Chapter 6 #2
Ser Pedr, who had seen Celyn escorted under Prince Osian’s orders. Pedr, with fierce dark eyes, pristine pale uniform accentuated by their dark skin. ‘His Majesty wonders if His Highness might join him for the remainder of breakfast.’
Harlan exhaled through their nose. ‘He can be spared for a while. His Majesty was the one to set a schedule, so I suppose it only fair he disrupts it.’
Something had happened. Meilyr could tell as he stepped into the
prince’s parlour.
Prince Osian stood behind the grand desk at the side of the room, holding a paper missive. He too was dressed and readied for the day, strikingly handsome in tunics slightly more martial in cut than Meilyr’s but in fabrics that matched them exactly.
As he looked up and took Meilyr in, the knot of tension strung through Meilyr’s chest pulled painfully taut, then eased. The cacophony of the prince’s blood which had bloomed settled, and something like relief took its place.
Prince Osian nodded to Ser Pedr, who shut the door, leaving them alone. ‘The blacksmith awoke this morning,’ he said. ‘They are recovering, and have confirmed the crownsworn Bede pressured them repeatedly for additional… taxes.’
Unease stirred amidst Meilyr’s thankfulness: who else might the crownsworn have hurt?
Mercifully, the emotion was not enough to rouse the window boxes. Meilyr would keep control from now on.
‘What happens now?’ he asked.
‘As a member of the Royal House of Arden-Draca, you remain beyond reproach, as does your brother. Your names will not appear on any record, though Bede’s death has been marked at the hands of our house. Perhaps not a wholly fair punishment, but one few will object.’
Prince Osian set down the missive, crossed the room to Meilyr – and knelt before him.
‘Forgive me, and my house, for the negligence which allowed such events to occur. You and your brother were forced to take action against one sworn to protect you. This should never have happened, and I will do all in my power to ensure it will not happen again.’
Baffled, Meilyr was suddenly aware how soft the pale gold of his hair looked – how, this close, his honesty was a palpable ribbon of warmth, also within reach.
The prince rose and Meilyr snapped back into himself, pulling away from the bond between them. Uncertainty returned like the tide.
‘What will happen to Celyn?’
‘It will be best to hold him another day or so. There is to be a grand hunt with much of the castle emptied, so that may be an opportune time to release him.’
The truth. When it came to Celyn, the prince seemed easier to read, though another fear pressed in.
As though the prince registered it, he said, ‘I trust my knights with my life. They have been investigating corruption amongst the crownsworn for some weeks, and the ’sworn killed was under watch. We were fortunate there were not more witnesses, and hopefully this will go no further.’
Hope. The word chafed, but it was all Meilyr had. This was one step closer to being over. ‘Thank you for telling me, Majesty.’
‘Of course. With my predecessors content to govern the Principality from Khaim, the royal seat here in Eascild has sat empty since its inception. The Marcher Lords rule their lands without oversight, and with little care for what happens beyond their own walls. In the absence of true stewardship in Eascild, the rot has set in. It will not remain. Did Harlan give you time for breakfast?’
The sudden domesticity of the question gave him pause. ‘I…’
‘I will have something brought.’ The prince gestured to the chairs. ‘I am needed elsewhere, but take as long as you need. Eascild Castle is a little too vast to tackle on an empty stomach.’
Eascild Castle was vast.
The keep alone was immense, and then there was the inner bailey with its nine towers, the westernmost Eagle Tower housing the prince’s rooms. Everywhere, life flowed; staff scurried, cleaned and prepared – tended, unpacked and readied.
The castle had never been empty: it had long been home to military might, residential staff and a small contingent court to manage Eascild in place of a royal overseer.
But Prince Osian’s arrival had created a frenzy.
Though only part of his household had arrived thus far, the place already teemed with nobles, courtiers and other well-to-do folk from Khaim – bringing with them more staff, and even more crownsworn.
Meilyr tried to keep up with Harlan’s explanations, but the people were distracting. He was stared at by many, openly discussed by others. Their noise was constant, and another small headache set in.
In the outer bailey lay networks of lightly damp courtyards, each with their own purpose: here for training, there for welcoming from the west gate, another for the north gate; here for exchanges between the main keep and the other buildings. He floated through them, until they reached the stables.
There, Meilyr readily inhaled the rich scents of horse, leather and hay.
He laid his palms on the noses of several big, beautiful creatures and grounded himself in their alert eyes; his weaving revealed they were well tended, and eager to know if he had any carrots up his sleeves.
He had always been around horses, before they had moved to Eascild after Idwal’s death.
Eventually Harlan pulled the small party away from the stables, muttering, ‘I should have worn different shoes.’ They glanced at the cloud-strewn sun, stretching and rolling an ankle. ‘Well, this is where I leave you. Deryn, please escort Highness Cadogan through the gardens, and to lunch.’
Deryn smiled warmly and dipped a curtsy. ‘This way, please, Highness.’ She gestured, a touch of her accent shining through.
Beyond a seemingly unremarkable stone archway, Meilyr’s breath caught.
The gardens spanning the south-western slopes of Eascild’s bluff were, quite simply, exquisite.
Tiered terraces housed a riotous colour of perfectly tended flowerbeds, spreading into further lawns and flowering fruit trees right up to the edges of the clifftop.
The profusion of blossoms was heady, radiance bursting through verdant green.
A short stone wall, only at waist height, ran from the castle’s battlements right up to the rocky edge of the cliff, providing breathtaking views of M?r Astalch, or the Splintered Sea, and Khaim to the east. From this elevation, the peaks of Crib Glas were visible to the west.
For all the martial bearing of the rest of Eascild Castle, it was clear someone wanted there to be life here. Someone cared for this space.
Meilyr found he cared as well.
There were so many kinds of bush and tree, shrub and herb and root.
The things he could do with all this left him giddy, fingers itching to work.
Plants not only from the Isles but from Raak and its neighbours – even as far as the Isles of the Tenka!
Some he had only seen in scruffily inked illustrations, their uses flowering in his mind as though the pages lay under his hands; this one could slow the rotting of infected flesh, that one be fashioned into a tea that wrought horrible nightmares or exquisite lucid dreams. This one—
A bird of prey called in the distance, instantly recognisable above the undertone of morning gulls. Meilyr turned as if pulled.
A red kite, sailing in the laden sky. Wings and tail unmistakeable.
‘Highness Cadogan?’
It was Deryn, genuine concern in her expression.
Even in her voice, that name still jarred him. Cadogan. He had been using it for years: a Khaimlic-slanted butchery of the family name Idwal had given him to protect his true identity. Like everything else, it felt different here.
‘I was merely wondering if it might rain,’ he lied.
She followed his gaze.
A red kite: little sibling of dragons. The symbol of Cyngalon’s freedom. A freedom that would never again be theirs.
An echo of his pain moved in her. She swallowed it and gestured with a slight bow. ‘There is a shaded walkway, if it would please you, Highness.’
‘Thank you,’ Meilyr said, grounding himself by digging his nails into his palms again.