I meet his gaze steadily. There is one thing I did want to ask of Kestrin, and I had better ask it before anyone else arrives. "I would not want to abuse his hospitality. Much as you may wish me to have friends among the court, I do not want enemies."
Kestrin raises an eyebrow. “Are those lines not already drawn?”
“A personal disagreement can be pushed into something greater. My friends are in the stable, not here.”
Kestrin studies me, dark eyes unreadable. “You will not be harmed for having answered this invitation.”
I look away from him. I had not expected such a frank response, and for a moment I can think of nothing to say. My mouth is dry, and I almost wish I had accepted his offer of wine that I might wet my throat. But it would have loosened my tongue as well, a much worse fate. I swallow once. “We have discussed trust before, Your Highness. You wished to know how much you might trust me. I tell you now that I have little trust in those I know. There is more of honesty among the common folk than the court, and even there friendships are sometimes betrayed.”
“I give you my word,” he says, his voice hard. I wonder if he has ever had his honesty questioned before.
“Your Highness, why have you invited me here?”
“Melkior,” the prince begins, but I interrupt him.
“—Invited me here on your bidding.”
Kestrin nods his head once. “He too may be a friend to you.”
“He too?” I echo. Kestrin’s eyes flicker earth and gold in the lamplight. “Have I another friend in the court?”
“Are you so surprised?”
I look away. I do not want to play this game. Why he would want to present himself as an ally? He knows. Here it is, plain as day. He has offered me his protection in meeting Melkior. He plans to introduce me to his cousin, Lord Garrin. He referred to the court being in my blood—
“You are afraid again,” Kestrin says softly.
I begin to turn towards him and then stop. I do not want him to see my fear any more clearly. I look down to my hands folded in my lap and curse him silently.
“I owe you an apology for how I have treated you. I put too much stock in my betrothed’s words, and thought you were not to be trusted. I was wrong, and I am sorry for it.” He pauses and then says simply, “I trust you.”
I flinch, though he has made no move towards me. “You shouldn’t,” I tell him abruptly.
“Why?”
Because I have already betrayed you once. I shake my head, for even the thought of the words brings the familiar pressure to my throat.
“Why?” he says again, his voice gentle.
“I have told you, Your Highness, that you must not trust many people. I am not among those you should trust.”
“Would you betray me?”
“I hold no allegiance to you,” I say stiffly, knowing I must warn him away from trusting me, and so falling victim to the Lady.
“Would you betray me?” he repeats, his voice even and measured.
“I am—easily manipulated.”
“Then I will not trust your enemies or mine.”
I purse my lips. He intends to make himself out as my friend and ally now, whether I will it or not, but the greater danger is to him, not me. Before I can formulate a response, the prince shifts in his seat. I hear a faint step in the hallway.
“I expect the evening shall begin shortly. I hope you will enjoy it.” The court has returned to his voice. I incline my head in acknowledgement and smooth my hands over my skirts.
A young man enters, dressed much like Kestrin, but where the prince tends towards darker clothes, his cousin prefers the light. His tunic shines a sky blue trimmed with silver and tan embroidery. Garrin shares Kestrin’s sculpted features and shrewd eyes, though I think from his easy smile and casual bow that he may have more of a way with ladies than Kestrin has displayed.
I rise to curtsy to him.
“Garrin,” Kestrin says quietly from his seat, “the Lady Thoreena. Lady, my cousin Lord Garrin of Cenatil.”
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Garrin says gallantly, and his smile has more intimacy and less truth than his cousin’s.
“The honor is mine, my lord.”
“Won’t you sit with us, Garrin? Melkior should be in momentarily,” Kestrin says smoothly. I sit down again, settling my skirts around me while Garrin finds a seat. Just as Garrin leans back and looks towards me, Lord and Lady Melkior make their entrance, inciting another round of bowing and scraping.
“My lord and lady,” I say mechanically in response to the introductions.
