Chapter 10
The full moon hung high. Richard stood in the hallway outside Briony’s bedchamber, the red carpet soft underfoot, and a gold necklace in his hand.
It was finer work than he’d expected for something made in such haste.
The chain was slender, and at its centre dangled a locket shaped like a book.
Sealed inside the book was the tracking gem, and if Richard squeezed his palm, he could feel its heat still.
Briony would like it, he was sure. Whether she would accept it was a different matter.
Richard sighed. The day had left him scraped raw. Lyell’s tears. Kaelen’s fury. The certainty that Galdran was plotting something that involved his sister. His mind would not stop buzzing, as if a thousand tiny insects burrowed in his brain.
All of it, however, vanished when Richard peered around Briony’s ajar door.
The sconces were still alight, illuminating the walls covered with paintings and the huddled forms in the canopied bed.
Elara slept on one end in a sprawl of dark hair and silk nightgown, and Corwin occupied the other end, arms and legs starfished, as he snored.
Between them, Briony sat with a sketchbook in her lap, her charcoal busy at work.
A lump welled in Richard’s throat. Could they not remain like this forever? Quiet little creatures, lovely and warm and all in one place.
He stepped inside when Briony glanced up. “I did not mean to startle you.” He shut the door. “May we speak?”
Briony closed her sketchbook and nodded.
Richard climbed onto the bed’s edge and folded his legs opposite her. They sat cross-legged facing each other in the nest of blankets.
He let the necklace dangle from his fist. “I had this made for you.”
Briony’s breath hitched, delight banishing the shadows under her eyes, and she suddenly looked back to her old self. “For me?”
“Of course.”
She snatched the necklace, turning it over so the locket caught the candlelight. “Oh, Brother, it is beautiful!”
Relief made Richard’s shoulders sag. She was speaking to him again. “It opens.”
“It does?” Briony found the clasp and the book unfolded. Nestled inside, the gem glowed amber. “Oh, how lovely! I shall wear it this instant.”
Richard fastened it around her neck. “It is magic. I carry the other gem it answers to. You must never remove it, Briony. Do you understand?”
“Never,” she promised.
Richard smiled. “Good.” His smile faded. “I wished to tell you…I am sorry. For frightening you by committing such slaughter.”
Briony gave him a bemused look. “That did not frighten me!”
Richard blinked. “It did not?”
“No! You had to kill the witches. Otherwise, they would have killed me.” She grinned. “When you punched the last one, and his face went all—” She made a squishing motion with both hands. “Like in ‘The Gnome that became Jam’ story Lady Agnes let me read.”
Richard stared. He made a mental note to restrict Briony’s access to certain sections of the library and asked, “But why then did you shrink from me afterwards?”
“Because you were awfully mean.” Briony crossed her arms. “You shouted at me, and your voice is deeper than Corwin’s, and when you get angry, it sounds like thunder, and I do not like it.”
Richard swallowed hard. “I see. I should not have done that.”
“No,” Briony sniffed. “You should not. It is hardly fair when I do not yell at you so.”
“Is that why you have been avoiding me since?”
A guarded expression flitted through the girl’s face. She hunched her shoulders, fiddling with her necklace. “N-no. I didn’t want you to ask me questions.”
“Briony.” Richard dragged a hand down his face. “What are you hiding from me?”
Briony shook her head. “I cannot tell.” She lifted her gaze to his, and there was such naked pleading in it that his next demand trailed off. “Please, Brother. Will you understand?”
Richard’s heart wrenched. “I only want to know what is troubling you.”
“Well. I mean, there is a great deal troubling me.” Briony puffed up her cheeks and blew out a shaky exhale. “First and foremost—” She made a broken sound and slumped forward, her forehead landing against his chest. “Why must I be the ugly one?”
“Ugly?” Richard’s eyes widened. “Come now, little one, whatever do you mean?”
