Chapter 15 #2
She huffed a slightly surprised laugh. ‘I do like his spine, brother. Try not to break it.’
‘If that is all for now.’ Osian gestured for Meilyr to follow.
‘Osian.’
The prince halted on the way to the door.
There was a grim warning note in her voice. ‘Not everyone is convinced, and you cannot be everywhere at once.’ She glanced at Meilyr.
Osian led them out, flanked by his knights through the keep, into the Eagle Tower. Up to his rooms.
‘Pedr, a moment.’
Ser Pedr stepped inside, and on Osian’s nod, closed the door.
Osian dropped his voice. ‘Pedr, you have given nothing but impeccable service in all the years I have known you. I trust you with my life. Now, I task you with safeguarding the life of my consort. Do not leave his side, do not allow him to come to harm, regardless of the source. Consider all you have sworn to me as passed to him. Attend him as fiercely as you have and would myself. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Majesty.’ There was a flicker of surprise in their eyes, but no hesitation.
‘Thank you. Watch the door until my return.’ He turned to Meilyr and kissed his knuckles. ‘Wait here.’ He marched away, Ser Pedr with him, and the door closed firmly behind them both.
A ceremonial feast was held in Lord Leighton’s honour: a far less
subdued affair than expected, though it began solemnly enough. A prayer,
a toast.
There were eyes on Meilyr as there had not been before. Looks from more than just those present at the hunt. He somehow doubted the accident was believed as widely as the court had hoped.
If only he could recede into the floor. Into the earth, back to the apothecary, where Celyn had been safely spirited. Away from all this.
At least the rest of the events for the coronation were to continue as planned. If they had been postponed indefinitely, he was not sure what he would have done. Though, it was strange; he had expected more of a reaction – more of his worst fears answered.
He knew first hand how the Crown responded to sorcery-sign. Was it merely the lack of a definitive suspect that stayed their hand?
As the night descended into clamorous songs and drinking, he caught Lady Faina’s eye. She still appeared dazed but attempted a nervous smile and a small wave.
It hurt more than he could have expected.
‘She will come around,’ Highness Demelza said quietly at his side. ‘She is only shaken, as everyone is.’
She watched him not meet her eyes, struggle to make a dent in his food.
Unobtrusively, she placed a slim slice of her vegetable pie on his plate. ‘When it happened, I was terrified. Not for him, but for you and Osian. You were right there. If something had happened…’
Memory flared. The last of his appetite crumbled like dried leaves.
‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I too barely wish to think on it, but please, if you have need of someone, you are not alone.’ There was not a trace of suspicion in her eyes. Fear, yes, but not of him. For him. Fear for those she loved.
‘Thank you, Highness,’ was all he managed.
She could feel it, too. The inevitability of accusation. Of bloodshed.
That night, Prince Osian gestured for Meilyr to ascend to his rooms.
Ensconced in the parlour, that thread of tension in the prince strained
more visibly; as he poured their drinks, Meilyr felt his exhaustion
through their bond. ‘The searches of nearby farms and towns have yielded
nothing so far.’ He sat on the divan, and Meilyr took the armchair.
‘They will continue for another day or so, at least.’
They would likely find nothing. ‘What happens then?’
‘There has already been a strengthening of the guard. If nothing is found, it is likely Captain Radnor will demand more thorough methods.’ The prince stared into his wine before drinking.
Again, Meilyr wanted to tell him it was likely someone with repetitive, close access to Lord Leighton that had killed him – for the sake of the innocent Cyngaleg peoples who had felt terror descend as Khaimlic crownsworn rode to their doors.
But he could not, not without calling more suspicion to himself.
At least Celyn remained undiscovered by the search.
The world had upended as a rowan tree had broken through Lord Leighton’s skin – as Meilyr’s repeatedly scarred-over fears had ruptured into being.
He was being investigated, a breath away from being outright accused.
But Celyn was safe, and the prince had vouched for Meilyr.
Whether for his own motives or not, he seemed genuinely adamant Meilyr not be blamed.
Yet their act and their bargain could only protect him so much. There would probably come a time when the prince had no choice but to side with the court and condemn him. For now, he needed to focus on pretending he had no power in his blood, just as he had his whole life.
At least he did not have to play the part of consort here in the prince’s parlour.
Under Ser Pedr’s escort, he returned to his own rooms. They were
chilled and stale even with the fire freshly tended.
Certain he was alone, he retrieved the symbol of Y Ddraig Goch and clung to it in the emptiness of that still-unfamiliar bed.
The rain hammered. At the edges of the chamber, the shadows became the encroaching press of trees, the shape of twisting branches that had once been flesh.
In the night, or in his memories, a fox screamed.