Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
‘Forget-me-nots,’ the Fox said, winding the little wreath.
‘For love that outlasts death.’
‘And what of these?’ asked their love of the petals as black as
hearts’-blood.
‘They were left for us by the gate.’
‘Not those, Beloved,’ said the Fox, after being quiet for some breaths.
‘A gift they may be, but flowers speak a tongue all their own.’
Dahlias in particular, the Fox knew.
If only they had said it, instead of putting it from their mind.
The Fox’s Tears,
translated by Idwal gan Hywel
FORTY-ONE
It was possible to make out the streams of people going about their lives in the town of Eascild, even through the rain. The wind threw clipped barbs of it at the tower-top, stinging Meilyr’s eyes.
But he watched. It was all he could do.
Osian placed a fur-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. His hands lingered, and they stood close, his chest near Meilyr’s shoulder.
‘How soon before they arrive?’ Meilyr asked.
‘Tomorrow.’ Osian’s voice was dampened. ‘Perhaps the day after.’
More troops from Khaim, come to prevent the rebellion predicted to erupt, and to assist in enforcing the curfew of Cyngaleg peoples the king had ordered. Osian had also surmised they would come to prepare for civil war, if the Marches rose against the Crown.
Meilyr wanted to be down there, wanted to find Heulwen and Sioned, Wade Bevan’s widow.
He wanted to find everyone. Somewhere, Deryn’s sick father was being aided by neighbours and her far younger siblings to a village a day’s walk away, after Meilyr had slipped Deryn a note Osian had pretended not to notice.
They had sent another to Heulwen. Hopefully it would reach her in time.
‘Do you think Lord Gelens will return before that?’ he asked.
‘Unlikely, if they have gone to ground.’
Neither spoke it, but it sat uncomfortably. Lord Gelens’ disappearance could only mean trouble.
The old parchment burned through Meilyr’s mind where it waited, stuffed in that book in the parlour.
There had been no time to decipher it further, and whilst he wanted to show Osian, he hoped to have a better understanding of what it meant before he did.
Osian could not read Cyngaleg, and showing it to him without more information would only deepen the prince’s worries and add to his mounting burdens.
Meilyr wanted to spare him that. He had woven himself with yew, which might be enough to somehow help if the killer did strike again soon. Tonight, he would read the page more thoroughly. He would ascertain more of what it meant, and then he would show Osian.
‘Either way,’ Osian said, returning him to the present, ‘the survivors will be questioned, as will Wystan. Hopefully enough can be gleaned to have Celyn released.’
The wind bit fiercer and Meilyr resisted the urge to press into him, the desire to pry that bur of discomfort from his features. ‘If you spoke to Wystan, would it help? If you could find out why he aided you?’
‘I am not sure. I may not get the chance, especially if Aldreda has already cornered him. You may have noticed, but she is not always gentle when it comes to family.’
The punch to Wystan’s guts, in stark opposition to the tenderness with which she held Edeva. If Aldreda suspected Wystan had been part of the attempt on Osian’s life, how quickly would she choose between blood and spilling it?
‘Try to keep warm,’ Osian said. ‘If you need anything, Blythe is right outside. I will return as soon as I can.’
Meilyr was certain Osian would press his lips to his temple, as though they truly were lovers.
He touched the prince’s hand, still on his shoulder, and tried to catch which one of them had brought the thought into the air. Osian’s breath stirred close to his bruised cheek before the prince let him go and descended to the parlour.
Meilyr followed, skirts bunched in one hand. ‘I will come with you.’
Osian stopped just beyond the stair, and the compulsion sharpened.
‘Please allow me to come with you, My Prince.’
He reached the base of the steps, and Osian considered him. ‘I would feel more at ease with you here,’ the prince said.
‘I would feel more at ease by your side.’ Meilyr’s heart stumbled at the admission. ‘And,’ he added quickly, ‘I would imagine Your Majesty would feel more at ease being able to keep an eye on me, since I have a habit of getting into trouble when left alone.’
A frustrated flicker of fondness. ‘If I asked you to stay, and not leave this room?’
‘I tried confinement, unless you are arresting me again?’ That earned him an endeared tilt of the head. He went on, ‘Besides, why waste a knight at the door when they can come with us? Blythe is better at your side than as a door-guard.’
Osian shook his head slightly. ‘I should refuse you.’
‘You could, and I would pace, and fret, and…’ Too much truth.
But there was something in the rain, in the sight of the town, oblivious to the coming storm. Meilyr wanted Osian close, and knew he would regret it if he let him leave alone.