Briony drew back enough for him to see her tear-streaked face. “I have eyes, Brother!”
Richard’s bewilderment only deepened. “Briony—”
“I am not tall and pretty-faced like you and Sister and Corwin,” she burst out. “I am round and stumpy, and my cheeks wobble, and my bleeds hurt and come whenever they please, and Sister says not to fret, but hers are as regular as the moon, and—and I have started growing a moustache!”
The last word dissolved into a wail, and she buried her face into his chest again.
“Oh, little one.” He cupped her face and gently pulled her back.
Her nose was pink, her lashes clumped wet, and indeed, there were scattered coarse hairs above her upper lip.
“You are the most precious creature in this castle. A great many girls and boys feel awkward at your age. Why, Elara struggled so much she almost set the royal quarters afire.”
Briony glowered through her tears. “That is different. Everything looks right on Sister. Even when she is cross or weepy, she is beautiful. And Corwin has all the castle swooning when he laughs, and you—” she made a vague gesture at him— “you are like a statue come to life. But I am just me. My dresses pull oddly, and my breasts are too big to be pretty, and I hate my ankles, and Squire Godwyn is so very handsome and I blush terribly when he smiles at me, and I thought he would ask me to the Summer Ball, but he has asked Squire Isolde instead, because she is graceful like a willow tree and I am like a thundering elephant and—and—”
She collapsed into sobs, and Richard hugged her, resting his cheek against her curls. It took him a while to find the right words, for this suddenly seemed of greater importance than even the Sanguis Order.
“Briony. Bodies change in strange ways and on strange schedules. It does not make you any less beautiful.”
“You have to say that,” she muttered, her voice muffled by his night tunic. “You are my brother.”
“It remains true nonetheless. When you talk of your books, you sparkle brighter than the shooting stars. And when your clever fingers draw, such beauty emerges. Why, you are a kind and lovely girl who even helps my knight write his poems.”
Briony wailed, “But Kaelen does not get any better!”
“That is entirely because he is too silly a creature,” Richard said loftily, “who overuses his metaphors and has no head for rhyme or structure.”
Briony nodded miserably. “I have tried to teach him so.”
“Some stubborn and prideful fools cannot be taught.” Richard huffed, recalling Kaelen’s glare from earlier.
“Now, you will not think yourself ugly, for you have our mother’s eyes.
And when you are pleased with yourself, you resemble our father after he won his arguments.
As for being taller or trimmer or prettier by some ludicrous measure—” He bent to thud their foreheads together.
“I would not trade one Briony for a hundred elegant strangers, and so will you find too, a group of friends, and perhaps a lover, one day, who shall think the same.”
Briony scrubbed at her nose with her sleeve. “Do you truly think so?”
“I do.”
“Oh, very well.” Briony flopped against him. “But what of Corwin, Brother? He laughed at my moustache and said I am destined to become a wise scholar.”
Richard scowled at the snoring boy and debated kicking him off the bed. “You know better than to listen to his foolishness.”
Briony pinched Corwin’s ankle and looked disappointed when it only garnered a twitch. “I do hate growing up, Brother. It’s awfully unfair.”
Richard hummed and smoothed a curl from her damp cheek. He’d felt a different strangeness at her age. Not the awkwardness of a body changing, but instead, the slow, isolating discovery that everyone around him was learning a language he could not understand.
The boys and girls at court had grown curious early.
They whispered in corners, giggling over who wanted to kiss whom, who had sneaked behind the gardens with a stablehand, who was said to have the plumpest breasts, whose arse looked best in riding trousers when they bent over.
Richard had stood among them and listened in confusion, waiting for understanding to arrive.
For the thrilling longing they all spoke of to catch in him, too. It never had.
He had tried, once or twice, to summon the curiosity by force.
He had looked where the others pointed. At the curve of women’s bodices, at men stripped to the waist after training, at painted lips and flexing biceps and bared legs.
