Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The landlord at the Three Ravens was not at all happy to be awakened, although his demeanor brightened considerably when Henry handed over a small fortune in Fraysian coppers.
Henry sincerely thanked the watchman, who refused a gratuity, before following the landlord up a narrow flight of stairs that seemed to go on forever.
“The kitchen fire’s out for the night,” said the landlord when they reached the small room at the top. He scratched his chin doubtfully. “I could find you a bread roll and some cheese, I suppose.”
“There’s no need, thank you.” Henry had eaten almost nothing all day but his exhaustion outweighed his hunger.
Looking relieved, the landlord nodded and left, softly closing the door behind him.
Henry didn’t bother to look around, but he did release Stefano and made sure the washing-up bowl had water in it. Then, groaning, he pulled off his boots and collapsed onto the thin mattress, fully dressed. He fell asleep before he could douse the candle, which eventually sputtered out on its own.
He slept much later than he intended to, but at least he felt well-rested.
He took a few minutes to stretch and look around the room, which was spare but clean.
Stefano crouched in the bowl looking glum, but that was unavoidable with his frog face.
Gods, Henry missed Stefano’s pointy chin, his snub nose that turned pink at the tip when he spent too long in the cold, his sweet mouth that curled into smiles whenever he caught sight of Henry.
Rubbing at his aching chest, Henry nodded at Stefano. “Are you hungry?”
Stefano shook his head. Henry still hadn’t gotten over the oddness of that motion.
“I’ll return soon.”
The common room was empty except for the landlord and a half-grown boy who looked just like him and was probably his son.
The boy stared openly at Henry while sweeping the floor, but the landlord, who appeared to be fixing an upended chair, barely glanced his way.
“Too late for breakfast, and dinner’s not for hours. ”
Henry had expected this. “Do you have anything at all I could eat? It doesn’t need to be cooked. Or even particularly good.”
The landlord glared at his project and then shrugged. “There’s probably something over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the long, polished bar.
When Henry searched, he was pleased to discover a bowl of blackberries, some of them squished, along with a few heels of bread and some bits of dry sausage and cheese.
Hardly the sort of meal he’d enjoyed at the palace but better than he’d usually had in his life before that.
He ate quickly and efficiently and cleaned up after himself when he was done.
By then the boy had disappeared, but the landlord continued to struggle with the chair. “Cursed thing.” He pushed it roughly, causing it to topple.
Curious, Henry ambled over. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Leg’s so loose it fell out. This morning it collapsed under one of my customers and he fell on his ass. And he was still sober enough to notice.” The landlord snorted.
Henry picked up the chair, flipped it upside down, and peered at it. “Wood’s dried out, which made the leg shrink. Looks as if someone tried to repair it with glue, but that won’t be enough. You also need a metal screw to keep it together.”
“You’re an expert, are you?”
“Of a sort. I once had a job assembling furniture.” The poorhouse had been considered very progressive, teaching boys a real trade instead of having them pick oakum or grind bones for fertilizer.
Henry hadn’t minded the work, although he would have preferred to roam freely, as he had when his parents were alive.
He had also disliked the harsh discipline.
In retrospect, though, he supposed that being beaten for laziness or clumsiness had prepared him for being beaten in Stefano’s place.
The landlord stood up straight and put a hand to his lower back. “Well, I’ve no head for repairing things myself, and my son’s even worse.”
“I’ll do it for you—if you’ll give me some information without asking why I need it.”
“Hmm.” The man put his hands on his hips and frowned thoughtfully. “You’ve got me curious now, so all right.”
The chair didn’t take long to fix, although the landlord had to run next door to borrow a turnscrew from his neighbor.
Satisfied with both the completed task and his information-gathering, Henry trotted back up to the room.
Stefano had relocated to the windowsill, even though there was little to see aside from the wall of a nearby building.
“The royal palace isn’t far from here,” Henry announced.
