Chapter Twenty
Twenty
Luna didn’t visit that night, which worried me. She’d been so angry the night I’d come to the palace. Was she avoiding me? Or had she been angry enough to get herself into trouble? I didn’t like either idea.
The most productive thing I could think to do here was search the prince’s library for information. Surely Lys’Careths had books about the Aetheric. Maybe how to stop an Aetheric possession, how to best a practitioner, how to turn pebbles into gold coins.
I was munching a breakfast apple and preparing to make my way there when there was a knock at the door.
The prince stood in the doorway, resplendent in a calf-length coat of navy blue with a high collar, his hair pulled back efficiently at the temples. He looked ready for a day of royal challenges, whatever those might be.
Behind him, Galen glowered.
“Do you ever smile?” I asked, and took a bite of apple.
He gave me a thin, pretentious one.
“Glowering’s better,” I concluded, and shifted my gaze to the prince. “Your Highness.”
“Fox. I’m here on official business.”
“Did you catch him?”
“The practitioner? No. Not yet. I’m hosting a party tonight.”
I lowered my apple. “A party? With a damned assassin running around?”
“He probably won’t be running here,” the prince pointed out. “And the party was planned before I arrived. It’s to celebrate my investiture. And since there are apparently rumors that I’m dead, I’m loath to cancel.”
I nodded. “We heard the rumors during Springmarket.”
“I’d like you to come.”
“To work? How much are you paying?”
“As a guest. Of course, you can also keep an eye out for the Aetheric practitioner. I’ve also sent an invitation to Wren and your Lady.”
My lip curled, but I understood why he’d done it. “Attempting to keep yourself in her good graces?”
“It seems practical. I didn’t want you to be surprised if you saw her.”
“I don’t need to be in a ballroom to let you know if there’s Aetheric magic. And we aren’t fancy enough for a royal gathering.”
“I’ll take care of the gowns.”
“Why do I need to be at a party with rich people and aristocrats?”
“Because I like you, Fox.” His smile was warm. “You’re mostly very amusing.”
“Mostly?”
“Sometimes you’re running headfirst into danger. Or insulting my trusted bodyguards.”
If he hadn’t been on duty, Galen would have stuck out his tongue at that.
“That’s just more proof that I’m not the type to attend fancy parties.”
“Since my preferences are apparently not enough,” he murmured, “there will be food and Vhranian sweetwine.”
I grinned. “Then I’ll be there. Are there bows or something I’ll have to do? Or, I don’t know, learn whether to call someone ‘sir’ or ‘Lord Rumpkin’ or ‘Madam Horse’s Arse’?”
“I don’t think Lord Rumpkin will be in attendance. You only have to be yourself, Fox.”
I snorted. “Please. If your guests knew I was a thief and a bond servant, they’d assume I was there to steal my way out of servitude or sleep my way to freedom.”
He crossed his arms and frowned down at me. “And which do you plan to do?”
I leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. “Neither. I’m in the palace because you’re paying me.” Even if it was only partially the truth, I wasn’t going to tell him anything else.
“Whatever your reasons,” he said, and his tone said he knew I had others, “I look forward to seeing you tonight.”
“I won’t enjoy it,” I said, but he was already walking away.
“Oh, I bet you will.”
Galen stayed behind and gave me a level stare. “No stealing from the guests.”
“You’d never even see me,” I said, and closed the door in his face.
I considered hiding myself in a secret corner of the palace until the party was over and done, but since he’d agreed to my conditions, it was probably best that I go. And I wanted to talk to Wren—and find out if she’d seen Luna.
I didn’t understand why he wanted us there. There were surely plenty of strongholders eager to attend to the prince at a party in his honor.
In the meantime, to the books. I drifted down the hallway and emerged in the space with the high dome where the passageways branched off.
This time, I took the passage marked by the scroll and walked until I reached the end of a hallway, where an enormous arched wooden door was an imposing barrier to whatever lay inside.
Another scroll had been carved into stone above it, confirming I’d found the right place.
Talia stood near the door, a candleholder in one hand and enormous iron ring of keys in the other. She was jangling the ring, apparently trying to select the right key while keeping a grip on her light.
She glanced up as I walked toward her. “Hello, Fox. Taking a stroll?”
