Chapter 12 #2
‘Alright.’ Deep breaths. If we were going to Brainne … Oh, hell. If we had to get that close to Aranc, at least we could do it sensibly. ‘So can you tell me how we’re going to avoid recognition, then? If you want me to dye my hair green, I’m sure Hevaine has—’
‘That,’ he interrupted with the desperate precision of an exasperated teacher, ‘is quite possibly the worst way you could go about this.’
‘Begging your forgiveness for my abject ignorance,’ I snapped before I could stop myself.
Don’t fight back, some last shred of survival instinct whispered – but we’d crossed that line firmly and irrevocably, and that little sneer on his lips could fuck all the way off.
‘How does one go about these things, then, if Your Highness would mercifully stoop to tell me?’
He levelled a glare at me. ‘You should just draw as little attention as possible. They’ll all be blind drunk, and Belloc barely remembered you even while sober – so as long as you’re simply one of the many fair-haired humans in Seidrinn, no one will connect you to a messenger bird they’ve never looked at twice at court. ’
Right.
That shouldn’t make me feel so much better … but once again, the bastard had a point. ‘And you?’
His upper lip curled a fraction. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘How, exactly? Because you’ll definitely draw Aranc’s attention if anyone finds out who you are, and since I’ll be linked to you, that is very much my problem, too.
’ I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what a courtier would or wouldn’t see.
‘The eye draws attention, of course. You could—'
‘No,’ he snapped.
My mouth fell shut.
Only then did he seem to hear the vehemency of his own reaction.
‘What I mean,’ he added, tone aiming for cool annoyance and falling just short, ‘is that I can hardly regrow the cursed thing, and—’
‘You could wear a fake one,’ I said.
A twitch at his jaw. ‘No.’
‘But it could save—’
‘I said no, Thraga.’ A flick of his hand sent his silk robe rippling. ‘End of discussion. Next plan.’
And why should I be all that concerned about your wishes, I almost said … and then I saw the mirror in the corner of the bathroom.
Or rather, the blanket hanging over it.
Like it had been in the Ash and Elm – and in a flash, all of it came together, so suddenly I almost gasped out loud.
How he’d turned his chair to keep his back to that mirror once I’d uncovered it.
How he’d moved away from Hevaine’s dressing table barely an hour ago.
Hell, even the lack of portraits – was this what it was all about?
His eye?
What in the world had happened to it?
Questions for later; a dead end for now. I crossed my arms, feeling the reassuring snugness of my new tunic with the motion, and said, ‘So what is your next plan, then? Because I don’t have another one at hand.’
He drew in a sharp breath. ‘You’re a runewitch.’
‘Oh, brilliant.’ A furious burst of laughter escaped me. ‘I’ll just magically ward off the guards, then! What a smart thought! Can’t believe I didn’t think of that years ago, when they showed up to kill the man I loved like a father!’
‘For fuck’s sake – I’m not suggesting—’
‘You are,’ I sharply pointed out.
‘I didn’t intend to suggest you didn’t try hard enough before,’ he corrected himself, tight fingers rubbing his temple. ‘And I’m not suggesting you take on all the guards in Brainne, either. Just … you want to hide the eye. I can’t do it. Can your witchcraft?’
And that was such an unexpectedly sensible question that I found myself lost for words for a moment and a half.
Could it?
Hypothetically speaking … what sort of runes would one use to hide an eyepatch?
Something with sowilo, of course, vision.
Naudiz, lack. Except that those runes alone wouldn’t be enough, because they’d blot out the sight of that patch entirely, and that would draw just as much attention as the thing itself would – but if I could come up with a more detailed spell to create the impression of a healthy eye …
What was an eye, in runic formulas?
I could start with mannaz, othala, sowilo. Body, having, vision. Then maybe something including wunjo – success – to indicate health, or even berkana, which was technically birth, but might be able to facilitate creation, to craft an illusion of—
A shadow fell over me.
I was still tearing myself back into the here and now to figure out whose shadow, and why, when Durlain’s hand swept down, fingertips settling beneath my chin with gossamer precision.