Stefano didn’t look any happier, but he leapt from the window to the bed—an impressive distance—and then took a few shorter hops until he was near Henry. He gazed upward, and though Henry might have imagined it, he thought he saw love and trust shining in those almost-familiar eyes.
“I was afraid it would be difficult to get near the princess. It surely would be if she were Thanytsian.”
Stefano croaked his agreement. He had told Henry stories about how his grandfather and generations of kings before him had kept their daughters in figurative gilded cages until they were wed. Apparently princes had required less careful confinement, although they were watched closely as well.
“When the weather is fine, as it is today, Princess Dianora often spends afternoons in the palace gardens. Members of the public are permitted to visit as long as the gardens don’t become too crowded and the visitors behave respectfully.
It sounds almost too easy, honestly. But perhaps you and I are due for some simplicity. ”
After making one of his low, mournful sounds, Stefano jumped down onto the floor and then hopped to the corner of the room where Henry had left the cage.
Without looking back at Henry, he hopped inside.
The act sent an unexpected stab of anger through Henry—not at Stefano, but at his father and brothers, who had put him in this position.
Henry’s sweet dreamer reduced to a creature in a cage.
Well, anger wouldn’t profit either of them right now, and Henry had been well-practiced at tamping it down even before his heart had been bound.
He gathered his belongings into his bag and lifted Stefano, who somehow felt heavier than usual.
Stefano used to give Henry words of encouragement when he was going to try something new, but today he had to provide his own.
“All right, then,” he muttered to himself. “Here we go.”
The midday streets were busy with shoppers, tradespeople, and folks out for a stroll.
Children laughed as they chased each other, while their parents scolded them to keep out of the adults’ way.
Some people walked dogs, mostly of the small decorative sort, and cats watched from windows.
Scents wafted by, some unpleasant but most neutral or appealing, such as hot iron and grilling meat.
There were very few horses in the city, at least as far as Henry could tell, but he didn’t know why. Stefano probably knew.
A few blocks from the palace, Henry walked through a busy square where vendors sold trinkets from booths, people gossiped beside a tinkling fountain, and a single musician played a lively melody on a stringed instrument that Henry had never seen before.
He wished very much that Stefano was a man again.
They’d linger at one of the establishments on the edge of the square, drinking ale and watching the city’s life flow around them.
Stefano would be fascinated by the differences with their home country—details in architecture, dress, language, and food—and he’d ask Henry what he thought about them.
But Stefano was not a man, and Henry had to hurry onward. As it was, he noticed that people were staring. They couldn’t know that he had a foreign accent, but his clothing must have looked unusual, as if he was a stranger. Gods, he certainly felt like one.
As he made his way under an archway and down a narrow street lined with expensive-looking shops, he realized for the first time how truly alone he was in the world.
The last time he’d felt this way had been in the poorhouse, but Stefano’s friendship had soon made him feel as if he belonged to someone.
Now, though…. Either Stefano would remain a frog forever, or else the princess would break the curse and they’d be married. Either way, Henry would again be alone.
Soon the street started to climb a gentle hill and the shops gave way to fancy houses fronted by flower gardens.
Birds flitted among shrubs and small trees; unlike Stefano, Henry didn’t know the species.
In the Thanytsian capital, houses of similar grandeur but different design belonged to the wealthy families who owned the textile mills and banks. Henry wondered who owned them here.
The higher he climbed, the larger the houses became, until they surely qualified as palaces. There were fewer pedestrians here, but the people he saw were very well-dressed and gave him what he thought were hostile glares.
Finally the street dead-ended on a wide boulevard. Following the instructions given by the landlord, Henry turned right. Both sides of this road were lined with rows of tall trees. There were some carriages here, but only a few, and curtains concealed any view of the occupants.
“Nearly there,” Henry said quietly for Stefano’s benefit.
And he continued to plod onward, although he didn’t want to.
What he wanted was to clutch Stefano to himself and run, find a place where they’d be safe together forever, watch Stefano transform back into his old beautiful self, and protect and love him forever.