‘Aldreda and Wystan may not be too eager to speak openly in front of you,’ Osian tried. But even he was reluctant to separate.
Meilyr leaned into that. ‘Then I will wait outside like a good consort until my prince has need of me.’ The formality strained his tongue, but it was not that which coloured his cheeks.
They stood close together, drawn by that invisible thread. Osian relented. ‘You know you can be quite stubborn when you put your mind to it.’
‘I grew up with Celyn.’ Meilyr strode past him, before the urge to touch him overwhelmed everything. ‘It was a necessity.’
On the way into the main keep, Aldreda stepped out of a side room and
shocked Meilyr by embracing him so intensely his spine cracked.
The emotion was subdued as she set him down. ‘Still no sign of Gelens,’ she told Osian. ‘I pray for their sake they go all the way across the sea, or drown in it.’
They all stepped into the solar to speak privately.
‘If Gelens has gone to Sanford, or one of the others…’
‘Then we will deal with it,’ Osian said. His hand rested comfortably on his niece’s head, where she had erupted from the divan and thrown both him and Meilyr into one soggy, heart-moving embrace. Her arms were quite small, so he and Meilyr were crushed together. ‘How is Wystan?’ Osian asked.
‘Cagey and wistful,’ Aldreda said. ‘My least favourite joke. I’m letting him breathe the open air for now, but only because he helped last night.
And as you said, it might encourage the other rats to slip up.
I wouldn’t let Meilyr out of your sight though, and not just because he’s so nice to look at.
’ Her rage brimmed. ‘Wystan, Gelens, all of them – they will pay for this, one way or another.’
‘Edeva,’ Osian said gently. His niece looked up at him with vast, loving eyes. ‘Were you helping Jocosa with those apples?’
She nodded, understanding, and released them both reluctantly. ‘I’m really glad,’ was all she said, sniffling slightly.
‘What about Meilyr’s brother,’ Osian asked Aldreda. ‘And the gardener, Haydn Sayer?’
‘They will be held until this mess is cleared up, especially the gardener. I know he was just being an idiot, but he did hope you would die.’ She looked at Meilyr. ‘Remember that, won’t you?’
He could not forget it.
‘He was manipulated,’ Osian said.
‘I’m well aware, but something about this still tastes foul. No one has mentioned Gelens by name yet, including the crownsworn fearing for their lives. Pedr surviving certainly wrecked things for them, but why would Gelens run like this? Why confirm the doubt?’
It hung over them all unpleasantly.
Aldreda dragged herself free first. ‘Well, we still have the full coronation to prepare for. Do not take this the wrong way, Osian, but I will never have been happier to see the back of your birthday. Oh, and please find Demelza today. I’m worried about her.
She was practically shaking when I told her about Meilyr, I think it’ll help to see you both. ’
‘Of course.’
‘And, Osian?’
He stopped on his way to the door.
‘This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. Are you ready?’
There was only his level, reserved certainty. The banked strength beneath. ‘Always.’
‘Good. I may need you down there tomorrow, if that goes… poorly.’
‘I know.’
Meilyr waited until they were given a sensible distance from Blythe and Macsen through the halls before speaking. They were in a lower corridor, busy with morning comings and goings. ‘She means if things go poorly with the arrival of more crownsworn.’
Osian was quiet for a beat. ‘Yes. As you can imagine, Aldreda is expecting… trouble.’ Even with his levelled tone, his feelings were clear.
Meilyr was immeasurably thankful, even amidst the hopelessness. ‘Is there a way I can see Celyn?’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps Haydn? If we knew more of what has happened…’
Osian considered. ‘There should be a formal meal this afternoon. Let me see what I can do.’
They had linked arms, leaning close in a private aside. ‘Thank you,’ Meilyr said.
‘Of course.’
Aldreda’s words still clung, and he could not shake them. ‘If she asks for your help…’ With suppressing Cyngaleg townsfolk.
What would Osian do? What could he do?
They both slowed, the knights giving them space. Osian took his hand and lifted his knuckles to his lips, and brushed a kiss to the Cyngaleg gold of Meilyr’s father’s ring.
‘I will honour my oaths,’ he breathed, with an intensity that stirred Meilyr’s blood.
He did not have to say the last of it, but it was there, devastating in its clarity: I will honour my oaths to you.
Meilyr could have kissed him right there in the corridor.
They used Meilyr’s plan for explaining their delay to the formal
banquet, claiming the prince consort had suffered a fainting spell after
the strain of the night before. It would give them some time,
hopefully.
The rain persisted, darkening the cloister beyond the secret hatch almost to the depth of night. Water rushed down the pillars and overhangs in steady, thick streams.