6. Six
six
Getting things in order had taken longer than Neira had assumed. Then again, she had never prepared to flee before.
Safir worked tirelessly throughout the day. She had even procured travelling clothes from somewhere. Ramin's own, fine clothing was stuffed into an oiled canvas bag, Safir's layered above to keep them hidden in a cursory search. A small pouch had been filled with coin, to be tied around Safir's waist beneath her skirts. A second canvas bag, smaller than the first, held food that would keep on the journey, in case they couldn't buy any.
Crumpled paper littered Neira's room, a viciously discarded draft almost hitting Safir in the face when she entered. The princess was hunched over her vanity, her fingers stained with ink.
"What are you doing?" The Farn girl peeked over her shoulder and Neira groaned, leaning back until her head rested against Safir's belly. The maid stroked her hair back in sympathy.
"I'm trying to write the Huldrans a letter, so there won't be any problems when you arrive."
"I still think you should just come with us. Neira…"
"Please." Neira lifted her hands to run them over her face, but Safir caught her wrists before she could smear the still drying ink all over her skin. "Don't start again."
"I would never forgive myself if I didn't say my piece," Safir insisted. "We might… what if we never see each other again?"
"We can write letters until we do." Her maid pointedly glanced at the mess that was Neira's desk, with not one letter completed, and Neira had to concede that point, at least. "Fair enough."
"You know I will heed your orders. You know I will not disobey you, Neira. I will keep the prince safe, even if it costs me my life, but still . I wish you would come with us." Anger brewed in the young woman's pale eyes. "It doesn't sit right with me that I am leaving you here without a single ally, with no one to rely on. What has this kingdom ever done for you? Come with me. If your father survives…" Her breath caught, as if the words alone were treason and she had shouted them too loudly. "We can come home when everything settles down. Together."
It was nothing that Neira had not considered herself.
"This would be a lot easier if Ramin was grown," Neira said softly, and for a moment she looked as lost as she felt. "But someone… someone has to hold the palace. I don't trust the regiars not to throw the gates wide open for whoever returns from this battle alive, if there is not a hand to steer them. What of the people?"
"What of them?" Safir challenged. "You've never left this place. Do you know how many people live in your realm? How many villages exist, beyond the one at our door? Save yourself, Neira. I beg you."
She wanted to. It was selfish, and weak, but Neira longed to run away in that moment. To leave behind the regiars and their condescension, leave her father and his negligence. To see parts of the world that stretched farther than the view from her window. To settle in Huldra, perhaps, and enjoy the sun glittering on their fields of snow and ice, where no mists obscured the sky.
Longed for it so desperately that her chest tightened painfully. And then uncertain despair blanketed the longing. What would she do once she had arrived there? Marry a Huldran nobleman, when she had been dodging a political union ever since she came of age here? Work a trade? Meet new people, make new connections – make new enemies? The longing shrivelled. Here, at least, she knew her place and how to navigate every day.
"I don't know what I would do if I had to be someone else than who I am," she said softly. "Please. Trust me. I will be fine. And before long, we will see each other again, and you will serve a queen."
That was her future. She would be queen, the mirror had said so. And the mirror had never been wrong before.
"I don't care if you become queen."
"I do." Neira frowned, turning on the cushioned bench to face the other woman. " I do , Safir. This is important to me. You know that."
"Is it important enough to miss all other chances? Important enough to risk your life, shackle yourself to this dream of yours until it kills you?"
"Stop!"
Safir halted at the sharp command, backed a step away.
"Stop. I have made my decision, and you will heed it." Neira gentled her voice at the expression on Safir's face. "You promised."
The maid's jaw worked as if she was chewing the words she wanted to spew at her princess, but in the end, she merely bowed, her fringe hiding her eyes. "As you command, your Highness."
"Safir-"
"I will finish packing. Please let me know if you have need of me."
Neira watched the woman quickly leave her room. And felt hollow.
"Here is the letter," Neira said, hours later, almost sheepishly. Safir was still sorting out their travel gear, and Ramin was sitting under Mother's watchful gaze, choosing which strings he wanted to bring on the long journey.
The boy perked up at her entrance and scrambled to run over, tightly hugging her thighs. "Neira! I missed you."
