Chapter 58 Neirin
NEIRIN
Tall hedges created pathways within the garden.
I imagined from the upper balconies of the castle that the maze would be stunning, but I’d never seen it from that perspective.
It was the same garden Thatcher and I had played in as boys, though we were not supposed to.
It was from one of such balconies that Astraea had witnessed what happened that fateful day; the day she came to me, knelt calmly before my fox, and spoke gently to him until he shifted back, giving me control again.
Then she’d comforted me, young and impressionable as I was.
She’d told me it wasn’t my fault but my fox’s, my monster’s, as I stared over her shoulder at my brother, his neck bent at an unnatural angle and crimson staining the ground.
All the things she’d told me, all the things I believed for so long.
“Be stronger than the monster, fight him down. These lessons are for your own benefit. Don’t be ungrateful.
Thank me. Plead for forgiveness for your belligerence and listen, learn.
Push down the monster. He is a killer. He will kill everyone you love.
No one must know about this. No one must know what happened to the boy.
If you tell Nyana, she will despise you.
I will protect your secret. And you will protect mine. ”
I’d been such a fool. But now my eyes were open.
Nyana may despise me for what happened to her son at my fox’s jaws, but it was as Evera had said—no more running.
I would take responsibility for my actions and set things right.
End Astraea’s lessons, end her commanding hand.
No one else would get hurt because of her.
The trickle of the fountain caught my attention, and I slowed my steps, swallowing when I saw the stone centerpiece.
It looked exactly as it had all those years before.
The bench, however, had been replaced. Now there was a table and two chairs, one on each side.
Steam rose from the spout of a brass teapot, and an assortment of small cakes, nuts, and fruits was arranged on a plate beside it.
The prince—the King—added a cube of sugar to his cup and stirred it with a silver spoon, still unaware of me.
I cleared my throat, and he looked up, lips parted slightly as if he were sucking in a breath, as his eyes widened.
“Neirin.” My name came out of him like an accusation. He stood, knocking over his chair. His eyes darted to two soldiers stationed opposite the fountain. They turned, hands going to their swords.
“Brother, wait,” I pleaded, holding out my hands. “I’ve come home to explain.”
“Mother has explained. Did you not receive my letter?” Though he was only a head taller than Calix, still a boy and twiggy at that, his voice had changed.
As had the way he held himself. He was a King now.
He’d grown up. Wasn’t that what I’d wanted for him—to grow up?
But I hadn’t wanted it to happen like this.
Not because he was forced into the position so soon.
He was too young for the weight of rulership.
A knot formed in my throat as I grieved for the Harlan that had only just over a moon ago sat atop a counter in the kitchens, eating berries and asking to be told stories of thieves and adventures.
“Your mother lied to you, Harlan.” As soon as I spoke the words, I knew they were the wrong ones. Too forceful, too sudden. The soldiers grasped my arms, and I let them. “Please.” I softened my tone. “Just let me speak.”
“There’s another.” A third man spoke from behind me, and my blood chilled.
“Let me go, you brute,” Evera hissed as she was dragged to my side.
I shot her a look filled with all my fear and frustration. I’d told her to stay with Nyana. But of course she hadn’t.
“Who is this?” Harlan asked, authority in his voice.
“My mate,” I answered, holding Evera’s gaze. “My heart.”
Harlan approached, stopping before her. “Mother told me about your kind, Neirin. She won’t be pleased you’ve replaced her in your heart so quickly.” A bitterness trailed off at the end of his statement, as if he were still displeased with the concept of his mother and I paired in any way.
“If Astraea told you about my kind, you would know my heart can only ever belong to my mate; my true mate. I’ve never held any affection for the Queen.”
He turned his gaze on me, studying.
“I certainly never lay with her,” I added, using all my restraint to keep my voice low and level, to not lash at the guards who held me and Evera.
Shaking his head, Harlan turned his back to me again. “I don’t believe you.”
“Harlan—”
He whipped around. “You killed Father.” His voice broke. Composing himself, he raised his chin. “Why would I ever trust you again?”
“I didn’t kill Father—”
“Did you not?” Venom laced his words now. “What of your dagger we found in his chest? And if you did not kill him, why did I find you standing before him as he bled out while you did nothing—”
I gazed helplessly at my brother. I felt just as useless and lost as I’d felt standing over our father, watching the blood drain from his body. “Nothing could be done.”
Harlan balled his fists. “Why did you run?”
My heart sank. Was this it? Would he never trust me? Would he not even listen, truly listen, and give me a chance? But how could I expect him to? I had run. But I’d done it because I’d believed it was the best way to keep him safe. Defeat laced my words. “I was wrong.”
A crash sounded from the castle, and we turned toward its source—a balcony with doors open and curtains blowing in the breeze.
The guard on my right tightened his grip on my arm. “The Queen’s quarters.”