“That’s easy,” Malachi said, turning another corner. People stopped and stared as they went, but Peter did his best to ignore them, wishing greatly that he had taken off the gold circlet that was required for him to wear now at sessions. A few villagers dropped slight bows or curtsies, but most just gawked.
“The fae are native to the land,” Malachi said. “Over the centuries, however, other groups of humans have continued to come from the great continents far, far away, long after the High King and his initial ship full of people died. Most of the new ships would choose an isle and settle on it. Wherever they settled, they typically stayed.”
He paused to allow a large family of quacking ducks cross in front of them before resuming their walk. “For instance, where I come from, the Fourth Isle, most of us are darker in color than the other isles. But even we differ. On the far side of the Fourth isle are those like King Akello and Queen Baccia. Their skin is nearly black and very helpful when it comes to surviving the heavy sun. My side of the isle is darker than the fae still, but we are often slighter in build and lighter in color than the others. We must take shelter more often when the sun is overhead.”
“Do the people move between isles very often?”
“No. I mean, they are allowed. But most stay with their families and people. My people have been on the isle for hundreds of years. Life in the desert is difficult, but there is often little draw to leave.” And yet, even as he said it, Malachi flinched.
Peter slowed his walk and watched the boy carefully. “What happened to your family?” he asked gently.
Malachi’s jaw tightened but he shrugged. “It is simple enough, I suppose. My grandfather settled on land that belonged to the fae without knowing it. The breach was discovered after nearly sixty years, and our home was taken.”
“No one would take you in?”
Malachi scoffed. “My father didn’t wish to rely on charity.”
“So you came here.”
Malachi nodded.
For the first time, Peter realized how much the boy was still hurting. It was difficult to discern at first, especially with his bright eyes and ready smile. But Peter’s heart softened as he began to understand the boy’s unquenchable enthusiasm and determination just a little bit more.
“I have no doubt that your hard work here makes your father proud,” he said softly.
For the first time, Malachi didn’t smile at the praise. Instead, he fixed his eyes on Peter. “I hope he would have been.” He paused. “But thank you.”
Memories of pain and loneliness crashed down on Peter as Malachi turned another corner. The boy’s father was gone. That much was obvious. Though it probably wasn’t proper, Peter decided that sometime he would share with Malachi what they had in common, and he would show him the letter his own father had left him. Malachi deserved to know how much his father must have loved him.
Finally, they reached a little cottage with yellow roses lining a little crooked fence. There was a large crack in the front wall, just off of the window, and spots all over the roof were covered with thatching instead of tile. But the fence and house were newly whitewashed, and the yard was clear of weeds. Malachi pushed through the gate, which was half hanging from its hinges, and through the house’s little red door. Peter followed.
“Matah!” Malachi called as he took his shoes off at the entrance. “I’ve brought a guest.”
Peter paused on the threshold and considered whether or not he should take off his boots and add them to the line of shoes against the wall. He didn’t want to be rude, but to stink up the little house would probably be rude too. Katy had teased him since they were small about how his feet smelled after just an hour in his leather boots.
Before he could finish deliberating, however, a woman walked in from the back of the cottage. She was wrapping her hair up on her head and had several pins in her teeth. When she saw him, however, she looked as though she might faint.
“There you are!” Malachi came back in through a side door, which was past the fireplace to their left. “I was looking for you.”
“And when were you going to tell me that the rhin of the Third Isle was in my house?” She hurried to finish looping her hair.
“But I just—”
“Never mind. Go get him a drink before our guest dies of thirst.”
“But—”
The woman let loose a string of words in a language Peter didn’t understand, but her intent was rather clear. Only after Malachi had scampered off did she bow, then she shook her head and faced Peter.
“Please, Your Highness, have a seat. While he is fetching your water, is there anything else I can get you?” She began rummaging through the cupboards. “I’m afraid I don’t have a large selection—”
“Do not trouble yourself. I’m not hungry.” Peter hurried to assure her. She gave him a doubtful look, so he did his best to smile and appear unassuming. “I was raised in a house just a bit larger than this, and my father owned a farm. I will be just fine.”
She stared at him as though he’d just spoken gibberish. She had a round face, and though she was neither heavy nor thin, she was a handsome sort of woman with dark shiny hair and sharp eyes that looked as though they didn’t miss a single detail.
“Truly,” he said sheepishly. “I had only wanted to talk, and your son assured me this was the safest place.”
At this, the woman looked doubtful again, but she turned and stoked her fire.
“Actually,” Peter gave her a deep nod, “I’m afraid this imposition is all my fault. Something transpired in the square that I wished to understand, but your son said it wasn’t safe to discuss in the streets.”
She briefly froze while closing one of the uneven cupboard doors, but when she finally turned and looked at him, her eyes had darkened considerably. “Oh,” was all she said.