"You just saw me earlier." And wouldn't again for a long time. Neira's throat closed. She ran her hand through her brother's fine, dark hair affectionately. "Remember what you promised."
"I'll be good. You'll see." She wouldn't.
Safir met her eyes warily when Neira handed over the sealed letter. "Do not show this to anyone aside from the Glacier king," Neira said under her breath, hating the way Safir refused to meet her eyes. "This is important. It's Father's royal seal, if anyone else-"
"I understand, your Highness."
"Safir." The maid made to pull away, but Neira caught her wrist. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should-" A creaking caught her attention; at the table, Mother had stooped.
No, not stooped. One of her legs had disintegrated under her, the second one bending at the shin so sharply that Mother had tilted to the side and was only propped up by the edge of the table and what was left of her knee.
"Mother…?" Ramin took two careful steps towards their childhood caretaker before Neira dragged him back by the shoulder. There was usually a glow deep in the withered sockets of Mother's eyes, a kernel of the palest green, and now it was flickering like the flame of a candle in a draught. Long, bony fingers, greyed with age and wear, curled around the table's edge, then stretched towards them.
Something cold struck Neira between the shoulder blades, making her stumble, and Ramin cried out at the same time. Something surged through her, cold and sharp, something that made her dizzy with seemingly no source, no destination. Suddenly her eyes were not her own and she was staring at Ramin and herself, at their pale, frightened faces, as if that something had tied her to Mother.
Mother's glow gave out and the image was ripped away.
And then Mother dropped onto the carpet without a sound, breaking apart into dry, dusty pieces of old sinew and brittle skin.
Safir's clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.
"You have to leave," Neira breathed. "Now. Now ! Ramin, put your shoes on."
The women flew into a flurry of activity; Safir brought all the bags she had packed, Neira helped Ramin put a plain cape on, both of them trying their hardest not to step on the dusty remains beside the table.
Neira willed her hands to stop shaking but her fingers kept missing their mark. She tied the cape around Ramin's neck with jerky movements, kissing his forehead before she rose. Mother was… gone . And she didn't even have time to mourn her.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Which meant that the Grey King was likely now on his way here. She had hoped to send the two of them away under the cover of night, but the dim of this misty afternoon would have to suffice. There was likewise no time left to recruit one of the guards, someone who would protect them – if such a person existed in this damn place.
"Take the boat up the river," she told Safir as the three of them hurried into her room, the maid carrying the two bags, Neira balancing Ramin on her hip. It would be faster down the stairs like this. "There is a watergate right across the lake. Don't stop. You need to be away from the moors by dawn."
Neira whirled on her maid before opening the hidden door.
"Repeat it."
"Neira, it's not too late-"
"Repeat the instructions, Safir." A cold lance tore through her. Safir's eyes grew misty for a moment before she nodded.
"We take the boat through the watergate and up the river before dawn."
"Good." Neira shoved the tapestry aside. Ramin's little hands tightened in the fabric at her chest. "When you see the mountains and the meadows are green, leave the boat and walk to the right. You'll reach the shore within two or three days." At least that was what she had surmised from the maps in her father's study. "If you're not sure you're on the right path, look for the rising sun."
"Leave the boat, walk to the east."
They descended the dark stairway, slower than Neira would have liked, but she couldn't risk falling with Ramin in her arms.
"Where are we going?" He asked. The tremor in his little voice almost broke her heart.
"There is a boat down there," she told the boy, brighter than she felt by far. "You and Safir are going on ahead. All right? You promised to be good."
"You're not coming?"
Neira swallowed with some difficulty. Behind her, Safir's disapproval was like a touch in the dark. "I'll meet you on the road."
"I'll wait with you."
"No." When they stepped into the grey light below the palace, Ramin's frown came into view. "You need to go and scout ahead." She gave him a faint smile. "It's what noble princes do, you know."
"Is it?"
"Yes." Neira bit the inside of her cheek when tears threatened to overwhelm her. Something roiled under the water just to their left. Safir drew a sharp breath behind her. But Neira urged them on, towards the other end of the bridge, where a small row boat had been stashed for as long as she could remember, as if waiting for an opportunity like this.
Gods below, she hoped it was still seaworthy. What if they went through all this only to find it rotting?
It was far too late for such thoughts, but nevertheless she was struck by all the ways she had prepared so poorly for this. A letter hastily written at the last moment, no guard to accompany them, all her hopes hanging on a tiny, wooden boat that she had never even looked over properly.
