by Megan Hart
"My wife needs to leave the table. Thank you for coming," Edward said stiffly to Cillian. To Honesty he gave a softer smile. "And you, lady."
"Edward!" Stillness looked stunned. "Surely you're not sending our guests away now?"
"I'd thought—"
"We can go, if Edward wishes." Cillian spoke quietly, his eyes lifting now to seek Edward's own. "We don't wish to overstay our welcome."
For the first time since their arrival, Edward really looked at Cillian. For the span of several heartbeats the men stared at one another until Edward nodded once, stiffly. His gaze went from Cillian to Stillness and back again, then briefly to Honesty, where it hung for another long moment before returning to his old friend.
"If my lady wife wishes you to stay on for some after dinner en-tertainment, far be it from me to counter her desires. Stay, Cillian. If you like." Honesty had watched the silent exchange and now listened to Edward's tone. She, too, looked at Stillness who, despite her earlier nonchalance, had sat on the edge of her chair with her back stiff as though she expected her husband to do just as he'd said he would not. Honesty, watching them all, understood what they all had known and she hadn't. Cillian had been with Stillness.
"My love, I've had Margera lay in a supply of that fine Alyrian brandy you so enjoy. Take our prince to the library and lay out the cards. I would speak to my Sister-in-Service alone for a bit." Stillness tempered the words, which could easily have been read as a command, with a gentle smile that had Edward fair twitching to leap to do her bidding. He shot Cillian an assessing glance but gestured. "C'mon then. My lady wife wishes to be alone with your Handmaiden. We'll let the women talk. And ... I think we have much to speak on, ourselves."
Relief skittered swiftly across Cillian's face, so swift any who didn't know him well might have mistaken it for something else. Edward saw it, Honesty could tell. Stillness saw it, too. For the first time, Honesty wondered if what she thought she knew about Edward's reasons for abandoning his friend was the entire reason behind their falling out. Stillness waited until the men had left before sitting back again in her chair with a heavy sigh. She reached for the laces at the front of her gown and tugged them open until the bounty of her breasts and belly, still covered by the shift beneath her gown, surged forth. She ran her hands over them and sighed again.
"My husband would be certain I remain modestly covered in front of our guests, but I swear I'm fair to bursting in this gown. This babes not due to arrive for another few months but I swear soon I'll be forced to go 'round in naught but my shift the whole day." She laughed.
Honesty sipped a final mouthful of dessert wine and sat back herself. "He fears for your health."
Stillness's smile faded. "Aye. He does."
"While you fear for the babe itself and care less for your own well-being." Honesty ran a fork through the remains of the fruit crumble, decided she couldn't resist the last bite, and took it.
Stillness nodded. "You are well named."
Honesty shrugged. "Have you ever known one of us to be anything less?" The women stared at each other in silence that needed no words. No matter how long out of service a Handmaiden might be, or how short a time she served, nobody else could understand what it was like to be bound to the Order except another who'd done the same.
"I would have news, if you have it. I haven't been to the Motherhouse in a long time."
"Nor I." Honesty described her last assignment and the swift rush to place her with the Prince of Firth.
Stillness looked surprised. "Unusual but not unheard of, I suppose. To place you so quickly into another's service means the patron is in great need."
"Or has great wealth," Honesty said.
"The Order has threads in many tapestries," Stillness replied after a moment. She looked toward the double sliding doors through which the men had gone, her head tilted as if to listen for laughter . . . or shouts. "Our prince is not part of an intrigue, as best I know. He's ever avoided such pastimes, so far as Edward has ever said." Honesty had heard tales of the Order's political influence, but they'd been rumors and whispers only. She'd never had reason to believe the Order of Solace had any intentions beyond the faith. "I haven't been with him long enough to know, but I've seen no evidence of his interest in politics beyond what his position requires." Stillness sighed and leaned forward over the mound of her stomach to scrape the plate clean of syrup with her spoon. She tucked it into her mouth with a happy sound. "Even so, you've done him good."
