Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
Ileft him to his work and went back to the library.
It took hours to find a few more ledgers, and most weren’t helpful.
As expected of a very suspicious man, details were sparse.
I didn’t find a description of what the “defense” was, or if they’d succeeded in creating one.
All references to the curate, the monks, the defenses disappeared when the Aetheric god disappeared. The prince had been right about that.
I walked back to my room through shadowed hallways, and nibbled from my dinner tray while staring out the window. The grounds were now empty of Anima; the Aether that had flowed in yesterday had dissipated. At least the rain had finally stopped. Maybe some fresh air would do me good.
I made my way to the back courtyard, where flames rose from a round central hearth. I passed it and took the wide stone stairs down to the lawn below. Instead of the path that led to the boardwalk, I took the one that led toward the fields and river.
A single moon was visible now, a rounded sliver stuck in the sky, like the whittled edge of a coin. I passed a servant lighting the torches that lined the path in case the prince favored a nighttime stroll. But I was otherwise alone outside the palace of the Western Gate. Alone and unsettled.
I followed the path around curves and over hills, hoping to find peace. Instead, a dark shape stepped into the pathway in front of me, and I nearly screamed.
“Hello, Little Fox.”
It was the damned prince.
“Fuck the moons,” I said, heart beating like a drum against my chest. “You shouldn’t jump out at people.”
“I didn’t jump, and it’s my palace.” He tilted his head. “What are you doing out here?”
“I needed air. What are you doing out here?”
“I didn’t want to sit in my room. And I wanted to look at the stars.” He pulled off his coat, this version seemingly built for easier removal than the one he’d worn in the carriage; placed it on the ground; and pointed at it. He apparently meant for me to sit on it.
“So Galen can blame me when you get grass stains? No, thank you.”
“He’s not acquainted with the state of my clothing, Fox.”
“Jacket back on,” I said. “If you catch a fever, he’ll blame me for that, too.”
He slipped it on again.
I untied my cloak and spread it on the ground. “We can share this. At least the wet won’t seep through.”
He sat down, then lay down, on one side of the fabric.
“What are you doing?”
“The stars are easier to see when you don’t have to crane your neck.” He linked his hands behind his head and his boots at the ankles, and cast his gaze on the sky.
I didn’t think there was much risk in joining him. Or maybe there was just enough.
I lay down as elegantly as I could, his being a prince, and mirrored his position.
Then I looked up at a sky I’d seen a thousand times before.
Sometimes from the roof of our building, sometimes the pangan tree, sometimes the grass in front of the Aetheric shrine on nights when Wren and I couldn’t stay in the manor any longer.
The sky was sprinkled with light, including the white smudge of the River of Souls the Enshrined Monk had mentioned.
“Do you know about the River of Souls?” I asked.
“I do.”
“There were lights in the Aetheric. When the Aetheric practitioner let it in, I mean. It looked a lot like this.”
“I bet that was beautiful.”
“It was. Painful, but beautiful.”
We lay on the cloak in the darkness, arms now at our sides.
I could feel the warmth of him nearby. Our bodies didn’t touch, but our fingers were a breath apart.
I wondered what it might be like to bridge that crevasse, to slip my hand into his.
We’d done it before—when we’d been attacked, while we were dancing.
But this wasn’t a battle, and we weren’t in Vhrania. We didn’t have those excuses here.
The breeze picked up, throwing white blossoms from a nearby catalaya tree; they fell around us like snowflakes, soft and fragrant.
The prince picked one up and ran his thumb across it. “There was a tree like this near my window in the City of Flowers. In the far palace,” he added, “when I still lived with my mother. She liked to make flower crowns with the blossoms.”
“We played at being royals,” I said. “But the crowns always fell apart.”
“Crowns have a tendency to do that.” There was darkness in his voice now. Darkness and sadness and grief.
“Was it hard to be the son of the Emperor Eternal?”
It took him a moment to answer. “My father sees the world in the way he was trained—the way all emperors are trained. Everyone is a potential enemy to the throne. Even allies might become threats.”
“Even his sons?”
“Even,” he said. “Maybe especially, because they have the strongest claim to the thing he won’t give up—power. To stand as Emperor Eternal, a man must believe everyone is his enemy.”
“And villains always believe they’re the heroes.”
“Always.”
