was now convinced. They had overlooked that he was in the room, although he had always known of his mother’s displeasure of Janko as an heir. Perhaps his parents should have had several children, or even adopted them, because the realm permitted any named child of the sovereign to be considered an heir to the throne. He felt suddenly embarrassed, rose from the chair he’d been reclining in and tiptoed across the salon. He glanced behind and was pleased to see they had not noticed him. He stood at the room’s entrance in two minds, not wanting to intrude but too curious now to leave the conversation entirely. On an impulse, he hid in the hallway but peeped from behind the doorway.
    He watched his father kiss his mother’s hair and knew how sweetly it smelled. ‘Lute is thirteen summers, Miralda. I think you worry too much over that boy.’ The King stole a glance behind him, as though checking no-one was listening.
    His mother’s face creased into a frown. ‘You know why I am so protective, Rodin.’
    ‘Of course I do. Lute’s situation is made all the more fragile because of our secret.’
    It was Lute’s turn to frown. His mother covered her husband’s mouth with her hand. ‘Hush, Rodin. We agreed never to speak of it openly.’
    The King sighed. ‘I just want to assure you that I do understand, no matter how distant I seem sometimes, and that he will not be involved in war, I promise.’
    Lute bit his lip as he considered what his father had just said. What could he have meant about Lute being fragile? And a secret? What secret? His mother’s response dragged his attention back.
    ‘And in a few years Lute will be sixteen summers, the very age of the young men that Janko considers it’s perfectly