"You know him well enough to see a difference?" Her answer came sharper than she'd meant it, but Stillness didn't seem to take offense.
Stillness licked her spoon and contemplated it a minute before setting it down. "I don't. But I know Edward, and he's seen a change. He wouldn't have agreed to this dinner otherwise. He wouldn't be in that room with Cillian now if he hadn't." Still no sound of male voices raised in laughter came from the library, but at least neither had they erupted into a fight—unless it was the silent sort, and Honesty didn't imagine either of them to be the kind to argue in whispers.
"What happened between them?"
The other woman's brow furrowed briefly. "You don't know?"
"I know he and Edward were schoolmates. I know they were great friends. I know Cillian loved him. Did . . . was it improper in Edward's eyes? Did Cillian make an offer to him that Edward couldn't accept?"
Stillness laughed softly. "Do you mean did our prince try to make love to my husband and was rejected?"
"It's ruined friendships aplenty," Honesty said.
Stillness looked at her plate and traced a design in the remains of her dessert with her fork before looking up at Honesty again. "Were you not informed of your patron's history before being sent to him? I can't imagine the Order sending you to him without some sort of. . . warning."
That sounded more ominous than she'd expected. Unusual heat crept up the column of Honesty's throat to warm her face as she thought of her hand-trunk and the sheaf of documents, ignored, within. "I was given only the barest information by the Mother-in-Service who told me of the assignment. I was given his materials, but. . ." There was no sense in lying. "I didn't read them."
Stillness's jaw dropped, just a fraction, before she recovered. "Oh. Well. Sister, I would like to share with you all I know but it's not my place to tell his tale. You must ask Cillian himself. Or read what you were given. I can't think . . . Sister, how did you hope to grant him solace if you didn't know about his reasons for needing your
Honesty sighed. "I didn't want to. I'm tired. I wanted simply to . . . go home. And when I decided to stay, it seemed I already knew him well enough without a bunch of papers that could tell me his every visit to the medicus and nothing about who he really is." Stillness nodded after a moment, as though she understood. "Even so, you haven't left him. And you've been good for him. You changed your mind, at least enough."
"I did." At last from inside the library came a burst of laughter, muted and hesitant, but more reassuring than the silence had been. Honesty looked at Stillness. "So their estrangement had nothing to do with you?"
Stillness laughed again with a duck of her head. "Oh, my. Well, I suppose that might have been part of it. Edward and Cillian had long been parted, though Edward had taken on an assignment from the king to watch over him."
"As though he were a child?" Honesty frowned. "Cillian is willful, but he's never seemed to need taking care of, to me."
There'd been a man in her father's house who'd been kicked in the head by a horse. Though his body had aged, his mind never had, and though to anyone who didn't know him he seemed fine,
the briefest conversation revealed him to be damaged. "Was he in an accident? Is that the reason for his mood swings and the anger?"
"Sister," Stillness said after a pause, "you should read what the Order gave you or ask him yourself."
Of course she must, and it was long overdue. Honesty nodded and got up from the table.
"I thank you for your hospitality. You
r home is lovely. Best wishes on the child." Stillness sighed, her hands on her belly. "Thank you. There are days the birth can't come soon enough. And others I wish to stay this way forever, if only so that I need not worry about what might happen after the babe is born."
Honesty had often wondered what had become of her own child, raised as another mans son and never as her own. "I'm going to see what's happening in the library. Will you come?"
"In a moment. I need to relace." Stillness indicated the front of her gown. "And it will take me long enough to heave my weight from the chair. You go. I'm sure all is well, Honesty. They only needed a reason to forgive one another."
Honesty hoped the other woman was right. From what she'd seen on Edward's face it would have been more difficult than that to reconcile them, but when another soft burst of laughter floated out to her, she smiled and went to the door. Inside the library, the men sat in facing chairs, identical glasses in their hands. Though an herb bowl rested on the table between them, no hint of the pungent smoke reached her nose.
