Honor's Heir by C. J. Brightley

Author:C. J. Brightley [Brightley, C. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spring Song Press

Dinner, despite the honor they meant to accord him, seemed small and mean in comparison to the luxury I had almost become accustomed to. My sponsor showed only appreciation for the meal, without a hint of disdain. My grandfather and the men around him could not understand how generous that was.

My sponsor stayed the night in my grandfather’s tent, which was another honor, but I imagine it was terribly awkward for both of them. If the king had known that his champion slept under the tent of a man who had wished him dead so many times, he probably wouldn’t have been pleased.

After dinner and before it was time to sleep, I took him to my mother’s tent. He looked like a giant under the low ceiling; he could not even stand at his full height. My mother sat him at the place of honor at the head of the low table and served us a second smaller meal of roasted lamb and beans, an extravagance that he probably couldn’t appreciate. He requested that she sit with us, but she refused until nearly the end, both from tradition and from fear of him. She spoke very cautiously to me with anxious glances at him. I translated between them because my mother spoke no Common at all. He praised me to her and complimented the food she made for us.

She asked me about my bloodied lip; she thought he had done it. When I ducked my head and explained that it had been Otso-ka, she nodded in understanding. Her relationship with Otso-ka had been strained as long as I can remember. His discipline was not unusual. Every Tarvil boy goes through the same discipline and training, but all the same it is not easy for a mother to watch. I think Otso-ka was even more demanding of me, since he hoped I would lead after him.

My father was much the same; he’d learned from Otso-ka. She comforted me when Father and then Otso-ka disciplined me, and she encouraged me when I felt I could never earn their approval. Now that I was nearly grown she didn’t embrace me so readily, but still I could feel her sympathy. I told her that my sponsor had defended me, though I didn’t say how close we had come to bloodshed, and she was both astonished and grateful. She bowed to him in the Tarvil way, and my sponsor looked at me for an explanation.

“Tell her that I did only what any man should do. Tell her also that it is an honor to teach you.”

“Sir?” My eyes widened again. He might say it to me, and that was unusual enough. But an aloka never praises himself; even to relay the words would be unprecedented.

He smiled, a brilliant smile that lit the room. “Tell her. They are my words, not yours. You’re not being arrogant.”

I did translate, with an apologetic bow to my mother, and she stared at him in shock before putting her face on the ground before him.

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