“He’s pagan, m’lord! It’s against—”

“Look at his black hair. Look at his size. He’s just starting to grow, damne,” Lord Odfrey said. “There’s human blood in him too. Under the old law, he can be trained.”

Sir Roye opened his mouth, but the captain of the guards came rushing in, his surcoat flapping about his knees, his chain mail creaking. Halting, he threw a salute.

“My lord!” he said briskly.

Sulein straightened. “There are too many people in this room,” he said in a loud voice that drove out the servants. “The chevard will live, but he must have rest.”

Lord Odfrey ignored everyone but his protector. They stared at each other, their strong wills clashing visibly. Dain looked on, holding his breath in amazement.  Training? To be a warrior? To perhaps be a knight someday? To have rank and skills and training, to know adventure and battle? His heart started thumping hard, and he could not breathe for excitement.

“Put him in training,” Lord Odfrey said.

“M’lord, I would do your will as always,” Sir Roye said with a grimace, “but think of what this means. Remember who is fostered here.” “These matters can be settled at another time,” Sulein said, trying to interrupt them. He gestured for Sir Roye to withdraw, but the knight protector did not budge from Lord Odfrey’s bedside.

“The prince, m’lord,” Sir Roye said.

Dain opened his mouth, wanting to offer a dozen assurances. Wanting to plead.  Wanting to say anything that would prevail. But he held himself silent, sensing that at this moment he should not interfere.

“The prince does not choose my fosters,” Lord Odfrey said, his voice starting to fail him. He shut his eyes a moment, then fought to reopen them. “I rule this hold by royal warrant. Dain will be fostered here, with full rights as such.”