Chapter 13 River
River
Galwell was late.
They’d all gathered in one of the villa’s stately dining halls, morning sun spilling in through limestone-framed windows that
stretched over ten irons high, dining on colorful Vestriyan breakfast cakes as they talked around his absence. Galwell was
not a man who made people wait. And since he’d already died once, it was hard for most of the people in their party not to
immediately assume the worst.
Searching for a lighthearted distraction, River focused her attention on Prince Ario. “Your choice of wardrobe today is not
what I imagined a spymaster would wear,” she said. “But you know what they say . . . Never assume.”
“Why’s that?” Prince Ario asked, a glop of pastel frosting lingering in the corner of his mouth.
“Because to assume makes an ass out of you and me,” Celine interjected, even though River had been striking up a conversation
with Prince Ario in an attempt to avoid Celine and her unflinching gaze.
“Your surprise at my attire is not uncommon,” Prince Ario said, missing the clever play on words.
“It’s because I choose to dress like a poet instead of a spymaster.
” He looked around the room for someone to validate his claim.
When no one met his eye, he glanced down at his outfit.
He was in a dark tunic with exaggeratedly puffed-out sleeves.
There were gold fabric stripes running down each arm, matching his puffy golden hat.
With the intricate golden brocade pattern on his puffy pants, he looked like a tapestry meant to adorn a wall.
And he had that damned snail, Benjamin, perched atop his shoulder.
River did not know much about the Vestriyan royals, but she had been under the impression that Prince Ario would be like Thessia.
Someone elegant. Refined. His status visible in the very way he moved. She’d seen conjurated portraits of him and assumed
his silver hair and mischievous smirk hinted at an edginess lurking beneath the surface of his royal facade.
While he was by no means meek—no meek person would ever wear so many puffy items at once—he did not seem interested in presenting
himself as someone powerful, and certainly not as someone edgy.
River felt a strange urge to help him. Prince Ario had a good heart and a clear vision for himself, but the execution wasn’t
very sharp. It reminded River of all the times her family’s troupe had begun assembling a new routine to incorporate into
their circus performance. In the early stages, all the moving parts were incoherent, like an unsolved puzzle with pieces that
had been spread out upside down. Even through the mess, River could always spot the bones, knowing exactly which parts to
pull forward and which parts to cut.
She’d forgotten this about herself, discarded this ability the day she’d been kicked out of the troupe. Yet here it was, waking
up within her as if it had been hibernating.
“I am no fashionist myself, but there’s something to be said for an entirely black ensemble,” she told Prince Ario. “Could
work for both spymaster and poet.”
“Very elegant and mysterious,” Queen Thessia chimed in, nodding in approval.
Prince Ario tugged the golden hat off his head. “All right, then,” he said, surprisingly amenable. “I have no plain black
garments with me, though.”
King Hugh lit up, excited for the opportunity to provide further distraction from Galwell’s absence. Or maybe also in agreement that Prince Ario needed a makeover. “My good fellow, come with me!” he said. “We can find something dark and mysterious in my apparel.”
Not long after their exit, Galwell finally appeared. Queen Thessia, Celine, and even River let out soft exhales of relief.
He entered with great haste, yet River noticed there was a slight hitch in his walk that he could not mask, not to mention
a large bandage over his shoulder.
“My lateness is inexcusable, but I apologize all the same,” he said, kneeling gingerly on one knee as he placed a hand over
his heart. “It was an eventful eve, and I rested far longer than I intended to. I will do whatever is necessary to make up
for my absence.”
Queen Thessia gasped. “You’re injured!”
“Yes,” Galwell confirmed. “But it is no need for concern. I have extremely large muscles, and they stopped the crossbow bolts
from penetrating too deeply. The wounds only bled for two or three hours last night.”
“Crossbow?” Queen Thessia shrieked. Her eyes darted around the room as if anticipating the reappearance of whoever had attacked
Galwell. River did the same, her back straightening as she moved herself toward a corner so that she could have the best vantage
point.
“Two or three hours?” River could not help but ask.
Galwell sat down as delicately as possible. “Worry not. There is no risk of me being harmed again.”
“What happened?” Celine asked. She was already jotting something down in her notebook, probably spinning this incident into
the kind of scribesheet story that would fly off the stands at every Mythrian magazine shop.
