Temmin only half-listened, but at that said, "I can't send you home. It's the first place they'll look. I have to send you both someplace else, at least temporarily." He got up and paced the room.
Home. Home was the answer.
He was the Duke of Whithorse; his word there was law now that he'd come of age. He would send them to the Estate. He would send them to Alvo. "Don't go away. Here--finish your brandy."
He sprinted to the door, and called for a footman. When the young man ran up, a discreet smirk on his face, Temmin realized that Arta was right: her reputation was already ruined. "Does something amuse you, Caid?" barked Temmin. A more sober expression quickly took up residence on Caid's face. "Find that footman Wallek, and bring him here. Then go fetch Teacher. I need him."
Caid goggled, but did as he was told, hurrying down the hallway past the other footman posted in the hall. "What's amiss?" whispered the duty man as Caid passed.
"Prince has finally gotten round to it," said Caid, pausing once Temmin was back inside, "but looks like 'e wants the pair of 'em!"
The other shook his head. "No accountin for royals."
In short order, Caid brought a rumpled, confused Fen Wallek to the door, still limping slightly. "Why does he want me?" said Fen.
"Damned if I know why anyone'd want a freckled rustic like you," muttered Caid. "Maybe he just wants to complete the pair, like."
"What's that supposed to mean, you cock's egg?" But Caid had knocked on the door and was now trotting down the hall toward the oldest part of the Keep.
The Prince himself appeared in the open door in his shirtsleeves, his hair pointing every which way. "Wallek, very good, stop gaping and get in here."
"Yes, sir," said Fen, bobbing from the waist before entering. "I'm sorry for my dress, sir, I was just about to turn in--" He stopped short at the sight of Arta, her eyes red and a fancy, inexpertly fastened dress barely draped over her shoulders. "Pagg damn you, you lyin bastard!" he shouted. "You said--you said-- Pagg damn you for a liar! Pagg damn me for believin either of you! Marketgate it is, but I'll fuckin pound you into the ground first!" Arta launched herself at Fen, begging him to listen, but he thrust her away. "Don' touch me! Slut! Bitch!"
"Keep it down, or you'll ruin everything!" hissed Temmin, circling away as Fen put up his fists. "She's neither of those things, idiot. You can think what you want of me, but Arta's innocent in this. My father sent her here against her will. She's trying to save your life, and I have to get you both out of here without anyone noticing."
"Fen, truly!" she cried.
"Noticin? Oh, god, that's what that fathead meant--half the Keep must know about her, and now they'll think I'm part of it, too! I'll fuckin kill you both!" said Fen.
He lunged at Temmin, but the Prince danced out of reach. "Would you rather be humiliated or dead?"
"Oh, I already know I'll be dead, as soon as you call the Guards!" He lunged again; this time, Temmin caught him. They grappled, until Temmin brought a hard kick down on Fen's already-injured thigh; the redhead dropped to the floor, cursing.
"Think! Why haven't I called the Guards yet, if I'm so anxious to see you dead?" said Temmin. "And why would I invite a hothead like you into my rooms if I were busy seducing his betrothed?" He stepped back out of reach again. "Just listen, will you? Arta, tell him."
The story poured out of the girl, rushed and frantic: the guilty dance in the hallway; Winmer; the threats against them both. "Fen, I didn' know what else to do! I knew I'd lose you, but better me alone and ashamed than you dead!" she said. She crouched down beside him, and cried what tears she had left.
"You could have told me!" said Fen.
"And have you do something even more stupid than this? We're telling you now, and I can help you both if you'll let me," said Temmin.
Fen glared at him briefly, then took Arta in his arms there on the floor. "There, now, sweetheart, you shouldn'a, but here we are, and I love you still."
"Just trust him, Fen, please," she said, and clung to him in relief.
"What can he do?" said Fen, tears now slipping from his eyes. "If I'm taken up for treason--I don' care for myself, but Bern'd lose his place at university--that's my brother, sir."