My head jerked up – from shock more than obedience.
He stood appallingly close all of a sudden, tall silhouette eclipsing the candlelight – still clad in nothing but that inky purple dressing gown, and from half a foot away, that garment suddenly seemed outrageously flimsy.
A single layer of silk. Not nearly enough to separate me from the muscular warmth of him, from his utterly shameless nakedness – and hell, why was I thinking of nakedness again?
Only then did it occur to me that his fingers still hadn’t moved.
I yanked my head back so violently I nearly toppled over, at least a full stunned second too late. His touch left a lingering phantom warmth on my skin, as if he had branded me with a spark of his fireborn magic. The blood rising to my cheeks was impossibly hotter.
He didn’t step back. I smelled dark roses and nightshade, and for fuck’s sake, what was he doing?
‘Have you considered just using my name?’ I sputtered, hating that it sounded befuddled more than enraged.
A tremble of amusement crossed his face. ‘I did. About five times.’
Oh.
Shit.
Done the thing again.
‘I was thinking,’ I said indignantly, as if that explained anything.
‘I gathered, yes.’ Only now did he retreat, propping himself against the edge of the table next to me. Still too close for comfort. His knee almost touched mine. ‘Should I conclude you see some possibilities to make this work with your magic?’
I’d so, so have liked to spitefully deny it.
The problem was I liked runes more, and right now my nerves were buzzing with them – a puzzle to solve, a challenge to tackle.
‘I … maybe.’ Probably. ‘If you can give me some time. And a spare eyepatch to use, assuming you’re not too keen to take this one off?’
This time I expected the shadow crossing over his expression. His voice betrayed no emotion, though, as he said, ‘I have a spare one.’
‘Good. Oh, and paper and a pencil.’
It was more satisfying than it should have been, sending an Averre prince running around to fetch my supplies.
I almost considered adding a few more nonsensical demands to the list …
but then he plunked a notebook down in front of me, and ten years of runic training under Kjell’s patient guidance took over.
I scribbled formulas.
I signed them at the test patch, one by one.
The black velvet turned invisible a handful of times.
It spawned an illusion of a dozen other patches.
It gained uncanny beady eyes itself, it turned the table around it as black as its own surface – and finally, finally, at what had to be long past midnight, it did what I wanted it to do, creating a faint, shimmery impression of an eye in the spot where it lay on the table’s polished cedar wood.
It was only then that I emerged, slightly disoriented, from hours of unblinking focus.
Only then, too, did I realise Durlain was still awake.
Around me, the world was suspiciously well-ordered. The stump of a candle on the table had been replaced by a new one. I was pretty sure I hadn’t been the one putting the sheets with my notes of failed attempts in such unusually neat piles, either; a glass of water stood by my left hand, untouched.
I gulped it down. I hadn’t noticed growing thirsty.
‘Get me some needle and thread,’ I said hoarsely, not daring to look up from the fruits of my labours. If the bastard was going to play my assistant, he might as well do it properly. ‘I need to stitch the spell onto it to make it permanent.’
Had he expected the request? A small sewing kit dropped onto the table the next instant.
I went to work again.
The world was wobbly with exhaustion when I was finally done, the candleflames smudges of gold on the corners of my sight.
But the string of runes sat in a perfect little row on the inside of the eyepatch.
The black velvet shimmered with magic. And when Durlain turned away, put it on, and turned back to me again, only a damn attentive onlooker could have noticed there was something decidedly odd about the shape of his left eye – something that, upon closer inspection, wasn’t even really there.
‘I’m brilliant,’ I informed him, half drunk on exhaustion and euphoria.
He looked strangely bemused by the fact. ‘I think you need to go to sleep, Thraga.’
Sleep sounded like a wonderful plan.
So I dragged myself to the room Hevaine had allocated to me, stripped off my brand new clothes, and collapsed onto the bed in a haze of rosy, jubilant contentment.
It was only when I woke at sunrise the next morning – bleary-eyed but clear-headed – that I realised I hadn’t checked the lock on the door even once.