The boys at twelve and thirteen had smuggled in erotic paintings and crowded over them in a fever of fascination, flushed and awed, while Richard, peering over a shoulder, had felt only nonchalance.
As though he had been invited to sample some fine dish and been served chicken broth instead.
Haldric had urged him to make friends, and so he had tried, starting conversations about dwarven cities hidden in mountains, or whether werewolf packs transformed under any moon or only a full one, or if dryads died when their tree was felled.
The others had politely listened, exchanged glances, and the conversation soon returned to which of the knights would offer the most passionate kiss. Friendship had come harder after that.
“Growing up is never painless, little star.” Richard ruffled Briony’s hair. “Not to worry. I shall have Squire Godwyn executed for daring to break your heart.”
Briony considered it. “Could we have Squire Isolde executed, too? She is always laughing and tittering with the other girls when I come near. I think she is poking fun at me.”
“I see. Well, then. They shall both be beheaded at dawn.”
“Really?”
“Whatever you wish for.”
Briony giggled at that and nuzzled against his shoulder. “Oh, never mind. I ought not be cruel.”
Richard smiled and held her for a while, patting her back. His sister was with him again. Beneath the relief, however, unease remained. There was still something she was not saying. It was clear in her averted eyes, in the way she gripped his sleeves.
But for tonight, he would not press.
Richard glanced over Briony’s head at the two sleeping shapes. “Why are Elara and Corwin here?”
“I asked them.” She peered up at him. “Do you want to sleep here too? It’ll be like the game we played, remember? Where we four are stranded on a boat floating on the sea.”
Richard remembered. It had been Briony’s favourite. “I would like nothing more.”
Briony brightened. She lobbed her sketchbook under the bed before wriggling across the mattress to slot herself by Elara.
Richard chuckled and rose to his knees. He moved Corwin’s hand aside, but once he settled beneath the covers, Corwin immediately flung an arm and leg over him.
Richard groaned and tried to untangle himself, but the motion only made Corwin cling tighter.
Rolling his eyes, Richard shifted onto his shoulder and hugged Briony.
Warmth pressed in from every side. Corwin heavy and boneless against his back, Briony curled against his front, and Elara’s outstretched hand slapped across his forehead. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to this bed, this room, this bundle of his own gathered close and safe.
Briony whispered, something solemn and sad thrumming through her words, “We will not rest together like this again for a long, long time.”
Richard frowned. “Do not speak like that.”
Her large eyes reflected the candlelight before closing. Richard listened to his sisters and brother breathe until the sounds blurred and sleep pulled him under.
Hours later, Richard surfaced. He kept his eyes shut, too dazed to move, as a familiar voice hissed, “Corwin. Get. Up.”
Corwin groaned in protest. “Go die, Kaelen, and leave me in peace.”
“You promised the recruits a dawn training lesson,” Kaelen whispered back from the bedside. “Move, you sluggard, and keep your voice down. Your brother is asleep.”
Richard felt a prickle of both fondness and irritation at Kaelen’s nearness. He heard the whoosh of blankets being thrown aside, the drag of Corwin being hauled from the bed, a muttered threat, heavy footsteps, then the door closing.
Sleep swallowed him again.
The next time he woke, it was to gentler sounds. Drawers opening. Clothes rustling. Elara’s voice.
“Briony, wake. It’s time for your lessons.”
A whine resounded as Briony hugged Richard tighter.
“Hush now. Let Brother rest.”
Richard, cocooned in drowsiness, felt Briony withdraw and the patter of feet. There was a clink of Elara fastening jewellery, her ringed fingers patting his head—‘Sleep, Brother’—then another click of the door.
Silence returned.
By the time Richard properly woke, it was to noonlight spilling across the bed. The blankets around him were hollowed out, and the pillows dented. But Corwin’s warmth was gone. Briony’s hand was no longer tucked in his. And Elara’s rose perfume had faded.
He had been left all alone.