“Matah,” Malachi called as he walked back in with two mugs of water, “the well was busy, so I just took some from Jaylan’s bucket. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Malachi,” his mother said in a muted tone as she went to close the curtains. “What did you and Prince Peter see today?”
With a sigh, Malachi repeated what had happened, though he omitted the part about getting candy, Peter noticed. When he was done, however, his mother looked nearly as stricken as Malachi had.
“Son,” she said when he was finally finished. “Your sisters are outside. I want you go to watch them while I talk with the prince.”
“But—”
“Just go.”
Only when they were alone did she place a tea tray in front of Peter. With shaking hands, she poured them each a cup.
“What…” She paused and took a deep breath, staring into the depths of the tea. “What has Malachi told you about my late husband, Your Highness?” She said his title with far less affection than before.
“Only that he had passed. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
She nodded slowly and said nothing.
He leaned forward. “What happened to your husband?”
“With all due respect, Your Highness.” She finally raised her eyes to his. “I know you’re trying to be helpful. But I’m afraid you’ve just put my son in a very dangerous position.”
Peter’s throat tightened. “How so?”
“After we lost our home on the Fourth Isle, my husband and I worked as servants in King Sebastian’s palace until the time for the summit came. That was three years ago. The king allowed those seeking asylum to ride aboard his ship. When we came here, we were given food and a few basic items by a receiving party. Once we were settled, my husband immediately took up his craft and began to produce goods in order to pay back what we’d had to borrow to set up our house.” She shifted in her seat and stared at the teacup. “Money was little, but we were able to make due if we stretched our meals and the children worked too.”
“What happened?” Peter asked, though he was beginning to feel as though he already knew.
“My husband wa
s very gifted at his trade.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a blacksmith. A year after we’d settled here, during the summit, a palace guard showed up one day and demanded my husband craft a set of tools. My husband named his price, but the guard made it very clear that this work was to be done for the good of the isles.”
Peter frowned. “Which meant he was working without pay.”
She nodded. “And we were to supply the materials. My husband said we were not able to do so much work for free. If they had wanted something simple, a hammer or some other basic tool, he would have done it. But we were close to paying our creditors, and my husband was a man of honor. And he did not want to go back on his word.” She rubbed the edge of her teacup, which looked as though it had once been beautiful. But now its blue paint was faded and chipped. “They threatened us, but he refused. I didn’t know all of this until he told me.” Her eyes tightened. “By then, they had threatened him twice. I told him he was a fool and to just give them what they wanted.”
“Did he?” Peter asked.
“It was too late. Two guards appeared the next day and dragged him off. Then they took far more than they would have if he’d just done as they’d asked. He was killed soon after that.” Her voice cracked.
Peter leaned back and crossed his arms. “You said you came here on King Sebastian’s ship. Were you able to contact him?”
“We tried. But the local magistrate who agreed to help us disappeared a week later as well.” She took a sip of her tea.
“They killed him?”
She gave him an unpleasant smile. “No. But he managed to fall on his knife while feeding his chickens. I might not have thought it suspect except the neighbor I spoke to about it had an accident as well the same week. She was struck by lightning.”
“But why would they leave you and the children?” Peter mused.
“They don’t kill children. At least, I’ve never seen that. And it would be more suspect if the whole family disappeared. But I was visited by Prince Karel near the end of the summit to have his condolences.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not specifically.” Malachi’s mother frowned. “But through all the niceties, I got the general impression that talking about such a death would be…bad for my husband’s reputation. And we wouldn’t, I was told, want to speak ill of the dead.”
Peter stood and paced in the small room. The nagging feeling that had been bothering him since the first summit finally felt satisfied, as though a horrible itch had finally been scratched. But the answer to one question, as always, only led to many more.
“The cobbler said if she went with the guards, she would be willing to serve at the palace to pay her debt to society and her son could run the shop and care for his sisters. Did the guard give your husband that chance?”
Malachi’s mother scoffed. “Either she’s new here or she’s a fool. Probably the former. I was told we had a large number of new additions last year. She hasn’t yet learned her lesson.”
“How common is this knowledge?” Peter asked.
“They try to keep it quiet, but there is an unspoken understanding between those who have been here any number of years that you simply do as you’re told. It might starve your children, but at least your husband will live, or whomever they threaten.”
Peter leaned against the wall and rubbed his eyes. The light was low with all the curtains shut, and his eyes were beginning to strain from studying the woman’s every expression to gauge its veracity.
“What I still don’t understand,” he said, “is why. Why, with the vast wealth of resources they obviously possess, why would they stoop to stealing from the villagers?”
“It’s quite simple, really. Actually, Malachi is the one who discovered it while working in the palace. He got the job after his father passed. The rhins and fairies on the Upper Chancel, and even those on the Lower Chancel, need to appear powerful. Their control is slipping more every year. The isles are beginning to fail to support their inhabitants.” She shrugged. “If the chancels cannot maintain control, there’s no reason to rely on them as we have done for generations.”