“The prince said I could use the library. Can I help with that?”
“Please,” she said, and extended the candle. I took it, holding it out to light her search as she flipped through the keys one after the other.
“Here we go,” she said, finally settling on one. She fitted it into the door, then looked back at me. “You’re welcome, of course, to go wherever he allows. It’s just…prepare yourself.”
“All right,” I said with a nod, imagining a room with leather-bound books and fancy tapestries and maybe a knickknack that a rich prince wouldn’t miss.
She turned the key and pushed open the door.
It was magnificent. Whereas the throne room was a long box, focusing attention on the man in the silver chair, the library was a rounded tower with three full stories of leather-bound books crowned by a turquoise-and-gold vaulted ceiling with glass windows, inset mirrors, and representations of the gods.
Each bookshelf was supported by black turned columns with golden baubles, and each floor of shelves was bound by a wooden balcony with carved and gilded spindles.
It was like a shrine, not to the gods, but to knowledge itself.
Unfortunately, while the architecture seemed respectful of the books, the palace’s recent inhabitants apparently hadn’t been.
The floor was covered in teetering piles of books and documents, some of which rose halfway up to the first level of shelves, and others that had long since tumbled into mounds on the floor.
I followed her inside, staring at the mess and walking carefully between stacks on the verge of collapse—which might bury both of us. “What happened in here?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she said sourly. “This is one of the things I must see to, but I haven’t started yet.”
I carefully touched a fingertip to the leather cover of a book atop one pile and pulled back a fingertip coated with dust. “I’m certain you aren’t the first person who’s looked at this room and said exactly that.”
“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
The library holds books—storybooks and guides and books about Carethia’s history—but it’s also a historical archive for reports and ledgers and proceedings.
Each gate is.” She scanned the room. “The former residents of the palace apparently let the documents pile up.”
These definitely weren’t the gardens. “And didn’t bother to clean around them. You weren’t here?”
She shook her head. “I accompanied His Highness from the City of Flowers, where I was apprenticed to the steward of the White Rose Palace—the prince’s residence.
The former steward of this palace retired sometime after the former prince’s death.
He apparently didn’t bother with any of this in the meantime. ”
I walked to a stack that reached my waist and flipped open the thin linen cover of a book with a visible sewn binding along one edge. “An agricultural report prepared for the Western Prince,” read the first page. “This is dated four years ago.”
She managed not to curse but went very still for a few seconds. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she finally said. “The Western Gate has a certain reputation.”
I turned back to her, ears alert to the possibility of valuable information or interesting gossip. “Does it?”
She glanced around, as if to ensure the prince wasn’t standing behind her, before leaning toward me.
“It’s not the farthest gate from the City of Flowers,” she said, when she’d turned back again, “but it’s the most difficult to reach because of Mount Cennet. So it’s the least prestigious gate—and the gate where troublemakers are sent.”
“Troublemakers?”
“Princes more interested in gambling than ruling. Princes who might be persuaded to sell state secrets, who sired too many bastards, who tried to smuggle swords or lyrestone—it’s used to make weapons.”
“So he imprisons his sons here?”
She inclined her head. “And most of them didn’t feel especially grateful.”
“I think your prince is grateful,” I said.
“To be out of the City of Flowers, away from the gossip and politics. To have the mountains between him and the Emperor Eternal, forever may he rule. I think he forced his father’s hand.”
I heard a very particular tone in her voice—one that said I really shouldn’t tell you, but I really want to tell you. It was one of my favorites.
“He told me he was disobedient.”
She smiled. “Then I’m only providing the context.
I heard he was a naughty child. I served in a different part of the palace complex then, but word about the princes traveled.
He was playful and smart, and always tricking his governess to get out of his lessons.
He loved his mother dearly, and he was devastated when she died.
He was so young. He got into more trouble then.
He’d disappear from the palace for days at a time, supposedly spending time with the off-duty palace guards. And then he punched one of his tutors.”
“Punched him?” I didn’t doubt he was capable; I’d seen him fight. But I hadn’t seen him lash out like that. “What did the tutor do?”
“Hit one of the prince’s friends—one of the companions selected for the prince in his youth.”
“Can’t blame the prince for lashing out,” I said.