"You won't be taken up. You would never have been taken up, but I'm going to hide you anyway just in case," said Temmin. "I'm sending you to a friend--" A knock at the door, and Temmin ushered Teacher into the room; Fen and Arta made Amma's sign. "Oh, stop that. He won't hurt you," Temmin said in exasperation.
"How can I serve you, Your Highness?" said Teacher, surveying the crying couple on the floor.
"You can do things for me, yes?" said Temmin. "You're not forbidden to help me?"
"I may do whatever is in my power for you, save in that one matter."
Temmin laid out the situation, with interruptions from both Arta and Fen until he ordered them to be quiet. "I want to send them to Whithorse. Take them through the mirror."
"No," said Teacher.
"No? What d'you mean, no? You said you'd help!"
"Taking them through the mirror will not help. The King will suspect something if they suddenly disappear, and then I will just have to bring them back. You must send them in plain sight. Let everyone believe what they already believe, and that you are sending your new lovers to take up residence near your home."
"But how can I send Fen with her?"
"Sir," said Teacher, "let them believe what they already believe."
"Oh. Oh!" said Temmin.
"Give them new clothes, gifts. Put them day after tomorrow on the train to Whithorse, first class. In fact, have Winmer make the arrangements. No one will question it, not even your father."
"Does anyone aim to ask us whether we want to go to Whithorse, with everyone thinkin we're--we're--" Fen grimaced, coloring.
"Better no honor than no head," whispered Arta, leaning into him.
"What's to prevent 'em from killin us later?" said Fen.
"The King is not vengeful," said Teacher. "By the time he discovers the full story, the matter of His Highness's Supplicancy will be resolved. Hurting you would mean nothing." Temmin walked Teacher to the door, leaving Arta and Fen holding each other on the hearth rug. "I must say, Your Highness, you have impressed me this evening. Well done."
"You're sure my father won't hurt them once he finds out Arta's not my mistress?"
"Once you have either lost your innocence or become a Supplicant, it will not matter."
"I'd better find a real mistress, then."
Teacher put a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. "Time will tell, sir, who is your Mistress. Or Master."
Fen and Arta slept in Temmin's bed that night, while Temmin turned fitfully on the green velvet sofa. In the morning, Harbis blandly served breakfast for three on the little table, pulled up before the morning's fire. If he noted Temmin's haggard face, he said nothing. No one spoke as they picked at their food, and not even Temmin could empty the toast rack.
He could take care of Fen's things, but he knew nothing about outfitting or buying gifts for girls. Oh, certainly, for his mother and sisters, but--perhaps one of his sisters might help? The three of them scorned tattling on one another as children, but this was more important than who put salt in his tutor's sugar bowl.
In the end, he chose Ellika. She already took an interest in Fen and Arta, and she'd know exactly what sorts of things to pick out. Still in his dressing gown, he sent Fen into the wardrobe with Harbis to find whatever might fit him, and called for Winmer.
Temmin managed bare civility to the little man, and his resulting rather haughty demeanor added credence to his orders: that Affton should ready temporary rooms for Arta and Fen in the guest quarters nearest his own; that Harbis, with Winmer's assistance, should arrange gentleman's clothing and accoutrements appropriate for Fen; and that two first-class tickets be obtained for the Neyaday train to Whithorse. Winmer gave Temmin a satisfied bow, and went so far as to kiss the cringing Arta's hand. "Oh, how I hate him!" she said
as soon as he was gone.
The outraged but professionally resigned Affton arrived next to escort his former employees to their suite; Harbis followed, arms full of princely attire he deemed low enough for a former footman. Temmin, dressed by now, sent for Ellika, who bustled into his study in a disapproving burst of rose and gold silk. "If what Iddie's telling me is true, you are a horrid young man, and I am loathe to speak to you," she sniffed, dropping gracefully onto the sofa.
"If she's telling you I've taken Arta Dannikson as my mistress, she's mistaken--no, not her sweetheart, either--but listen, Elly. You can't tell anyone, not Sedra, not Mama--not anyone, d'you hear? You must let them believe I've taken them both."
"But Temmin, whatever for? Everyone thinks you've dropped your plans for Supplicancy!"