“So they have to keep up appearances,” Peter mused.
“And they do so by demanding gifts from the local workers. It’s compensation, they tell us, for allowing us to remain on the most fruitful isle of all.” She gave a hard chuckle. “I found out eventually that the food we’d been given upon moving here had been gifted by the local farmers who work the fields in Summer.” She nodded at his boots. “I can tell you which shop your boots were produced in. It’s three streets north of here.”
Peter felt his stomach drop as he looked down at his shoes, and the heaviness of her words sank in.
When the woman spoke again, however, her voice was wary. “I hope I am not speaking out of my class, Your Highness—”
Peter snorted. “I told you. I was raised mucking out my father’s barn, so my feelings are hardly frail. By all means, be candid.”
She nodded. “Malachi is a bright boy. I’ve known that since before he could talk, which was early, mind you. Since taking the job in the palace, he has learned more than I could guess many of the chancellors know.” Her mouth curved up at the corners. “He believes in Atharo and his return with every muscle and bone in his body.” She met Peter’s eyes. “He also believes in you.”
“Me?” Because Peter needed another person to rely on him, someone else he could fail.
“You are the first of the rhins to ever challenge the others. Given, King William and King Sebastian seem to have maintained enough wealth thus far not to need to abuse us as the others have. But they work together as a whole, and you’ve interrupted their schemes and expectations.
“I believe my son thinks that if you become High King, in a way, his father’s spirit will have justice.” She swallowed hard and her eyes darkened. “What you did today might have been done with good intentions. But unlike with my husband, you made it public. It’s summit time. We have hundreds of visitors here to buy and trade alone. And now tongues will be wagging by those who don’t know better than to poke their nose into other people’s business.” She leaned toward him. “You have placed my son in view of the most powerful people in the isles by disobeying them and calling attention to their deeds.” Her voice hardened as she spoke. “So if you have a fraction of the honor my son thinks you have, then you will do your best to keep him alive.”
Peter stared at her.
“Save the isles, if you will, Prince Peter,” she said, standing and taking their dirty cups to wash them. “But don’t do it at the cost of Malachi’s life.”
Peter went to the back door through which he’d seen Malachi leave earlier. Sure enough, the boy was behind the house, playing with his younger sisters.
“Malachi, we’re leaving.” He turned back and nodded to Malachi’s mother as he walked toward the front door. “Thank you for the tea, madam.”
As they left the house, Peter turned to the boy, who followed him with even wider eyes than usual, clearly curious as to what his mother had said.
“Where did Firin Reaghan say he was going this morning?”
Malachi thought for a moment. “I think he was going to visit a peddler who buys and sells books in one of the smaller markets on the north side of the city. Why?”
“Good.” Peter turned and headed north. “We’ll fetch him and then you will take us to the annals. And Malachi?”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“From now on, you’re not leaving my side.”
***
“It’s beautiful,” Firin Reagan whispered. Peter could only nod. They were standing outside a large square building with a domed roof that soared up into the sky. Wooden doors stretched at least two stories high, and dozens of tall rectangular stained-glass windows covered each wall. The walls and steps were marble with glittering gold veins, and they gleamed in the sunlight as though they’d never seen a footprint.
&nb
sp; “Here it is,” Malachi said proudly, as though their recent somber conversation had never happened. “I will wait for you out here until you are finished.”
Peter paused, one foot already on the steps. “You’re not coming in?”
“I’m not allowed. Only the High Chancel and the future rhins are allowed in without obtaining permission. The Lower Chancel can enter if they receive allowance from their chosen orator.”
“This is going to be more complicated than I thought.” Peter looked at Firin Reaghan. The firin gave a small smile and a quick nod. Peter gestured for Malachi to join them, and Malachi’s eyes grew big.
“But what if—”
Peter held his finger up to his lips and ushered him up the steps and through the front doors. He had already broken more rules than he could count. He might as well break another one now. But, he decided, if they somehow survived these trials and were miraculously given pass by the High Chancel, that ludicrous law would be one of the first things to go.
His musings of which rules would stay and which he would abolish melted, however, as soon as he stepped inside. His jaw fell open. The room, which looked to be near the size of his throne room back home, was at least five stories high with walls filled floor to ceiling with books.
So many books.
Though Peter had much preferred stories of knights, monsters, and forbidden magic as a boy, he had grown rather fond of history books since becoming a man, largely because if he could find the books the scribes hadn’t managed to destroy, thanks to the Third Isle’s purge, he could often learn what his ancestors had refused to pass down, what life had been like once upon a time, back before magic was forbidden and humans had lived in peace with creatures of power. But back at home, he’d only succeeded in finding a handful of books written after the great purge that weren’t filled with lies and malice. But here, there was no end to what one might learn.
The Autumn Fairy of Ages Page 13
