Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Bran’s Alder.
Only grows in Cyngalon. Named for the hero.
Tiny white flowers. Wood, when cut, turns white to red.
Symbolic of resurrection.
Plant lives to be water-bound.
Great for sluice gates, boats and almost everything else.
Personal writings of Lowri gan Hywel
TWENTY-TWO
The following dawn, Lord Gelens waited in the cloisters of the southern entryway to the gardens, hand extended to the drizzle. ‘Fine weather for a morning stroll,’ they greeted.
Meilyr stopped, Pedr close behind, any hope he might be able to continue past evaporating. ‘I am in need of supplies for a medicinal tea.’ Do not lie. Do not lie. ‘If you will excuse me, My Lord.’
‘The prince certainly is taken with you.’
Meilyr halted again, in the archway leading to the lawns, mere steps from the king’s adviser. The first droplets of rain found his face, cool and sharp.
‘To think he would risk everything he longs to build. The Marches are baying for your blood, did you know? The prince’s precious Council risks falling to pieces, and all because he cannot bear to give them you.
’ Languidly, they moved off the wall and closer, uncoiling a hand towards him.
‘Of course, there is a way you could assuage doubt—’
Meilyr withdrew sharply, stepping away. The response Lord Gelens had hoped for.
Their smile was sympathetic. ‘Ah, so he has indeed told you of me. But if you have nothing to hide, there is nothing to fear.’ They turned their bare hand, as if to show it was harmless.
‘I promise it does not hurt. You could be rid of all this. All these accusations and this doubt. Do you not want to prove your innocence, for your beloved?’
Meilyr’s mind reeled with every single thought he could not let Lord Gelens glimpse.
‘I have ordered Captain Radnor leave you be, for now. He is a loyal dog, but who knows what shape his grief will take if we cannot discover the true killer. How long it will be before the Marches are at Eascild’s walls, demanding more than just your head.’
Lord Gelens drew closer. Meilyr was aware of Pedr with their hand on their sword, frozen in indecision.
The touch had to be willing, but—
‘Highness Cadogan!’
Haydn, approaching up the lawns, the brim of his working hat running with rain.
Lord Gelens lowered their hand.
‘Forgive me, Highness. My Lord.’ Haydn bowed deeply. ‘Highness, I have urgent need of your assistance.’
Meilyr stepped onto the grass with a passing dip of the head. ‘Lord Gelens.’
Pedr followed. Lord Gelens watched. Haydn longed, palpably, to take Meilyr’s arm and lead him away. The cacophony of emotions was almost too much, but Meilyr walked cleanly down the terraces, refusing to show weakness.
When they turned past the first ornamental hedges, he swayed and clutched his chest.
‘Meilyr!’
‘Highness?’
‘I am fine.’ He held up a hand to ward them both off. ‘Merely should have had more for breakfast.’ A laugh that sounded shaky, even to him.
Neither was convinced. But he straightened, flexing his hands to dissipate the need to curl into a ball and tremble. ‘What has happened?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Haydn admitted. He hesitated, then took Meilyr under the elbow and cut across the open space towards a bench that was mostly overhung by willow branches. At Pedr’s intake of breath, he said, ‘Either you do it or I do it, but I’m not letting him fall on the gravel.’
‘I’m all right,’ Meilyr insisted. He was, he simply had not come to terms with how utterly, shockingly terrified he was of Ectheid magic. Of Lord Gelens in particular. At the notion of being dissected by a stranger – a stranger who wished him and Osian harm.
But he was fine. He pulled gently on Haydn’s arm. ‘I really am, please.’
Haydn stopped but did not let go. ‘What was that about?’ A glare at Pedr. ‘And why were you about to let it happen?’
Pedr’s shame flared, and Meilyr had to look at the ground or risk another wave of overwhelming feeling. The willows were too old to care, but there were younger, more inquisitive plants beginning to notice him.
‘I know them,’ Haydn continued. ‘I know what they’re saying in the castle, but Meilyr had nothing to do with it. You know that, don’t you?’
The accusation was thick, making Meilyr’s skull twinge.
Pedr opened their mouth, but again had no response. A beat, then, ‘His Majesty Prince Osian believes in Highness Cadogan’s innocence. That is enough—’
‘His Majesty should take better care of his consort.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard.’ Vociferous protection, echoing the way Haydn had always argued with Celyn, the barbs of their rage splintering Meilyr’s senses.
‘Haydn, stop.’ He unfolded himself from him, squeezing his hand as he let go. He could not bear this, not now. ‘I am fine, both of you. I have things to collect.’
‘Let me,’ Haydn said.
Meilyr raised an unsteady hand. Let it drop. ‘I want to go alone. I’m sorry.’
Haydn had helped, but conflicted guilt and strain and Haydn’s own longing pushed at the backs of his eyes.
‘Alone with them?’ Haydn asked of Pedr. Regretted it. ‘I didn’t mean that. Just be safe. Call for me if you need me.’
