Chapter Six
Cormal
If Cormal had to come up with one word to describe his life, “frustrating” just might be it.
He felt, in fact, like it described his whole life, and he could list a variety of examples from childhood through to now that could perfectly exemplify this.
But it felt like the type of frustration had changed, and for perhaps the first time ever, it wasn’t about him.
Well, he was frustrated for himself, sure.
There was everything from a Princess who wouldn’t speak to him to a title that everyone managed to pronounce like “asshole” to a Secundus who seemed to be mere moments away from drenching him in water and laughing in his face, but that wasn’t what frustrated him most.
No, what frustrated him most was that they couldn’t solve this problem for the Prince. Cormal felt the emotion on behalf of someone else in a way that he didn’t think had ever happened before. And he was acutely aware of how much worse the situation was for the Prince.
He’d been trapped in an invisible prison for seven years, and while the cage had been considerably loosened, it was still there.
Yes, they were progressing through the books.
They were eliminating books that didn’t have answers.
But with each book that they read and found nothing, the percentage of books that might have a solution decreased.
Cormal didn’t like those odds.
He liked it even less when, along with the next wave of reports, he received a brief letter from the Head Mage telling him that they hadn’t found anything that would be useful in this particular situation.
Able to tell that he was going to lose his temper over this, he handed the letter to Molun—he was pretty sure that he even managed to say, “Excuse me”—and then he headed straight for his father’s work room.
As soon as the door was closed, he lobbed fireball after fireball and screamed his fury at the world.
“Wow.”
Cormal whirled, but it was like he’d known, somehow, like his instincts had actually recognized the voice before he could react, and he didn’t send a fireball flying at the Prince this time.
“I always wondered what you did in here.”
The door was still closed, so Cormal assumed Prince Kinan had come through it.
Cormal was still feeling itchy and tense, but this was the first time the Prince had voluntarily sought him out since Cormal had made his stupid comment about finding carnalions. He’d tried to explain that he hadn’t meant it like that, but the Prince hadn’t seemed to believe him.
He’d even brought his sister to turn the pages of the book, which should have made it easier for Cormal to concentrate on his own text, but it really hadn’t.
(It had been good for everyone else, though, to see the Prince and Princess there, to remind them of just why it was that they were doing this every day.
The Princess had very loudly mentioned to her brother in an icy tone that she had time to do this now that she didn’t have any picnics to attend, and Cormal had very carefully kept his mouth shut.)
“Why didn’t you come to see sooner?” he managed to ask.
He didn’t want to drive the other man off, not if he was talking to Cormal again. He really didn’t want to inspire both royal siblings to hate him and ignore him. It was harder to deal with than he would have expected.
“I couldn’t get that far away from Renny before. And now, well, the door was always closed.”
“The door’s closed now.”
“I could hear the yelling.” He shrugged. “Thought I’d better see what was going on.”
If Cormal chose to interpret that as “make sure you were all right,” then no one would ever know. It soothed something inside of him, even as he recognized that it was probably all in his head.
“Just having a temper tantrum,” Cormal admitted.
The Prince’s lips tipped up. “I see. Is there a reason you’re having a temper tantrum?”
“So that I don’t burn down the castle by doing this anywhere else?”
The Prince still looked amused. “We all thank you for it. Just having a bad day?”
Cormal pressed his lips together. He wanted to lie—and knew that he couldn’t do it, not to the Prince, not about his own life. He swallowed.
“The Head Mage wrote back reporting no progress that could help us.”
“Ah.” He didn’t seem particularly surprised.
“You don’t sound very upset.”
“I can’t lob fireballs.”
“I could lob a few more for you, if you like.”
The Prince considered him for a moment, and then said, “Sure, go ahead.”
So Cormal lobbed a few fireballs, and before he knew it, he was yelling again, too.
“Cormal!”
He stopped, chest heaving. He turned back to the Prince, who was still standing by the door.
He wouldn’t have done this in front of anyone else, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d done it now.