“Did you have a happy childhood, at least?”
“Only because I was too young to be a contender. To be a threat. I lived with my mother in her palace. There were gardens and a lake and places to walk and pretend. It was a beautiful kingdom for the two of us.”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“No. But I had friends—the children of other royals or servants who lived in the palace. My mother was loving and kind. She tried to prepare me. I see that now, but as a child it was just playing.
“And then I hit thirteen. The friends faded away, because it was better not to be close to anyone. They took time away from training, and the training was brutal.”
“Because you were intended for the army.”
“Yes.”
“Is that how you got your scars?”
He turned his head, a question in his eyes.
“When you were fighting with Red,” I explained. “You took off your shirt.”
“Ah. Right. Failure was unacceptable. It was weakness, and weakness was to be punished away. But never erased,” he quietly added. “Children bear the scars of their parents’ choices. And pay the price for their mistakes.”
Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand. He held firm, interlacing his fingers with mine. I wanted to memorize the weight of his hand. Of the solidity. Of the security. A memory that I could lock away in a secret room in my mind—a memory that wouldn’t be forgotten.
“When things were bad,” I said, “I thought of my father. He didn’t smile often; he was always so serious trying to keep us alive.
But when he was really, really happy, he had this great crooked smile.
When it was hard at the manor, I knew he’d be furious with the Lady but glad I was alive. So I focused on that.”
He nodded. “My mother died young. When she was gone, the memory of her helped.”
“How did she die?”
“She was murdered,” he said, the words hard.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He shook his head. “It’s a thing that happened. A servant was executed for the crime, but no one believes she was the true killer—or the mastermind.”
“Who do you think killed her?”
“I can’t be certain. Documents are missing from the archives.
Witnesses dead. Some say she was killed by my father’s enemies.
Some say she was the enemy—a spy for Vhrania or a woman unfaithful.
But that’s impossible. I’d have seen it.
” He paused for a moment. “Some say she was killed by an ally of my father’s future wife. ”
I could hear the conviction in his voice; that was the rumor he believed.
“The current empress. And your stepmother.”
Little wonder he pretended to be a guard. He’d been brutalized as a child, his mother taken from him, possibly by the woman who’d taken his mother’s place.
“You survived,” I said. “That’s a victory.”
“As did you, Fox. We became who we needed to be to stay alive. I made my own plans. But it’s dangerous. And being a Lys’Careth, for all the wealth, comes with certain shackles.”
“Golden shackles?”
“Maybe. But they hold just as tight. Do you know the story of Malayza?” he added.
“No. Who is she? Someone from the palace?”
“No,” he said with amusement. “She’s a story and a star.
” He raised his arm and pointed. “The bright one that shines a bit red. Malayza was a princess of Orlash, daughter of a powerful warrior. She was riding her horse across the taiga—her frozen land—one cold, bright day when she found an injured man just off the road. She helped him find shelter and food and a healer. A few days later, a spy sent by an enemy warlord reached her father’s palace.
She was shocked to see that it was the man she’d helped.
And for their help, the spy killed Malayza and her father. ”
“The moral of that story is that we shouldn’t help people?”
“No. The moral of that story is that we should help people, even if fate doesn’t reward us for it. One of the old gods took pity on Malayza and cast her into the sky where she might live forever.”
“That’s very grim.”
“Then you tell one.”
“A story? I only know the ones from storybooks about princesses meeting frogs who turn out to be cursed princes, or evil princes stealing maidens, or evil princes turning into frogs. They’re mostly about princes.”
“And why not? We’re powerful, handsome, wise beyond our years.”
I snorted. “And humble, to boot.”
“You don’t think I’m handsome?”
“I think I’m not going to answer that, Your Highness.”
“I have a name,” he muttered.
“Which I’m not allowed to use.”
“I could make an exception.”
“That would not be the choice of a man wise beyond his years.” But I didn’t let go of his hand. I wouldn’t.
He sighed. “What other stories do you know?”
“There’s one about a cobbler and a dairymaid, but it’s a bit too coarse for your delicate princely ears.”
“I was in the damned army. Bawdy stories were our coin. But if you’re too shy to tell it, tell me a story about you. About growing up.”
“I only have a few memories of life before I arrived at the Lady’s manor. Mostly images of the last few months with my father. Everything before that is gone.”