Chapter Twenty-One #3
“There is. Although the map’s nice.”
“ ’Tis a good map,” he agreed. “Have you seen much of it?”
“The map?”
He laughed aloud. “Carethia, lass. Have you seen much of the country?”
“Oh, no. I haven’t had the chance.” Maybe the prince was right, and I didn’t look like a servant.
As if lured by my thought of him, the door opened and the prince stepped inside. He glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow. He glanced at the man, and the other eyebrow joined it.
“This is a very suspicious-looking situation,” he said, closing the door and walking toward us.
“About damned time you managed to say a word to your uncle.”
Uncle?
The prince must have seen the momentary panic in my face, as he looked very amused.
“Fox, meet His Grace, Gryffin Lys’Careth. My uncle, the duke.”
My chest began to feel hot, and not because of Aetheric magic. I’d swatted the Emperor Eternal’s brother with a damned fire poker. Did they behead people for that?
“Your Grace,” I said, and gave a very awkward curtsy. “Again, I’m really very sorry.”
“Sorry?” the prince asked.
Gryffin pointed to the curtains. “She thought I was an intruder.”
I realized I still had the poker in hand, hurried to the hearth, and put it back in its place.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gryffin said. “We’re good friends now.” He gave me a charming smile. I could see some resemblance between them in it.
“Why are you in here?” the prince asked, glancing between us.
“We were both looking for a quiet place, as it turns out,” Gryffin said.
“It’s quiet in here,” the prince agreed, casting his gaze about the animals. “But let’s go somewhere a bit less grim.”
We followed him through several corridors and then into a set of rooms where a guard waited quietly outside.
This room was already lit with candles, the coffered wooden ceilings lower, and the furnishings less fussy.
Wood crackled in a low fire in an enormous stone hearth, scenting the air with woodsmoke and pine, and still barely cutting through the palace’s eternal chill.
There was a fine table and benches, tapestries on the wall, weapons on a side table.
A carved wooden bed was visible in a room beyond.
It was all very unfussy, and not very Lys’Careth.
Gone were the duke’s loose smile and relaxed air. Concern tightened his features now. “I didn’t have a chance to speak to you earlier with all the dancing, but I’m glad to see you healthy, nephew. I only just heard about the attack.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m fine and surrounded by good, reliable people.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to mourn the former Western Prince. I know you were close.”
“No apologies necessary. You were in the capital, as your father wanted.” Gryffin walked to a side table and ran his fingers over the hilt of a sword.
“The ceremony was small and quiet. Peaceful.” He nodded, as if reassuring himself that was the case.
“I wish we’d been closer. He was smart, your brother, but his intelligence was wasted.
He figured he’d never reach the throne, so he decided to enjoy himself until someone killed him off.
And it was the sickness that got him in the end.
It’s a damned shame. Your father…” He prepared to speak, then glanced at me.
“You can speak frankly,” the prince said. “I trust Fox.”
If Gryffin looked surprised by that, he didn’t show it. “I suppose there’s no point cataloging your father’s faults. I do wish you’d all had a different kind of life, but that wasn’t your fate’s particular weaving.”
“Being royalty isn’t so bad,” the prince said, “so long as you stay alive. How about a drink? I have some ergaine from the City of Flowers.”
“Ergaine?” I asked.
“Plum liquor,” Gryffin said. “And I’ll take a nip if you don’t mind. Still logy from the road.”
The prince went to a cabinet of glossy burled wood, opened a door, and pulled out a blue lacquer bottle that gleamed in the candlelight and a small cup in the same shade. He poured a nip into one and carried it to his uncle.
He was still angry enough that he hadn’t bothered to ask if I wanted one.
“To the new Western Prince,” Gryffin said, raising his cup. “May he live a blessedly peaceful and long life.” He drained the cup, then squeezed his eyes shut. “Like being kicked in the face by a very ugly horse.”
He handed the cup back to the prince, who put it on a side table.
“Where did you travel from?” he asked.
“This time, Eonin. Already broiling hot down there, but green and lush. You’ve never seen such a green place.” He looked at me. “Do you like spicy food? It’s very spicy down there.”
“I do.” At least I thought I did. Vhranian food was spicier than most of what we could get in the market, and I’d liked that.
“Then you should go. It’s a beautiful country, full of surprises.
” He moved to a bench near the simmering fire, sat down.
“A mountain of fire that smokes throughout the year. Other peaks skinny and sharp as teeth, all in a row. There’s a bit along the coast with waterfalls and caves, and you can take a boat downriver nearly as far as the Carethian border—assuming you’ve got rowers enough. ”
“Did you see the Floating City? Where the water god lives?”
“Alas, no,” he said with a smile. “We didn’t brave the Southern Ocean, not in winter. But I’m told the Floating City is a marvel, and the god beautiful and strong with hair of cress and waterweed.”
“Where else have you been?” I asked as I sat down on a bench across from his. These were the stories I wanted to hear—about the world I hadn’t had a chance to see. Someday I would, when things were different. Gods willing, they’d someday be different.
“I’ve been fairly everywhere in our part of the realm.
The Edgelands—where it sometimes feels warmer than the stronghold in winter because the wind doesn’t blow as hard.
But the snow, when it comes, rises to the palace doors.
In Illarnin, you’re always soaked to the bone.
It’s a warm rain, but a rain nonetheless.
Hardly a spot of dry soil in the wet season; houses are built on stilts, and you go around in narrow boats.
You can lose yourself in the marshlands.
The world looks the same in all directions, but you might suddenly find yourself in front of a temple older than Carethia itself, rising out of the water like a sea monster. ”
“What about Orlash?” I asked.