Meilyr listed away, focused on the plants he needed. On the hushed sound of his court boots through the grasses. The call of starlings in the bushes. He needed Bran’s alder, past the folly – needed to be alone, or as alone as he could manage with Pedr.
Ena’s Folly emerged from the foliage: the single-floored stone tower at the edge of one of the terraces overlooking Cyngalon, where Osian had brought him after Lord Gelens’ arrival. Where Meilyr had tasted the prince’s throat, and had allowed himself to be tasted in return.
He had passed it a handful of times since, and always it brought memory-heat to his skin.
Today, Aldreda’s crownsblood Jocosa waited leisurely outside, and he noticed her too late. The Heir Apparent’s rich voice called from above, ‘Highness Meilyr Cadogan. A moment?’
Of course this could not be simple. Rankled trepidation coiled as he ascended the short curve of stairs to enter, Pedr waiting with Jocosa.
The folly’s encircling wall was made entirely of archways, painted beautifully on the inside with murals of a golden-haired maiden amidst intricately detailed wildflowers: poppies and daisies, lavender and snowdrops, a swathe of forget-me-nots.
They were all the more colourful and stunning in the daylight, framed by the fiercely flourishing wisteria.
Aldreda leaned against one of the lightly dripping arches as he stepped inside.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘don’t look as though I’m about to bite your head off.
You’re still the most interesting thing to happen to our little court for a very long time, even with the recent stint of murdered nobles.
So, how are you faring? Quite a change from your old life? ’
Not what he had expected.
‘It certainly has been a change, Your Majesty. But change is inherent to life, so I only hope I can meet the occasion.’
There was something dark in the curve of her mouth.
The doubt that had run fissures through her the day before was still there.
‘I like that. Change is inherent to life. You ran one of the apothecaries down there, correct? A good deal of old Deneland remedies? Did you tend the entire populace, or only those of your blood?’
He swallowed the shard of fearful irritation that tried to lodge in his tongue. ‘Anyone who sought assistance, Majesty. And not merely Deneland remedies, though with Deneland plant matter easiest to source, there were a good deal of them, yes.’
‘Do you miss it terribly?’
‘It was all I had known for a long time,’ he admitted.
‘Your foster-father died when you were eighteen, so I hear. Natural causes?’
Unease, sharpened by shock. ‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘No home remedies that could help?’
‘No, Majesty.’ Ever-present pain and guilt. ‘For some things, there is no cure.’
No matter how much he had tried. No matter how much it still hurt that, once again, he had not been enough to save someone he loved.
Something changed in Aldreda’s eyes. She buried it swiftly. ‘How very true. I am sorry for your loss. And your birth parents, the same?’
‘Yes,’ he lied.
She nodded, lifting off the wall to walk the space, gaze on the greenery beyond.
‘My mother went the same way, did you know? Osian’s mother too, though that was…
Well, these things happen, and we are supposed to grow, seemingly.
’ Her path brought her smoothly to him. ‘Apologies for baiting you so openly, again, but I wanted to see something. And now I want to ask something. Do you truly have no idea how this sorcerer is killing our nobles? Surely there is something that might reveal the truth, some whisper or old ghost story?’
He had been tossed about enough by the conversation – by that entire morning, not to mention the last few days – that he could not drown the words in time.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it was Khaim who hunted and slaughtered those capable of sorcery in the days of your great-grandfather, far before my time.’
Sharp amusement rekindled her expression. ‘You are saying I should know, rather than you?’
‘I would not be so bold, Majesty.’
‘Oh, I think you might be, if I pushed you a little more. Luckily, I find boldness quite attractive, at least in closed quarters. I do see why he likes you…’
Meilyr said nothing, pulse loud in his ears.
Her smile changed. ‘You look surprised.’
‘I beg your pardon, Majesty?’
‘You looked surprised as I said that. Tell me, how was it, being snatched out of the fold? Unexpected?’
Meilyr breathed the edge out of his prodded nerves. He had to play the damned part. ‘Unexpected, yes. But I am thankful for the chance Prince Osian has given me.’
‘And would you say that optimism is shared by the rest of the Denelands?’
‘I cannot speak for them.’
‘No, but evidently someone does not feel the same as you.’
‘Regardless,’ Meilyr said carefully, ‘Khaimlic rule is what we have. Your laws, and your presence – it is what we know, and we cannot change it.’
‘And do you feel the same way about my brother?’
‘No, Prince Osian is…’ He hesitated, caught in her gaze like an iron trap.
He had to make her believe it, had to speak a little truth into the act.
‘He is earnest, and honest. I made the choice to pledge my life to him, and it is a choice I do not regret. He is… far more gentle than I could have imagined.’
Unbidden heat flowered in his cheeks, at his throat.
The glint in Aldreda’s eyes sharpened, a little surprised. ‘My, that is an expression. He certainly has made a find with you, Meilyr Cadogan. Very well. Unless there’s something you are dying to lay at my feet, you are free to go.’