Because Prince Kinan couldn’t be harmed by the flames, maybe.
He might have done it with Brannal, once upon a time, but probably not since the man became Summus.
Really, the Prince was the most foolish person to allow to see him at his worst. And yet.
“Come with me,” Prince Kinan said.
And since he asked, Cormal went.
He followed the other man somewhat blindly until he found himself in the stables.
“Saddle Fireball, please.”
The stable hand followed the Prince’s instructions.
“Get on,” the Prince ordered.
Cormal, somewhat confused, mounted his horse.
There was movement in his peripheral vision, and a moment later, he peered around and saw that yes, the Prince was now behind him.
There wasn’t really room for two people to sit comfortably on this saddle, but he supposed that didn’t matter when you couldn’t actually interact with anything and nothing could interact with you.
“We’re going to my secret place,” the Prince said.
“What?” Cormal said.
The Prince raised an eyebrow. “Are you worried that some harm can come to the person that absolutely no one and nothing can touch?”
Well. When he put it like that.
So Cormal faced forward again, guided Fireball out of the stable yard, and then pointed him in the direction of the secret spot that had become not-so-secret when it had been revealed to Perian.
Cormal still wondered what might have happened had he been there when their training exercise had gone disastrously wrong and Molun had been nearly killed by the lesser demon.
Fire did work against lesser demons. But then, so did wind and air and earth, as well as blades.
But it had only been Molun and Perian during that first attack, and Nisal had appeared in the nick of time.
It was so easy to dwell on what might have been.
There had been no sign of demons anywhere near here since then, and Cormal had kept up the extra patrols that Brannal had added, just in case. It might have been a fluke, but no one wanted to take that chance.
It was quiet except for the sound of Fireball galloping through the royal park, and it felt weird, because he knew the Prince was pressed up against his back, but he couldn’t feel him. He wondered if he was going to hear about this from the Queen and realized that he almost definitely was.
Imagine just leaving with the Prince.
On the other hand, imagine a prince who was invulnerable to every form of attack because nothing could touch him.
He knew which life the Prince would choose without hesitation.
The further away they got from the castle, the more he slowed, until Fireball was coming closer to ambling along, and it didn’t feel quite so much like the world was tearing apart at the seams.
“Why don’t you fall through the horse?” Cormal asked. “Does he not have energy like humans do?”
The Prince was quiet for a moment. “He does. It doesn’t feel quite the same.
And he can see me. I don’t know if that’s what makes him solid, that we both expect that I should be able to sit on his back?
It worked for Prince Horsey as well. But I can’t ride them on my own, because they don’t feel me once I’m sitting here, and I can’t hold the reins or direct them in any way. ”
“And that’s why you sent Prince Horsey to Perian? Someone who can ride and appreciate him?”
The Prince was silent again, and Cormal cursed himself, thinking this was going to be a very quiet ride if the Prince wouldn’t talk to him now because, like an idiot, he’d brought up the one thing they didn’t talk about.
But finally, the Prince said, “He saved Renny’s life. And he made mine much more bearable. Once I knew that I was hurting Renny… I had to stop it. I would never hurt her.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Cormal agreed instantly. “You love her. Just as I know that she loves you and wouldn’t have changed a moment of what happened.”
The Prince made a wet-sounding noise that Cormal was pretty sure was supposed to be a laugh.
“She has said as much more than once,” he admitted.
He sighed. “But it was almost seven years, and she was so unwell. There were times that I didn’t think she would make it.
I thought it was due to that awful attack, inexplicable, just like what happened to me.
It never occurred to me that our two situations could be linked. I should have thought of it.”
“And if you had?” Cormal asked. “Could you have done anything? Or would you just have made both of you miserable with your guilt?”
“Ouch,” the Prince said.
Cormal huffed. “I just mean—”
“No, I know what you mean. I would have tried harder to break the connection. But for all I know, that would have done her irreparable harm. I just hate that I hurt her.”
Cormal nodded.