Cillian had laughed with her. He'd been soft with her, too, though briefly. But she'd never seen him look at her the way he was now staring at Edward, his eyes alight with something akin to joy. Envy ripped through her, fierce enough to buckle her knees and force her hand to the back of a chair in order to keep herself from stumbling. Spoiled, she was. Spoiled by her years in Service, bringing people to peace. She didn't deserve such a look from Cillian, for she'd done little enough to create it. Watching him gaze with such pleasure upon his friend, Honesty found herself wishing for the prince to turn such a gaze upon her.
It was foolishness of the worst sort. She'd mocked the tales of Handmaidens who'd fallen in love with their patrons only to be turned aside when solace was granted and the assignment ended. Not many ended up wedding them the way Stillness had. Honesty had never yearned for such a thing, herself, a marriage based on only the best of what a relationship might be and naught of the worst.
"Cillian," she said, her voice too loud.
He turned to her but it took some seconds for him to pull his gaze from his friend's face.
"Honesty. Come. Edward was telling me of his plans for the estate. He wants to plant an orchard. Can you imagine?"
She could, having loved her father's orchard so. "An orchard? For profit?" Edward shook his head. "I expect it to be a labor of love at the first. A specialty crop. Perhaps enough to sell at a market, or provide to friends. Nothing much more than that."
"He'll be brilliant with it, I'm sure. The king will be certain to grant you a land boon, Edward, and a tax boon, too. I'm sure of it." Cillian sounded eager, and both Edward and Honesty looked at him.
Things were not perfect between them. Edward still watched Cillian a tad too warily, and Cillian, despite his obvious joy, was still a little too stiff. It was better than it had been and over her envy washed relief for Cillian's sake.
"Come," Cillian said with a gesture. "Sit by me." Edward was already looking toward the door, a question in his eyes, when Stillness appeared in the doorway. Her laces had been done up but her hair had come loose round her face in frazzled tendrils. Her eyes, wide, swept from her husband to the prince and back.
"Edward—"
"What is it?" Edward was already at her side, gripping her waist. "Is it the babe?"
"No, love. Something else—"
Before she could finish a figure loomed behind her. Broad-shouldered and in shadow, the sight must have startled Edward for he pulled his wife away and stepped between her and the visitor with a cry.
"Hold!" Cillian said. "Stand down, Edward, it's my man Bertram." Bertram stepped through the doorway without a second glance at Stillness and only the most cursory for Edward. "My lord prince. Your father has fallen." The room surged into silence, broken then by Cillian's reply. "When?"
"An hour past. Fell ill at his supper and was taken to his chambers. He's not expected to make it. But you must hurry," Bertram said, moving closer. "They're coming for you." Cillian straightened, got taller, his shoulders square. "I'm ready."
"No, my prince," said Bertram. "They're not coming to have you replace your lord father on his throne."
"What then?" Edward asked.
Bertram gave a low noise of distaste and slid his gaze from Cillian's. "They're coming to arrest you."
Edward he was no longer. Cillian met Devain and his men at Edward's front door. They hesitated at the sight of him standing straight and strong, not cowering, and he remembered how not so long ago some of those men had been the ones to guard him in his cradle. Devain had risen fast but he'd not known these men as long as they'd known their prince, even with all his faults.
"Devain," Cillian said.
Devain hesitated, too, his foot on the gravel path leading to the porch where Cillian waited. "Your father is dying."
"And what a party you bring to escort me," Cillian said with a smile designed to set Devains teeth to gritting. "I don't need the pomp. I can attend my father without it."
"Your mercy, my. . . sir." Gentian, a king's man since the king himself was a prince, stepped forward. "We've come to fetch you."
Behind him, Cillian felt the press of Honesty's body against his back and the chill of her fingers as she entwined them with his. He took them from her grasp and stepped forward, not looking at her. He'd give Devain nothing with which to bargain. Naught to hold over his head.
