“He hit me,” Gavril said. “That is a crime punishable by—”

“Come with me,” Sir Polquin said. Clamping his hand on Dain’s shoulder, he marched him away from the others, off the practice field and out of earshot.  “Now,” the master-at-arms said grimly, “we’re going to have a talk about manners, boy.”

“I don’t care about manners!” Dain shouted.

“It’s against law to strike him. If Sir Los had been here, you’d be dead.”

Dain frowned. “But he cannot take my property.”

“By right and rank, he can,” Sir Polquin told him.

Stunned by this injustice, Dain drew in a sharp breath. “It’s mine. It’s all I have, all that I own. My father gave it to me. I have nothing else of his, no other—” “All right, all right. Calm down, boy, and listen to me.” Dain fell silent, but he could not stop fretting. Looking past Sir Polquin’s sturdy shoulder, he saw Gavril out there on the field, chatting with the men, laughing at something, his blond hair glinting bright in the sunshine. It was not fair. No matter what man-law or man-custom said, it was not fair, and it was not right.

“Dain!”

Reluctantly Dain turned his attention back to Sir Polquin, who was scowling at him.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“No,” Dain admitted.

Sir Polquin sighed. “Thought as much. Dain boy, heed me. The prince is far above you. He will one day be king, and his word law.”

“Pity yourselves,” Dain said rudely, “for he will be brutal.” Sir Polquin slapped him. “Never speak thus about his highness again. I’ll beat this lesson into you, if I must. To live among us, you must abide by our ways.” Dain’s jaw ached from the blow. He straightened himself slowly, resentment still strong inside him. “The prince says I cannot own my bard crystal. He says only royalty may wear it. That is his custom, Mandrian custom, but it isn’t mine! My father gave it to me. My sister wore one as well. Who is your prince to say I may not have it?”

“I know not what bard crystal is,” Sir Polquin said, “but you will respect your betters—” “King’s glass he called it,” Dain said.

Sir Polquin opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stared at Dain in bewilderment mingled with a touch of alarm. “King’s glass?” he echoed finally.  “You wear king’s glass?”

Dain shrugged. “Perhaps you think it is worth little. But the trinket is mine, and—” “Oh, it is worth a great deal!” Sir Polquin said, looking more astonished than ever. “Don’t you know its value?”

Now it was Dain’s turn to be puzzled. “Its value lies in that my father gave it to me when I was but an infant. Since I never met my father, I have nothing else of his except this small gift.”

Sir Polquin whistled, his eyes round with wonder. “Small gift indeed. It’s worth a fortune, or so I hear. Naught but the highest born can afford it. And who was your father?”

“I do not know his name,” Dain said. “My guardian never told us. I know only that my father rode to Jorb’s burrow one day and paid him well to take us in.” “Well, well, Dain boy, it seems we chose you better than we knew,” Sir Polquin said with a sudden grin. “Come along now. We’re wasting the best part of the day, and there’s training to be done.”

Dain planted his feet and would not budge. “But what about my pendant? Will you make the prince give it back?”

“Boy, has nothing I’ve said filled that hollow between your ears?”

Dain frowned. “He cannot take it from me. Prince or not, he has no right.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t at that,” Sir Polquin agreed.

Dain’s spirits rose. “Then you agree? I can have it back?”

“I think we’d better take this matter to Lord Odfrey.”

“But—”

“Come along!”

In the end, after Sir Polquin took Lord Odfrey aside and whispered long into his ear, after Lord Odfrey frowned, exclaimed, and stared at Dain in astonishment and the beginnings of a smile, and after Gavril was asked to surrender the pendant into Lord Odfrey’s keeping, the matter was settled, but to no one’s satisfaction.

“He is a pagan nobody, a serf at best, his blood mixed, his parentage unknown,” Gavril said sullenly. “He has no right to wear a jewel of this value.” “His father is clearly a noble of high rank,” Lord Odfrey replied, turning the piece of bard crystal over and over in his fingers. It whispered faint song in response to his touch. Light prismed and flashed within its faceted depths.  “This man must be important enough to wish to avoid the scandal of having a bastard son with eldin blood. That is why you were fostered with Jorb, lad,” he said to Dain while everyone stared and began to whisper in speculation. “Now you are fostered here. This pendant,” he went on, holding it aloft, “is indeed part of your heritage, and is too valuable to be put at risk. For now, Sulein will keep it safe for you in his strongbox.”