“Most of it’s flat as a board,” he said with a grin.
“Ground’s hard and frozen most of the year, hard to get anything to grow, but people still manage.
They’re good with irrigation—have a system of sluices they use to run water to farmland.
Now, there’s a wind that will chill you to the bone.
Comes down off the Edgelands and sweeps across the country—no mountains to stop it.
” He paused to yawn hugely. “Pardon me for that. Been a long day, and I could use a soft bed.”
“You’ll stay in the palace while you’re here,” the prince said.
“No, no.” Gryffin waved him off. “I wanted to see you for myself, reassure myself that you were healthy. But you know it’s better if I don’t stay. That’s always made him uncomfortable—me being too close to you boys.”
There wasn’t sarcasm in his voice, but quiet sadness. The Emperor Eternal had set his sons against each other, or believed that fight was inevitable. Maybe the same was true between the emperor and his brother.
“I can arrange a house in the stronghold, then?”
Gryffin made a sound of disdain. “Absolutely not. Too many damned people squeezed in. It’s suffocating. I let a house in the foothills from an old acquaintance. It’s quiet there. No fuss.”
“How long will you be here?” Nik asked.
“Perhaps a fortnight.” He rubbed his knee. “I’m getting old and need breaks between my travels.” He pointed a finger at me. “Travel while you can, lass. Sitting a horse isn’t nearly as nice when your arse aches at each bounce.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“Once I’m rested, I’ll go north. I haven’t been to the Edgelands in a very long time, and summer’s the only time to visit.”
“I’m sure Laeith will be glad to have you.” Laeith was the Prince of the Northern Gate.
“Only if he pulls his head out of his books and charts long enough to notice I’m there. After that, I might visit my brother.”
“Well, you’re welcome anytime for dinner or fresh air or a bit of ergaine. I’ll walk you out.”
“No,” Gryffin said, waving him off. “Just have one of your people direct me to the door. I’m sure you have better things to do, being a Gated prince, than ferrying me through the building. Ah,” he said, then pulled something from his pocket. “Forgot—I made you something.”
In his palm sat a pretty cube of wood, a little larger than an apple.
“Puzzle box,” Gryffin said. “I work them as I travel. Keeps the hands busy and out of trouble,” he added with a wink for me.
“It’s lovely,” the prince said, taking it and peering at it. The wood had rounded edges and a soft gleam, and looked smooth to the touch.
“Press just there,” Gryffin said, pointing to a spot near one of the corners. He did, and a lid sprang open. “You can put all your secrets in there, as long as they’re small enough. There’s a second, smaller compartment, but I won’t tell you where it is. I’ll let you puzzle it out.”
“Thank you,” the prince said, looking genuinely charmed. “I appreciate this very much.”
Gryffin waved him off. “It’s nothing. Just a hobby. Off I go,” he said, and walked toward the door, a slight hitch in his step. The prince beat him to it, opened it, and gestured at Galen, who stood outside. “Please escort His Grace to the gate.”
Galen nodded, Gryffin gave me a wave, and off they went.
“Clearly your uncle,” I said as the prince closed the door again. “Seems like he enjoys pretending to be a commoner.”
“My father had plenty of sons, so he’s not in the line of succession. He had the luxury to do other things, so we rarely saw him.”
“He was closer to the former Western Prince?”
He nodded. “To the extent that was possible. The emperor didn’t like family connections.”
“Didn’t want them becoming allies?”
“Exactly. He chooses his words very carefully, but I’m pretty sure he hates my father. Probably wanted to be as far from the throne as possible.”
“It’s kept him alive.”
“That it has. Barring girls coming at him with pokers.”
“Intruder,” I murmured. Then silence fell, heavy and awkward.
“I don’t have anything to apologize for,” I finally said. “So you can quit sulking.” I’d only told the truth; he didn’t have to like it, but it wouldn’t change anything.
“Princes don’t sulk. And you don’t need to apologize for anything.”
His voice was soft, earnest, and it evaporated the tension. But it put something much more dangerous between us—a different kind of intimacy.
“You were angry. You called me ridiculously stubborn.”
“And I won’t apologize for that. You are stubborn.”
“Appropriately stubborn.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “I like who you are, even if you’re convinced we’re impossible.”
I looked sharply up at him. “You cannot like me.”
“And you cannot give me orders. Maybe you’re right.
Maybe it’s better to leave certain things unsaid.
” But he didn’t need words. Not when his eyes were intensely focused on me, when they spoke of need and desire, and, even if they echoed my own feelings, I couldn’t give voice to them, either.
So we stood together in the crackling silence, with the quiet stone and sparking flames and unspoken things.
“This is a nice room,” I said when the tension began to make me itchy. “No dead animals.”
“I agree. These are my private rooms.”
“Your—” I snapped my gaze back to him. “Your private rooms? You told me not to come in here.”
“And you planned to obey? Miracle of miracles.”
“I don’t ‘obey.’ We made a deal, and I was living up to my side of the bargain. Well, until now.”
“It’s not a breach of the bargain if I invite you in.” He cocked his head. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? You look a bit pale.”
“I don’t need a drink.” I also didn’t need to be in the prince’s rooms. I didn’t need to see them, to learn where he slept, the shape of his bed, the objects he surrounded himself with.
None of that was my damned business.
“I think it’s time for bed,” I said, walking toward the door. “My bed. In my room.”
“Good night, Little Fox,” he said behind me, and I could hear the smile in his voice. And I thought of that damned smile all the way back.