Chapter 33
As Ruben leaves the sound-warded room, I move to follow, but before I can, Benny grabs my hand.
‘Rose, I’m sorry. I am.’
I offer a hum in response. Maybe I could manage more, but Benny’s not forgiven yet, and I want him to know that.
When he awkwardly clears his throat, it becomes obvious that he does. ‘The thing is, we can’t carry on as it is, not with Korvane in charge. But if his successor could take the throne sooner…’
‘His successor?’ It takes me a moment to get my head around the thought of Kyor actually ruling. Yes, he’s in a far better position to take the role in Morathka than I am here by a very long way, but I’ve always envisioned his taking the crown would happen years, if not decades, in the future.
‘You must know how he feels about it?’ Benny presses. ‘If he wants to take the throne now, I mean.’
I shake my head and it thrums, the start of a headache pounding behind my eyes. ‘Right now, Kyor’s got more than enough to get his head around.’
‘I know, but if you can—’
‘No.’ My word is short and offers no room for negotiation. ‘You want to talk to Kyor about overthrowing his father, be my guest, but I’m not doing your dirty work for you.’
‘I want to,’ he insists, his forehead a crumpled mass of worry lines. ‘But I don’t think he’s ready to hear it yet. Not from me.’
‘No, you got it right the first time. He’s not ready to hear it yet. Period. You push this, Benny, and we both know how it’ll end. You, Ruben, and the Eastern Isles won’t be getting your happily ever after.’
Back in our normal corner of the library, I try to use the pile of books in front of me to block out the conversation I’ve just had.
Maybe there’s something about vows in one of them.
Or maybe it’s somewhere among the hundreds of thousands of books that fill the shelves.
Deep down, I don’t know where to start. Maybe I could ask Tove for help, but that feels dangerous.
No one asks for a book on breaking a vow unless there’s a need for it, and the last thing I want is for rumours to start eddying around the Issen.
It’s bad enough that I told Ruben and Benny without seeing if Kyor minded, but it wasn’t like there was much time to discuss it with him.
What I need is someone I can trust to ask these questions of.
The answer comes as a surprise. Magnus. I’m not oblivious to the errors he’s made in keeping things from me since I arrived here, but strangely enough, my trust in my grandfather continues to grow.
Maybe because he’s honest about his mistakes.
That’s not easy for the best of us, but it must be even harder for a king.
And so, having barely made myself comfortable, I stand.
‘Where are you going?’ Caz asks as I turn back towards the door. ‘You’ve only just got back.’
‘I’ll talk to you about it later,’ I tell her before heading outside. As I walk towards the palace, a familiar face causes my stomach to somersault.
‘Uzra,’ I say, making a beeline for the guard, who is holding hands with a small girl. ‘I thought Kyor was with you this morning? Training.’
I hate the panic that rises in me, the way my pulse soars, but a warm smile spreads across the Morathkian’s face.
‘He’s still with the other men,’ Uzra tells me.
‘I left him there just a while ago. I think they were actually going to fetch lunch together. There’s this new thing going around the city – you’ve probably seen them?
Riverweed cakes. One of the men had some flour from trade but has never been sure what to make with it until now.
I think he invited Kyor back to his home for food.
And the prince seemed keen to see another part of the city. ’
‘He did?’
My relief is filled not only with surprise but also warmth. Kyor isn’t just spending time with these men to ensure his skills on the battlefield don’t wither. He’s getting to know them. That has to be a good thing.
‘I want to try the cakes, Grandad,’ the girl next to him says. ‘You’ve been promising me one for days now.’
At my best guess, the girl holding Uzra’s hand must be about eleven or twelve, and she’s a striking child, that’s for sure.
Her irises are deep brown around the centre, fading outwards to almost white.
It reminds me in some ways of the eyes of bonded dire wolves, although the line is not so sharp.
Evidence of her mixed Morathkian and Issen heritage?
‘Princess Rose, this is my granddaughter, Orla. We were just having a walk.’
‘Orla.’ I smile. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘You too, Princess Rose,’ she says, bending her knee as if she’s about to bow the way the soldiers first did.
‘Nope, there’s no need for that,’ I say, catching her hand. ‘And please, just call me Rose.’
Her face brightens. ‘Yes, Rose,’ she says. Her eyes look up at her grandfather. He stares down with a glow of pride in his expression.