“I ran into Mona last night. She shot arrows at me, but we resolved it. As I said, no need to worry.” He stuffed his mouth
full of an entire breakfast cake.
Galwell was raised as a noble. Even River knew that nobles didn’t stuff their faces with food. Certainly not in the middle of a conversation. Whatever Mona Grandhart had done to Galwell last night had left him panicked in a way no one, including himself, knew how to deal with.
There was no time to probe him further, because King Hugh had returned. “Galwell!” he said with naked relief. “It’s wonderful
to see you. You’re just in time for the grand reveal. Allow me to present Prince Ario of Vestriya, poet-spymaster extraordinaire.”
Prince Ario stepped out from behind the door to reveal his new ensemble, a sleek black tunic with matching leggings. Not a
puffy sleeve in sight. He looked mischievous and unpredictable, even with Benjamin the snail. He looked good.
Yes, River thought. There you are.
The group exploded into applause, and Prince Ario took a bow, his cheeks warming at the generous reaction. “Thank you, thank
you! Now let’s go impress some harpies!”
River had never teleported so many people at once. Six, to be exact—plus Benjamin. To get it done, she’d asked them all to
hug one another like a horseball team huddling on the field. She didn’t know if she’d be successful, since she was working
off Prince Ario’s impassioned description of their destination, but she figured admitting that would dampen the mood.
They arrived in a giant pile. Of course River landed atop Celine, their legs entwined and their chests smashed together. Celine’s
heart was beating fast, her cheeks pink with exhilaration. River wanted to stay mad at her, but she found it hard to do so
when Celine got such visible pleasure from River’s gift.
Once the group untangled themselves, River looked to Prince Ario.
“We’re here!” he confirmed. “Welcome to the Grotto!”
The outside was made of jagged, mossy rocks that jutted up toward the sky in peculiar shapes. Prismatic hemalia flowers bloomed
in cracks like iridescent orbs. There was an opening that looked exactly as Prince Ario had described it—like a large, yawning
mouth, within which a vast water cave was barely visible, its greenish-blue water like a tongue.
“The harpies are in there!” Prince Ario told the group excitedly, pointing to the entrance.
All the other people outside the cave were dressed in black from head to toe. Some sat at slab tables locked fist to fist,
challenging each other to thumb wars. Others were practicing their sword fighting or wrestling in patches of muddy grass.
“And these people are here to impress said harpies?” Celine inquired. Harpies were capricious beings made of pure magic, capable
of amplifying the magical gifts of anyone they deemed worthy.
“Indeed,” Prince Ario told her. He waved at a gruff man nearby, who had large, muscular arms inked with renderings of dragons,
nightwalkers, sledgelings, and wights. Any fearsome creature one could think of, this man wore on his skin like a badge of
honor.
The man did not acknowledge him.
“Should we be concerned about our fellow visitors?” Queen Thessia asked.
“We’re all very familiar with each other,” Prince Ario assured her. “I come here often in my spymaster dealings. I blend right
in.”
Dressed in his current attire, he did look right at home. But River thought of the puffy ensemble, and his penchant for performing
poetry off the cuff, and River suspected Prince Ario had been the source of more than one cruel joke around these parts.
“I think you could blend in even further,” she said, still feeling that tug inside her, the urge to complete the puzzle that was Prince Ario, shaping him into the version of himself he believed he already was.
“Notice how everyone here holds their head up? Walks like they have a purpose? Let’s try it. ”
“All right, then,” Prince Ario said. He strode ahead, his chin up so high it looked like he smelled something rancid and was
trying to identify a source.
“Good start,” River told him, wincing when she knew he couldn’t see her. “Lead with the pelvis a little more, though. Like,
say, a king would?” Only after she suggested it did it occur to her that Ario’s father was an actual king and his brother
would someday be one, too. She had not yet adjusted to this strange adventure she was on, assisting the rulers of two different
realms.
“My father walks like this,” Prince Ario said. He arched his back as he took strangely wide steps, almost as if his thighs
had begun chafing.
“Mmm,” River said. She couldn’t offer words. Only sounds.
“Is it my arms? Perhaps they need more purpose,” Prince Ario suggested. “Everyone here has very prominent arms.” He put his
hands on his hips, doing his wide jutting walk with his nose to the sky.
River’s head was starting to ache. “Do you really not have a single edgy bone in your body?”