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father shouted. “I’ve squandered too much time already! The Green Isle must be mastered now, not a month from now. A month from now will be too late. Since Malcolm’s death it’s grown monstrous unruly and I
won’t
see us return to the battles and butcheries of my youth, with family pitted against family and no quarter shown. The day I lost my father, my uncle and both my brothers is burned into memory. How will
I
be remembered if I let such bloodshed happen again?” He struck his fist to the mantel over the fireplace. “The fault here is mine. I kept holding back, waiting to name Balfre as Steward, hoping I’d see some judgement in your brother, the smallest glimpse of Malcolm in him, but all I’ve done is delude myself. Balfre’s not fit to—”
    “Now you are being unjust, my lord.”
    “If that’s your opinion, perhaps I’m mistaken in you too!”
    Grefin leapt up, goaded beyond customary respect. “Entirely mistaken, my lord, if you think I’ll stay silent as you use me to punish Balfre!”
    “I do
not
use—”
    “Yes, you do! And I mislike it, very much. But because I see you have no choice, Father, I’ll be your Steward. Only you must remember this. Balfre is still your heir. And if he’s to be the duke you want him to be, in his time, you can’t deny him the Green Isle’s stewardship for ever.”
    Aimery struck the mantel again, so hard that in the hearth burning logs collapsed into charcoal. Sparks flew, hissing his fury. “
Whelp!
You presume to command
me
? Not even Malcolm dared—”
    “Malcolm loved you too much not to speak his mind. And so do I.” Heart pounding, Grefin folded his arms. “Balfre has every right to expect the stewardship. But I know he has to pay a price for Hughe. And so does he. So I’ll be your Steward of the Green Isle for one year. Balfre will accept that.”
    Aimery’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “He’ll accept whatever I give him.”
    “Father—”
    “
Enough
, Grefin. Leave me. I need solitude, so I might think.”
    Defeated, he sighed. “Yes, my lord. But can I at least tell Balfre you’ll speak with him before you retire?”
    “No,” said Aimery. “Keep him out of my sight.”
    Torn, as he was so often torn between his father and the only brotherhe had left, he paused at the elegant Rose chamber’s door. “It’s not his fault he isn’t Malcolm. It’s not his fault he lived, and Malcolm died.”
    In the flame-crackled silence, Aimery’s indrawn breath sounded loud. “You think because you’ve made me a grandfather you’re too old for a thrashing? You’re not, Grefin, believe me.”
    From his first squalling cry, Malcolm had been Aimery’s favourite. And their mother had loved her sickly youngest son best. All his life Balfre had stood stranded between them, necessary, but not needed. Now, with Malcolm dead, he was needed… but not wanted.
    “You should give Balfre a chance, Father. You never have. I think he’d—”
    “
Enough, Grefin! Get out!
”
    So much for building bridges. Grefin bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace. Good night.”
    Heartsick and still numbly disbelieving, Balfre prowled the confines of his lushly appointed privy chamber.
Grefin
was made Steward of the Green Isle. Grefin, best loved and faery-favoured. Grefin, who’d heard Black Hughe’s black taunt and refused to lift a lance in his brother’s defence.
    “
Bastard!
”
    Stomach roiling, rich red wine turned to vinegar in his mouth, he hurled his goblet at the wall. Heavy green Maletti glass shattered against Ardennese tapestry-work, the spilled wine staining its vivid hunting scene like fresh blood. He was hard put not to weep. Grefin’s treachery buried dragon-talons in his bowels. No wonder he was bent in half. He crabbed sideways to a padded settle and dropped. The lamplit room stank of crushed, fermented grapes and betrayal.
    A knocking at the door of the outer chamber turned his head. His useless wife was elsewhere and he’d dismissed the