"What if I don't want to be a noble prince?" Ramin complained. "Maybe I want to be the villain."
"Even a villain makes sure the princess is safe," Neira countered, leaning over the water. There was an iron ring embedded in the wall to hold on to, slick with algae, and she had to lean far enough that her dress almost dipped into the water. The thought that something would snap onto it and drag her down…
"That doesn't sound like something a villain would do."
"Oh, believe me, it's perfectly common." Neira found herself babbling, the words too quick, too bright, tinged with hysteria. Her blood was rushing in her ears so loudly she could barely hear herself speak, as if she was telling him this story underwater. "The villain would not want the princess to come to harm. How would he lure the hero to his lair if there was no one for the hero to save? A villain always considers the best angle for a plan."
"Oh. You’re right! Take the boat down the river and go right," Ramin parroted, smiling proudly when Safir stroked over his head in praise.
Neira snagged the long rope and pulled. The mists swirled on the water but the boat came into view slowly – whole, and just sturdy enough. She almost sagged to her knees in relief. The wood was damp, but it held when Safir tossed the smaller bag into it, gently bobbing on the water. Holding the rope in one hand, she turned and took Safir's hand with the other. "Thank you." Her throat ached again, the words thick, but she refused to let the tears fall.
"I will get him to Huldra," Safir promised, her voice low and vehement. Her fingers tightened around Neira's. "And when we come home, you'll owe me a favour."
Neira huffed a laugh, folding the woman into a tight hug. "Anything you want, my friend."
She didn't want to let go. The things she would face in the following days – they were sure to be harrowing, and Neira would be alone, utterly alone. One last time, she squeezed her maid, her best friend, and then held her arm while Safir climbed into the boat with the larger bag and arranged herself for paddling.
Ramin stood by her side, pensively watching the boat. "This doesn't look safe."
"It's perfectly safe. It'll be an adventure." Neira knelt, uncaring of the cold damp that seeped into her skirts from the stones. She cupped Ramin's face and placed kisses all over it until the boy laughed and squirmed, and then brought him tightly against her chest. "It will be no time at all, and when we see each other again, I will teach you a new trick for your strings."
Her brother clung to her and she relished his warmth, the familiar scent of his hair, searing the sensation of his hug deep into her soul.
He will never see his homeland again.
Neira squeezed her eyes closed and prayed to all the gods who would listen that the mirror's prophecy didn't mean that Ramin would die on this journey.
"Will you put Mother back together before we come home?"
If only she could.
"Of course. It was quite rude of her to do that, wasn't it? But Mother is old, and she needs the rest." She lowered him into the boat as carefully as she could and tugged the hood of his cape over his head. "Quiet, now. You can't say a word until you see the sun. Do you understand?"
"Y-" He caught himself and nodded.
"Good." Curling her hands into tight fists by her sides, Neira scanned the lake. "The watergate is in that direction. Go calm, and slow. Don't make a sound."
Safir nodded and pulled the hood of her cape over her pale hair before she dipped the oars into the water. The Farn girl held her gaze for as long as she could before the mists swallowed the little boat. And Neira stood on the bridge, watching and listening long after it had disappeared, the silence oppressive after the soft splashes of the paddles had faded.
And just a few walls beyond the mirror pulsed with amusement, keeping time with her heartbeat.
"Princess." Lord Arwess cut her off in one of the lower hallways. There was something off about him, a paleness to his sweat-damp face, a wince in the way he looked at her. He blocked her path efficiently, jittery as he was, and Neira drew up short, dug deep for any ounce of indignation, of reproach, that she could muster.
All she wanted was to curl up in her rooms and mourn until she didn't feel as hollow.
"You are not supposed to be here," she told the man, turning her grief into icy disapproval. Gods below, she'd have to deal with the regiars sooner rather than later. There was a definite shift in the air; she'd felt it the moment she had come up through the secret stairway again, as if the palace was holding its breath. "These halls are reserved for the royal family."
He didn't budge. "I am looking for Prince Ramin," Arwess said, his tone friendly, but something frantic flickered in his eyes. "Would you like to walk with me?"
