14. After All This Time
14
After All This Time
Idris
M y glamour was in place before I stepped from the darkness of the void into the blazing sunlight of Berl, the capital city of Tir o Haf. When the ground appeared beneath my feet, I set off at once at a determined but unhurried pace, resisting the urge to revolve on the spot, gawping at sights I hadn’t seen in centuries. Such a move would mark me as an outsider. It would make me an easy target. I had to look like I still belonged.
The streets were busy, but not in the spirited, buoyant way I remembered. Though the buildings were the same, the vibrant metropolis I had once known was gone. An oppressive cloud lingered in the air, and despite the bustle of activity, the city was abnormally subdued. Nobody looked twice at me as they went about their business with their heads low and their eyes trained on the ground.
Not wanting to set myself apart, I mimicked the body language of my people, shrinking in on myself and training my eyes on the toes of my boots. A prickling sensation, warning of danger, crawled over my skin, and my heart quickened in response. If I was discovered, my chances of fleeing were slim, my odds of fighting my way free almost non-existent. My uncle was not the only overpowered freak in this city, as had been proven almost three centuries ago when he and his stooges had gotten the better of me. I couldn’t say how Maelgwyn shared his unnaturally gained power with his pawns, but my comparative weakness that day had cost me everything. My only chance today was to avoid detection.
I shouldn’t have come, but the sooner Maelgwyn’s head was separated from his shoulders the better. At least then I could be rid of Anwir. He’d settle himself on the throne, and I’d be free to travel the four courts once more, searching for something that would make all of this make sense. That would feel like home. As for Aliza…
I ground my teeth together. How could I know her path when she couldn’t decide what she wanted? Who she wanted? For all her claims that she wanted nothing to do with my brother, she was quick enough to consider his proposal, whatever that meant. Too slow to reject the crown he dangled as bait. Not that I blamed her for weighing her options. She hadn’t asked for any of this.
Ahead of me, a familiar tavern took up the corner at the junction of two streets. As they had been the last time I’d visited this particular establishment, the window boxes and hanging baskets adorning the well-maintained facade of the Merry Miller were a riot of rainbow flowers. Unlike last time, an occupied gibbet hung from the wall above the doors.
My step almost faltered at the sight. There had been nothing like this under my father’s rule. Any unsavoury but necessary punishments were dealt with… discreetly, unlike this monstrosity. What could have happened that warranted such a thing to hang above a place of recreation? Had there been an altercation, or was this merely a very public warning of the fate awaiting those who crossed my uncle ?
Four heavily armed males, all bearing the royal crest emblazoned across their breastplates, glowered at any passers-by who strayed too close, perhaps in an attempt to deter any would-be rescuers. A brief glance up confirmed that the skinny occupant of the gibbet was still alive, forced to stand within the narrow confines of her cage, with no shelter from the glaring midday sun. Ravens lined the nearby gables, eyeing their still-breathing meal with cautious interest. My stomach churned as I lowered my eyes and slipped past the guards with my head hung low like a coward. All I could do was hope that the birds waited until she was dead to begin their feasting.
The cool shade inside the tavern did nothing to lessen my discomfort. What had that poor soul done to offend my uncle? Certainly nothing as serious as Taryn, who had committed the heinous crime of sharing blood. Blood that should have protected him from harm, if only my ancestor, the revered Queen Claudia, had thought to extend her merciful interference to half-blood fae.
I was far from a stranger to Maelgwyn’s cruelty, but seeing it afresh hardened my resolve. The sooner he was disposed of, the better it would be for everyone. That was why I was here.
That, and the ugly snares of jealousy, coiling around my heart. I couldn’t remedy that, but I could run from it. What better distraction than the rush of colossal risk? If I was discovered, the gibbet would seem like a vacation compared to what my uncle would have in store for me.
I made my way through the subdued space and to the bar. No music filled the air. No crowds, made up of a myriad of races both magical and mundane, vied for the attention of the innkeeper, as they had once done. No young couples, drunk on love before the potent wines and ales ever touched their lips.