‘Have you tried the cakes?’ Orla asks eagerly.
‘I have,’ I laugh. ‘Do you want to know a secret about them?’
Her lips part in anticipation. ‘Yes, please!’
‘It was my friend Ruben who learned how to make them. Clever, right?’
‘Really clever,’ she says. ‘Although I still haven’t tried one yet,’ she repeats.
‘Well, next time he bakes a batch, I’ll make sure he saves one for you. Does that sound all right?’
At this, her smile cracks so wide it’s as though her face could split in two.
‘Did you wish me to take you to Prince Kyor?’ Uzra asks, bringing the conversation back around.
‘No, actually, it’s the king I’m looking for,’ I reply. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘I just saw him heading into the river. I believe he was going to do a little harvesting.’
‘Well, I should go find him before I have to wade through icy waters. Thank you.’ I turn to leave, only to hesitate. I have the knight here, and he’s shown before how willing he is to discuss the Issen ways with me. I’m unlikely to get a better opportunity to talk to him about the matter than now.
‘Actually, do you have a moment?’ I ask. ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Would I perhaps be able to join you on your walk?’
‘Yes, certainly. Do I need to take Orla home to her mother?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I answer. ‘I just wanted to ask you about the face markings, the patterns? I wondered at what age the boys’ faces become covered?
You mentioned before that your grandson no longer needed to go topless to display his.
I was wondering how long that took? From when they first became visible. ’
Uzra runs his tongue across his top lip. ‘And you’re asking this out of pure curiosity, Princess?’
‘Yes. Just out of curiosity. Trying to learn more about the people. My people.’
His eyes linger on me for a moment, but he doesn’t press the matter.
‘The boys are normally between fourteen and sixteen when the first signs appear. Of course they can also be a little younger, but that is the expected age. It can appear in various places first. My grandson’s patterns began on his back, but for a lot of other boys I know, it begins on the stomach.’
‘Right … right.’ William is fifteen, bang in the middle of that age range, but I don’t actually know when his patterns first showed.
It could have been just a few moons ago, but it also could have been a lot longer.
‘And how long after it begins does it take to spread? Particularly for those who aren’t fully Issen.
Those with Morathkian parents, for example. ’
Uzra’s eyes narrow on me for a moment before he switches his attention down to his granddaughter.
‘Orla, why don’t you run home? I’ve just forgotten I need to head back to the battle yard. You don’t want to go all the way there with me.’
Orla pouts. ‘Can I ride Niamh if I do?’
Uzra rolls his eyes but I sense he was already expecting this particular question. ‘I guess so, but if she growls and you get bitten, that’s your own fault.’
Orla shakes her head. ‘Niamh never even growls at me. She’s a good dire wolf.’
A moment later she is racing away from us, a wistful smile on Uzra’s face as he watches her go.
‘It’s safe for them, isn’t it?’ I say, my eyes following the child as she weaves past the women who linger in the streets. ‘For children like Orla, Isthyr is a safe place.’
‘Safest I have ever known,’ Uzra replies.
‘Safer than Dorain, certainly, where I felt infinitely more at ease than in Wrohelm, and I didn’t visit there until I was a grown man.
I would never dream of letting my granddaughter run home there, even in the inner rings.
We both know that some of the most venomous snakes of the city can be found in the silk sheets of the High Hold.
’ Before I can formulate my reply, he speaks again.
‘But the safety of our sanctuary is not what you wished to talk to me about. The markings.’
‘Yes.’ I pull in a lungful of the clean, icy air.
‘The patterns. You say they start at about fourteen, but is that always the case? And are there not some men, some with Morathkian heritage too, whose patterns don’t spread at all?
Men who could pass as Morathkian? You know, maybe so they could infiltrate the cities? Get information.’
My final addition makes my questions sound reasonable – in my mind at least – and Uzra hums slightly as he contemplates his answer.
‘Perhaps when they are fifteen or sixteen, but any later than that, no. Sometimes their markings are slightly fainter, but not faint enough to be invisible, and that is not limited to those with Morathkian blood. It varies, but those whose markings appear later also tend to see them spread more rapidly.’
Shit. That is definitely shit.
I try to find a thread of hope to cling to. ‘And it always reaches the face? The hands?’
‘Yes. I do not believe there is a way to stop it. Not that I believe anyone would wish to. Not in Isthyr.’
Right.