Neira frowned. She was used to the regiars dismissing her, but she had never been so outright ignored before. "No. Leave. This is highly-"
"It is very important that we see the prince," he cut her off with such sudden vehemence that Neira took a hasty little step back. We . She glanced around, but the long hall was empty aside from the two of them. How many people did he have on the hunt for the boy?
How close had she come to having her plans foiled?
"His Highness is engaged with his studies. You may not disturb him. Leave ." Further down the hall a door burst open, heavy boots thumping on the floor.
Suddenly, a clammy hand clamped down on her forearm.
"Where is the prince? What have you done to him?" Arwess yanked at her, open hostility on his face.
Neira pulled, but he held firm. "How dare you touch me," she hissed, beginning to struggle. She had to get away – she had to get to one of the towers so she could keep an eye out for a little boat making its way up the river.
She had to know whether they had made it.
But Arwess wasn't intimidated. Down the hall the heavy steps sounded again, nearer now, and around the bend stormed the captain of her father's guard, a tall, hefty man in leather armour, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
"Captain Renger. Put the regiar in his place," Neira demanded.
Dread blanketed her when the man ignored her entirely to speak to Arwess instead.
"There is no trace of the boy, or the thing that minds him."
Neira bristled. Renger's pale eyes slid over to her. He took in the angry flush down her neck, the dark, wet splotches on her dress.
"A terrible fate has befallen the crown prince." He reached for her, meaty fingers closing around her upper arm. "Tell us where he is."
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Neira kept her chin up, somehow managing to look down her nose at a man towering over her. The two men shared a look, barely hiding the dark glee in it.
"Clearly," Renger said, holding her in place when Arwess finally released her, "the princess has something to do with the prince's disappearance. She offered no explanation, her dress is wet – she must have drowned the poor child."
"What-!"
"Hateful bitch. She always has been," Arwess agreed with a solemn nod. "Put her under house arrest for the time being, Captain. Not in her own rooms – who knows what she has hidden there."
This couldn't be happening. Panic rose swiftly, but no matter how hard she struggled, how deep she dug her heels into the floor, the captain dragged her down the hall, in the opposite direction from her rooms.
"Let go of me! I command-"
"You don't command me, girl."
Shit. Shit . Neira desperately ran through her options, but each time she thought she had a hold on her thoughts, they scattered. Jamming her heels into the ground did nothing but make her stumble. Going limp was out of the question – aside from the humiliation, he could just pick her up. Insulting him would be satisfying, but only so long as he didn't abuse her for it.
The two men had spoken with such dispassion, decreeing her fate as if the entire encounter was a well-practised play. They had been waiting for who knew how long to spring this upon her the moment it was convenient.
How long had she missed the hidden plots against her? How had she missed them?
She was led to what she could only assume was a guest room for visitors her father wanted gone as soon as possible, or perhaps even a bedroom within the servant quarters. It was sparse, with only a bed and a dresser, the small window filmy with grime. Renger pushed her inside with more force than necessary, making Neira stumble into the dresser.
How long had these people hated her?
"It won't be long," the Captain announced, utterly unaffected by the glare she threw him. "The Lord Regiars will make a decision on what to do with you soon enough." She didn't like the way his eyes lingered on her. "Although I have an idea or two. Until then – sit tight."
The door slammed tight. The sound of the lock turning was deafening.
Neira's nails bit into her palms as she tried to control her breathing. It would do her no good to fly into a panic now; the window was too small to squeeze out of, the room too high up besides. She used one of the wet patches of fabric at the very hem of her skirt to wipe at the window pane, but all it did was smear the years-old dust and grime around. It wasn't high up enough to glance over the walls, either, if the gloom beyond the dirty glass was any indication. Any spells she may have had in her possession were half a palace away.
A small cloud of dust puffed up when she sat on the bed, but the cleanliness of the room was the least of her concerns. What was more pressing was what would happen to her now: if her father was dead, and they couldn't find Ramin, would they make her their puppet? Who would oppose the regiars if they chose a new king from among themselves instead?
Gods, would she be forced to wed one of them to legitimise their rule? Arwess' clammy hand and sweaty face came to mind and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. When her father returned, regardless of Ramin's presence, she had no doubt he would punish all of them severely.
And if her father didn't return…
Neira ran her hands over her face. All that was left to do now was wait – at least she had the solitude she'd wanted.
She had in spades.