My memories of Jane could easily have been happy ones, if not for all that had befallen us at the end. Perhaps it had only been down to youth and a rebellious thrill, but loving her had been easy. Our time together had been short enough that we had never reached the stage of needless arguments brought on by the centuries of boredom and resentment that had plagued so many of the older pairings at my father’s court. We’d been blessed with nothing but fun, and then hope for our future, once we’d discovered Taryn was on the way. Shortly afterwards, our blessings had ceased, but what if Taryn had lived? Would we still have existed in carefree contentment? Back then, I’d been able to picture such things, but now, I couldn’t. Taryn had died, and it had changed me at my core. I was a different male now, and when I thought of my future, it featured a different woman entirely.
Jane’s ghost faded from my mind’s eye as I passed furniture far too well-made for such a lonely establishment to afford. Perhaps, in the absence of the unfortunate addition to the facade, the place was usually as busy as I remembered. Even without the gibbet, the guards would be enough to keep most patrons away, though I doubted they would darken the door if not for their victim dangling overhead.
A smattering of people had been brave enough to pass Maelgwyn’s stooges, however. I eyed each one surreptitiously, searching for a familiar face. I found none. Just a lonely female, staring into the middle distance with haunted eyes as she twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, and a subdued group of males, their identical uniforms coated in the dust of construction, who conversed in low voices between bites of their lunch .
I did remember the innkeeper though. Not by name, but he had poured me many a drink. Would it be egotistical to assume he remembered the young prince who had once frequented his tavern? If he did, he wouldn’t recognise me today. The blonde hair and unremarkable face of my glamour made me a stranger. My ordinary, inexpensive clothing did not mark me as anyone worthy of note. What would he do if I dropped my disguise, revealing my true form? Welcome me, or call the guards? The reward would be substantial, no doubt, especially after my recent interference in Aliza’s execution; more than enough to cover the loss of custom caused by the gibbet.
My muscles stiffened as the phantom stench of cooked human flesh filled my nose, dispelling the infinitely more appealing scent of whatever wafted from the kitchen. My drink order came out unintentionally brusque. The innkeeper took no offence, however, and set about filling my glass from one of the many tapped casks stacked opposite the bar. In apology, I tipped him as generously as I dared, given my need to remain forgettable, and slunk away to a table located in the corner furthest from my fellow drinkers.
All there was left to do was wait.
The dark, panelled walls were adorned with framed paintings and shelves displaying various trinkets and potted plants. It was too early in the day for the oil lamps to be lit, as evidenced by a nearby carriage clock, telling me it was almost one in the afternoon.
Almost time.
My gaze flickered to the decidedly empty door.
An hour after midday, a day after midweek, a week after midmonth. The chances of my centuries-old arrangement still standing were all but non-existent, but that didn’t keep my pulse from quickening in anticipation. In an attempt to quell my mounting nerves, I sipped my drink, dabbing the froth clinging to my lip with my sleeve. The ale had always been good here, but I barely tasted it as it slipped down my throat.
The tick of the clock grew louder to my straining ears, drowning out the muttered conversation of the males, and the thud of my heart. It did not, however, silence Aliza and Anwir’s snippy conversation as it ratcheted around my head. Aliza’s sudden interest in my twin’s lover. Was she jealous? She’d liked Anwir before the truth had come out. What if she was inclined to move past his betrayal? She didn’t need to admit to me that she wanted to be queen; she would be a fair and compassionate ruler, and I would not stand in her way. It was part of her reward for breaking the curse. In the end, I’d been able to grant her the immortality she hadn’t wanted, but I couldn’t give her the crown she’d been promised. I could understand her indecisive desire to rule, even if I could not relate. Aliza was not me. She was selfless and kind. She wanted to do good, and the crown would grant her the power to do so. It would give her back a semblance of control over her life. I would not cage her. I would not keep her from her calling.
That didn’t mean I wanted to see her spark with my brother first-hand. From the moment he’d appeared, interrupting our lunch, he’d had her undivided attention. True, she had not been particularly pleasant, but the fact remained that he got under her skin in ways I could not.
I scowled, taking another swig of ale despite my uneasy gut. I didn’t want Aliza to be with Anwir, not least because he wouldn’t know a redeeming quality if it delivered a swift kick to his bollocks. He would hurt her. He would lie to her. He would use her. Then again, he would elevate her to her rightful place.