"Have you brought chains?" he asked Devain and was pleased when his voice trembled not in either rage or fear. Indeed, only coldness swept over him, encasing him in ice. His father was dying and had not sent for him; his father was dying and Devain was making his play for the throne. He must have a strong enough case for it to have garnered the loyalty of his fathers men.
"But of course." Devain showed his teeth. "I am hoping not to need them, but I would have been a fool not to prepare myself, considering your . . . history."
"You speak to the Prince of Firth," Edward broke in. "Have a care how you address your next king."
Beside him, Edward's warmth did little to chase away the chill, and Cillian didn't dare give his friend more than a small, shifting glance. Devain already had made it known he would gladly see harm come to Edward and his family. Cillian had borne much upon his conscience, but he refused to bear that.
"You won't need them," he said and stepped forward.
"Cillian, no!" Edward stepped, too, but stopped when Cillian turned. He forced his voice to the same .sly tones he'd so often affected. "Don't play the part of my fetchencarry, Edward. It doesn't flatter you.
Edward's gaze shuttered at once and he stepped back. "As you wish." Cillian faced Devain with his chin lifted and contempt in every word. "What are the terms of my arrest?"
"Debauchery. Lewdness. Coercion. Perversion. Insanity." Devain grinned at the last and made a mocking bow. "And treachery. Cillian Derouth, you are charged with failure to comply with the requirements of your position and judged unfit to rule." Cillian didn't miss the grumbling, faint as it was, from more than a few of his father's men at Devain's words. Though inside he was still ice, he stood even straighter and fixed Devain with an unwavering look. "Charged but not judged, Devain. Not even you have the power to set me aside without the chance to redeem myself." Devain's grin thinned at the truth of this, and he stood upright. "We shall see. Won't we?"
"He can't take you, can he?" Honesty spoke at last and grabbed at Cillian's arm. "Not just like that? What's he talking about?"
Cillian kept his gaze on Devain's. "Naught I've ever done in my playroom was ever done against the will of any who served in it. And yours were the medicuses that deemed me fit to leave the asylum, so your argument is faulty there as well. I have committed no treachery against my father, against my country or the people in it. And as for the requirements of my position, I have ever obeyed my lord father in all he would have me do."
"Not all," Devain said. "Come now. It's time." Behind him, Cillian heard Honesty's soft, indrawn breath. "I don't unde
rstand." Cillian wouldn't have taken his eyes from a snake about to strike, and he kept his gaze on Devain the same way. "Devain is claiming me as a perverted madman, unfit for the throne."
Again, a grumble wafted through the ranks of men at Devain's back. Cillian heard it. From the way Edward grunted low in his throat, he must have heard it, too. Devain, if he heard the small sound of dissent, ignored it.
Edward looked at him. "None of that matters, Cillian, and you know it. You were born to the throne and have ever been prepared to take it. Nothing of the past can change that, and Devain knows it. Why else would he have had to so fiercely court your father and yet still not be named in line for successor?"
"Come," Devain said again. "There's no point in delaying this." Honesty reached again for Cillian's hand and this time, he let her take it, even if he didn't look at her. "How can he say such things?"
Now he looked at her and saw the confusion in her eyes. "Because they are true." Honesty blinked and stepped back. Edward muttered and stepped forward to make a rude gesture at Devain, who ignored him and crossed his arms, foot tapping. As far as dramatic arrests went, the man's sense of show must be fair disappointed. Honesty shook her head slowly, lips parting but on air only and not words. She hadn't known, he saw that now. All these weeks at his side, her calming words and soothing touches, the lovemaking. . . Of all of those assembled, she'd known him the least amount of time and yet knew his heart the best. And yet she hadn't known him at all. Cillian took his hand from hers for the second time. "You are dismissed."
"What? No—" She stepped forward but stopped short of reaching him.
"Go home, Honesty," Cillian said in a voice as cold as the ice in his throat trying to strangle him. "Get you gone from my sight. You are dismissed. I have no need of you now."
"You have more need of me now than ever," she declared with that same stubborn tilt to her mouth he'd come to know so well.