Temmin's heart sank; he'd been so worried for Arta and Fen that he'd let the Temple slip to the back of his mind. "I have, but not because of this," he said. "Later, I'll tell you later. For now, just know that if you tell a soul, you'll get them both in serious trouble, the killing kind. You can't even tell Iddie how things really stand." He put the matter before her.
"But of course I'll help!" cried Ellika, jumping to her feet. "I'll send Iddie with a tape measure this instant, and set Naister on a full wardrobe for Arta right away. She'll put aside her other work, I'm sure, she always does when I ask, and why shouldn't she. We'll have to send the things to Arta by messenger later, but I'm sure I have a few old things that'll fit her for now, or that we can alter quickly. Our coloring's so different--well, Iddie and I will figure it out. Oh! Your secret's safe. I love intrigues! And that Winmer--I always thought he was too smug by half." She paused at the door. "Poor Arta. Poor Fen--somehow it's always worse for the boys. Well, we'll get them safely off, Temmy, never worry. And you will tell me why you decided against Supplicancy, soon. In the meantime, I shall play outraged and put-upon sister! Hooray!"
When the room finally contained no one but himself, Temmin slumped onto the stool at his writing desk and pulled out a sheet of paper; he would write a letter to Alvo for Fen to deliver. He dipped his pen.
36th SpB, 990 KY, at Tremont Keep
Dear Mr Nollson,
I have the pleasure of introducing to you--
He started again.
Nollson--
Please make these two friends of mine welcome.
No.
My Dear Alvo,
I am sorry I have not written before now. I did not know what to say. I do not like that between us, who have been so close, but you shocked me greatly. I am still unsure what to say or even think about it. I wish you had told me your feelings a long time ago. We might have discussed it before I left instead of leaving it as we did. It makes me unhappy to think of you as unhappy, because I do love you, Alvy, you know that, yes? I just do not know about the other.
There will be a less honest letter from Winmer to Crokker as well sent by special messenger, but I wanted to write to you specially about these two friends I have sent home. You will hear all kinds of nonsense about how they are my lovers. They are not, but you cannot let anyone know--no one, Alvy, not even your mother, no one. Do not say anything. Let people think what they will. My friends are in danger here, and I have to send them somewhere safe. Please treat them kindly for my sake. I don't think they are likely to see kindness otherwise, but try to encourage it among the staff anyway. They are blameless. Teach them to ride if they do not know already, especially Fen. I do not think he knows much about horses, even though he says his father is a blacksmith. If I am to take him into my own service, and it appears I will have to, he will need to know how to ride. You will like him, even if he does have red hair.
You may have heard that I stood to become a Supplicant. That is all off.
One more thing I must tell you, and it is about that girl, Mattie. She is my half-sister. My father had a dalliance with a maidservant when Mama was confined with me. He did not know about her, though Jenks suspected. Do not tell anyone that, either, but I thought you should know. I feel terrible about what happened that night, and not just because she is my sister, though that is bad enough. Speaking of Jenks, if you see him at the Estate, or if you get in to Reggiston and see him there, tell him to come home immediately. I need him.
I do not like the Keep. I have only been here a short while, but it feels like forever. I thought when I turned eighteen that I would be grown at the turn of the clock. I would know what to do and how to do it. I would be a man. But I am more confused than ever, even though I have learned a great deal. I must grow up very quickly indeed, and I am not sure how to go about it.
They have given me Percet Lord Fennows as a companion. He was Percy Sandopint before his grandfather died. Do you remember him? He visited us briefly. He is even worse now. I wish you were here, and so does Jebby.
Your true friend,
Whithorse Temmin
What a noodlehead, signing Whithorse, but then, he didn't sign his given name with anyone outside the family, and he'd never written Alvo a letter before. And he was tired. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. He left the letter on his desk, shambled into the bedchamber, took off his clothes, and crawled into the still-unmade bed, not bothering with a nightshirt. The sheets smelled of Arta and Fen: disconcerting, but he was too tired to care. He fell asleep.