You could do that.
I ground my teeth. I could not do that. I was no longer the heir. I didn’t want to be.
You want her .
My breath hissed between my teeth, bared in warning at the voice that dared speak the truth. Hearing voices was a bad thing, wasn’t it? What if the voice was right? What, indeed. Right or wrong, it made no difference. I had given up my claim long ago. As despicable as he was, Anwir was my brother. I had scant family left, and I would not rip away the gift I had given him, or curse, depending on how I looked at it. He wanted to be king, though. He had always been the better courtier, always found it easier to charm and manipulate, to get his own way. Besides, the throne might not accept me, even if I did change my mind. I’d given it up long ago. Could an heir abdicate before he’d ever inherited? Was the rash foolishness of youth taken into account?
The door swung open, admitting a waft of balmy air and an auburn-haired male with a faintly green complexion, no doubt brought on by the gruesome display outside.
I fell still, my tankard halfway between the table and my mouth.
The newcomer hesitated on the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the patrons. They slid over me without a flicker of interest before the male’s shoulders sagged. He plodded to the bar, sliding onto a stool.
“The usual?”
The male nodded, and the innkeeper produced a small glass of amber liquid at a speed suggesting he’d expected his latest customer and was well prepared .
An uncomfortable war raged inside me, something between warmth and regret. Almost three hundred years later, Bryn still kept to his monthly appointment, despite the fact that I hadn’t shown up in centuries. Did he know the curse was broken, that I was awake, or had he dutifully attended each and every month, seeking me out, only to end up drinking alone?
Well, I was here now, even if he didn’t know me. I couldn’t reveal myself here, with watchful eyes and lurking guards, but it was enough to know that he had come. My journey hadn’t been a waste of time. Surely, after all these years, my friend would have information that would aid our cause? He had been appointed to serve my father, long ago. Judging by his fine clothes, he now served my uncle, but he was here. As my old friend, or as a traitor to the true succession? Would he share his secrets with me, or throw me to the guards? Three centuries without hope could sway even the stoutest of loyalties.
No, however bleak my outlook, I could not believe that of Bryn. Still, caution wouldn’t hurt. I averted my eyes, staring unseeingly at the nearest painting as I continued working at my drink. It went down easier now, my thoughts wrangled and driven to a single goal.
Bryn nursed his drink until half past the hour, then, with a sigh, downed the liquid in one gulp, thanked the innkeeper, and stalked out into the street.
I waited a beat before following.
After the shade of the inn, the afternoon sun glared into my eyes. It was easy enough to drop them in the appearance of meek submission as I set off in pursuit of my target. The guards let me pass unhindered. Fucking idiots. If I was king …
No. That train of thought led nowhere worthwhile. It would never happen, even if the thought of Aliza at my side made the thought slightly more tolerable, perhaps even appealing.
Bryn inadvertently led me through a warren of streets, which grew wider and grander as we headed to the outskirts of the town centre. Before long, the buildings became taller, the windows larger. Birds sang in the towering trees lining the walkway and painting the smooth cobbles in patches of shade and sun. The atmosphere of fear was less apparent here, where wealth and favour were evident. The inhabitants of these houses had maintained their positions through their usefulness, their lucrative connections. They could rest, safe in the knowledge that they carried some importance to the false king.
As I passed through the shadow of a tree, I tweaked my glamour, making my clothing appear finer, though the streets were quiet, with few people to observe and judge me unworthy of their shining neighbourhood.
Bryn turned, passing through a large, wrought iron gate tipped with gold, and crossing a neat garden. White climbing roses hung over a large olive green door, which swung open at his approach, as though the occupant had been watching from behind a curtain, eagerly awaiting his arrival.
A female beamed down at him from atop the steps, her hand resting on the swell of her extremely pregnant belly. Bryn trotted up the steps, his despondent posture transforming as he kissed her and rubbed her bump.
Something tightened in my chest as I watched from a distance. At least someone I cared for had found happiness .
Bryn passed the female, heading inside, but she hesitated when she noticed me lurking at the end of the gravel path. For the first time, I saw her face clearly.
The world lurched beneath my feet. My glamour fell away, and the blood drained from her face as her dark eyes widened in recognition.
Jane.