Ironcrown Moon Read Online Free Page A

the royal escort kept straight faces with difficulty, while the two palace guards on duty in the corridor came to attention and smote their Page 9
    polished cuirasses in salute.
    Inside the nursery, there was a jarring thud and someone began to scream hysterically. A shrill voice cried, “I’ll catch him!”
    “Oh, my,” Queen Risalla murmured, with a sidelong glance at the king.
    Conrig scowled and addressed the senior door guard. “What the devil is going on in there, Sergeant Mendos?”
    “I ‘spect it’s the monkey, Your Grace,” said the guardsman, his countenance wooden. “Little Prince Bramlow commanded that it join them for supper. Viscountess Taria’s abed today with a megrim and the younger ladies and the nursemaids haven’t a lick o’ sense among the lot of ‘em, so they agreed. Silly wenches thought it’d be fun to see the wee beast sit down at table with the royal lads. Cheer ’em up,
    file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bor...0-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20
    -%20Ironcrown%20Moon.html (11 of 228)2-2-2007 18:46:18
    May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon like, since they couldn’t attend the festival, I said it was a bad idea—”
    “Bazekoy’s Bones!” growled the king. “Where’s the creature’s keeper?”
    “Gone away, sire. The young ladies made him leave. He didn’t want to let the monkey off its chain, y’see, and Their Graces insisted.”
    “Fetch the stupid cullion,” Conrig snapped. “I’ll teach him to tend to his duty!” He hauled the door open and entered the nursery, followed by the queen. The knights of the royal escort tactfully remained in the corridor.
    The large suite of rooms housing the royal children was illuminated by mellow twilight entering through open casement windows. On a food-splattered but otherwise empty table in the center of the supper area stood a sturdy boy some four years of age: Prince Bramlow, the oldest son of Conrig and Risalla. He was barefoot, wearing a red nightrobe as befitted an acolyte of Zeth, and held a bunched tablecloth in his hands as he stared keenly up at the unlit iron chandelier overhead.
    A monkey the size of a large house cat sat on one of the candle arms. It clutched a bowl of strawberries and chittered with evil glee as it pelted the human inhabitants of the room with well-aimed pieces of fruit. The floor around the table was littered with capsized furniture, broken plates, cups, spoons, and scattered cushions—all commingled in a soggy mass of spilt porridge, slices of bread, mashed berries, and a pool of milk spreading from a cracked pitcher.
    Two very young ladies-in-waiting huddled together behind a wooden settle, weeping, their fine clothes rumpled and splashed with berry juice. A third noblewoman, somewhat older, stood with her back to the far wall. The giggling two-year-old boy struggling in her arms was Prince Heritor Orrion, who seemed to be in good health. His twin brother Corodon jumped up and down and squealed with laughter.
    A pair of nursemaids approached the table, glaring up at the monkey. One maid brandished a broom and the other held a clothes basket at the ready.
    “Here goes!” Bramlow cried out to them, shaking the tablecloth he held. The piece of fabric billowed, soared from his hands like a living thing, and wrapped itself neatly about the simian vandal, who tumbled into the waiting basket with a muffled howl. The two younger princes clapped their hands and cheered. Bramlow hopped off the table, bowed formally to the king and queen, and stood there grinning as the triumphant nursemaids carried the struggling captive out of the room. The unencumbered ladies-in-waiting made deep curtseys and waited, their faces now full of dread. The woman holding Prince Orrion set him on his feet at a gesture from the queen.
    Risalla said, “Nalise, Erminy, Vedrea, you may leave us. Wait outside until you’re summoned.”
    The ladies fled, closing the door behind them, and the queen regarded her sons with