A knock came at the study's door, then again, more insistent. "Halloo?" called a voice. "I've been knocking and knocking, and no one's answered!" The door opened, and Lord Fennows let himself in. "I know you're in here, Temmy, and I want to hear about last night! The two of 'em! That's the spirit! Don't fancy the boys meself, but to each his own, I should think!"
Fennows walked to the open bedchamber door and peered in. Sound asleep. Not surprising after the night before, he thought. Was that perfume he detected? Not an inexpensive one, either. He bounced on his toes for a moment, wondering whether to wake Temmin up, finally deciding to let him be; after all, Fennows himself had had many a long night cavorting among the ladies. The poor thing probably had a hangover to boot.
He slipped away from the door and ambled around the study at his ease, fingering Temmin's belongings: a globe; a music box with a Farr's Day inscription from Ellika--he made a note, she liked music boxes--books. Books, whatever for. He was sure Temmin wasn't much of a reader; that was his old man's line, and that horrid oldest sister of his. Must be the loathsome tutor, the one called Teacher, though some called him the Black Man. Servants and their superstitions. He ran his fingers over an old, red leather-bound book and flipped through its pages. Blank. "What a stupid thing to have in one's library," he said.
Fennows spotted the desk, and the paper atop it. He listened; Temmin had begun to snore, loudly. Safe to see what the Heir was writing. Fennows crept up to the desk.
What an interesting letter. Who was Alvo Nollson? He consulted his memory, since apparently he'd met the man--hang on, Nollson was Temmin's groom! Strange letter to send to an undoubted illiterate. Who would teach a groom to read? "A dangerous innovation, I should think," Fennows murmured to himself. He took a small notebook from his breast pocket, and wrote down the salient points. He neglected to write down the passage about himself, preferring to add it instead to the long list of injuries he would one day repay.
When Temmin woke up, Fennows was gone, no sign of his presence left behind.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The letter was folded and sealed, and pressed into Fen's hands early the next day at the train station. "Give this to my groom, Alvo Nollson--only him, d'you understand? You can trust him. He will help you," said Temmin. "He's my best friend."
"Must be some groom if he's your best friend, sir," said Fen.
"Friend and groom, the best of both. Crokker should be expecting you. He's fierce, but don't let him frighten you."
"Never worry, sir, we worked for Mr Affton," said Arta; she smiled, though her pale face and trembling hands betrayed her.
For appearance's sake, Temmin kissed Arta on the forehead and F
en on one cheek. Though the kisses were innocent, he'd grown increasingly fond of both of them, he thought absently as they waved from their compartment window through the steam of the train's departure. He was responsible for them now, the first time he'd felt responsible for someone else's well-being, and it frightened him somewhat.
Perhaps it was another small taste of kingship, something like the rush of power that came over him when crowds shouted his name, waving and calling as they were now, as his carriage rolled through the streets towards the Keep, though there was a surly undertone this time he didn't like. He waved back, but wondered all the way home. Would that he could turn people to his cause the way Warin could, but what cause was that? What did he stand for, now that the Temple had been taken from him?
Teacher waited in Temmin's rooms, looking out over the lawn. "Are they on the train?"
"Yes," answered Temmin, "and it was a strange thing. Well, no, they weren't strange, neither was the train. The people round the station were. They don't seem to like me very well right now."
"You disappointed them," said Teacher.
"Disappointed? What right do they have to be disappointed in me?" said Temmin, flinging himself onto the couch. He changed his mind as soon as he hit the cushions; he still hadn't unkinked himself from the night he'd spent on it, and he rose and resettled himself into the wooden chair by the library table. "Why d'you always have to stand with your back to the sun? I can't ever see you properly, you're just this thin black stick," he said, shading his eyes.
Teacher didn't move, remaining a dark shadow haloed in the sunlight. "The common people have every right to expect greatness from their rulers, though they are usually disappointed. They very much wanted you to go to the Temple and fulfill the prophecy. Now they think you have taken a mistress, and a young man as well. They are disappointed in you."
Temmin slumped in his chair, ashamed. "I'm just like the rest of the nobility, or will be. They'll have to get used to it."
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