Page 15 of Kingdom of Dance

Thunk.

“You know, Sid, it would be a lot faster if you’d really put your talents into it.”

Obsidian turned, throwing his best unimpressed look at the slender woman leaning against a nearby building.

“Mother. We arenothaving this conversation again.”

She laughed. “I know we’re not. I just couldn’t resist baiting you, my dear, because you’re so delightfully reliable in your response.”

Obsidian cast his eyes skyward, but his lips curved in a tiny smile against his will. His mother had always had a way of making him smile.

“You look so much like him when you glare at me,” his mother said reminiscently. “He could never quite keep from laughing, either.”

Obsidian’s smile fell away, the familiar ache throbbing dully in his chest. “I’m glad I’m like him in some small way.”

“You’re like him in many ways,” his mother told him dryly. “He was also unbearably stubborn.”

Obsidian shook his head, raising the ax once again. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His companion let out a long sigh, straightening. “There’s someone here to see you, Sid. From the Enchanters’ Guild.”

Obsidian gave a slight growl, swinging the ax down with unnecessary force. “I don’t want to talk to anyone from the guild.”

“I figured as much,” she said calmly. “But you’re going to have to all the same. He says he has a message for you from the king himself.”

Obsidian straightened, his interest caught in spite of himself. “King Basil? Sent a message for me?”

His mother nodded, watching his face. “You liked him, didn’t you? When you met him on the battlefield?”

Obsidian lifted a shoulder. “He wasn’t quite what I expected, that’s for certain.”

“You did like him.” His mother grinned. “That must have been inconvenient. I thought you were determined to resent the royal family forever.”

“I don’t recall ever saying any such thing,” Obsidian protested.

“You never say it, Sid,” his mother told him simply. “But I can always tell.” She crossed her arms. “Now come on. A good soldier doesn’t keep his king waiting.”

“I’m not a soldier, Mother,” Obsidian said impatiently. “Not a real one, anyway.”

She raised her hands in a hopeless gesture. “You’re impossible,LieutenantObsidian.”

“Don’t call me that,” he scowled.

She gave him another of her speaking looks. “What should I call you, then? Master Enchanter? You’re not a soldier, you’re not an enchanter…what are you, then? A logger?” She gestured to the wood, her voice laden with sarcasm.

But Obsidian just grinned. “I’m considering it. I’m not bad, I think.”

His mother didn’t bother to reply. Muttering darkly, she turned her back on him, heading toward the house. “Clean up before you show your face to the king’s messenger,” she called over her shoulder.

With a sigh, Obsidian embedded the ax into a log on top of the pile of freshly cut wood. She was probably right. He strode over to the nearby pump, working the contraption with steady strength until a stream of water emerged. After splashing it around his face, he scrubbed his hands half-heartedly. He resented the fact that he was scrubbing up for a member of the Enchanters’ Guild. Any other guild, sure. No problem. But the Enchanters’ Guild…

He sighed again, knowing he was being unfair. He should be grateful to the guild for the assistance they’d given him and his parents. But he couldn’t seem to overcome the distaste he felt at the name. Perhaps it was just the painful memories that were inevitably stirred up.

When he entered the small but comfortable cabin where he’d lived all his life, it was to find a short man with a sparse ring of silver hair and a kindly expression. The man’s smile did nothing to endear him to Obsidian.

“Master Enchanter,” he said flatly.

“No need to stand on ceremony with me, dear boy!” the guild representative scolded him. “I know it’s been a few years, but I have no doubt you remember me as well as I remember you.”

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