Melkior’s wife, Lady Dinari, is exquisite, her form petite, her fingers delicate, her hair smooth and lustrous. She wears jewels about her neck, delicate earrings, and gems hung on gold threads that settle over her hair. It is difficult to tell whether she is meant to adorn the jewels, or the jewels to adorn her. I think she must be twice my age at least; her face, while showing maturity in the fine touch of crows’ feet by her eyes, yet displays the youth of her manners. Her voice when she speaks is light and feathery, her manners impeccable, and yet I cannot bring myself to trust her. When I meet her gaze as we discourse on the weather, I find them to be half-veiled; I wonder if Melkior knows what he has married, or if he treats her as she dresses: a fragile and invaluable doll.
Their daughters arrive upon their heels, and then the son: Fesa and Tahima resemble their mother in all but the color of their eyes, for Fesa’s eyes are a golden brown and Tahima’s a honeyed amber; as for Jashi, he is but a boy of thirteen, and while he is well-versed in the court and the titles of his father, he still has much to learn.
We proceed to a magnificent dining room, where we are served course upon course of curried meats, creamy soups, and spiced vegetables. I had forgotten what feasts these dinner are, and how much is wasted, left behind uneaten on our plates. The conversation is light, in keeping with the atmosphere, and when I am not pretending interest in the court-related discussion between Fesa and Tahima, who sit to my left, I struggle to make the same kind of conversation with Lord Garrin, who sits to my right.
I find this cousin of the prince delightful in word and manner. He is all that is animated and thoughtful and … not shallow, I realize. He is quite probably as deep and shrewd as Kestrin. It is that I am not sure what lies beneath his friendly facade. Is he truly what he seems, or are the games he plays much more complex because he cannot be read at all? I can only hope that Kestrin has good reason to trust him now.
We withdraw to an evening room after dinner. The men sit to one side, discussing the politics of the day. The ladies pick up their embroidery, conversing amongst themselves. The discussion here is of a different tenor than that of the dining room, for with the men slightly removed there are less inhibitions among the women. Fesa, especially, seems more open and less pleasing, and I take it from her occasional contemptuous glance towards me that she has entered into the good graces of Valka and hopes now to gather some gossip. I do my best to offer her nothing at all, murmuring vague replies to questions about our court at home, my journey with the princess and everything in between.
At length, the men rise and Kestrin and Garrin make their adieu. I curtsy, and once Melkior has seen them out, he returns to escort me to my carriage.
As we leave the evening room, I realize that I have an unexpected opportunity in his escort. I turn to him, slowing my pace. “Do you spend the winter at court, my lord?”
“There is much to keep us busy this winter. We will stay on till spring.”
“I understand that there has been some trouble in the city.”
“My lady speaks of the thieves,” he replies darkly. “They are a plague in the city this year.”
“I mean specifically those thieves who snatch people as well.”
Melkior glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Oh, I do not think that happens very much. The threat of slavers is much blown out of proportion. It is the thieving rings we are concerned with: th
e Black Scholar, Red Hawk, and their ilk. It is my work to track them down.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from arguing about the Snatchers. But I am unlikely to convince Melkior to act upon the Snatchers in the few moments of our walk to the carriage. I can at least learn more of Red Hawk. “What then?” I ask. “What is the punishment for thievery?”
“For simple thievery—very little. A flogging and a day in the stocks will do. But for such as these men are the king has decreed the punishment as death.”
“Death, my lord?”
“A lady might not understand the gravity of the offense,” Melkior says, all condescension. The door to the foyer has been closed, and he reaches to open it.
“Is it so grave a thing to steal when given no other choice?” I ask quickly.
“It is not simple thievery that we discuss, but organized rings. They make their own laws and demand their own allegiance, flaunting the king’s authority. Judge for yourself, my lady.” Melkior opens the door, standing back to allow me through.
“My lord argues well,” I agree reluctantly; as a threat to order and society, the rings of thieves might appear dangerous. I do not yet know enough of the thieves to argue the point. I step through the door to find Kestrin waiting for me.
“Peace, my lady,” Melkior says from behind me and shuts the door.
“Your Highness,” I say to Kestrin, taken aback, “I did not expect to see you again tonight.”
“I am glad I can occasionally surpass your expectations,” he says, grinning, and offers me his arm. I take it hesitantly. He notes my reluctance, and his eyes darken, his tone is stiff, hurt, as he says, “I wish only to learn how you enjoyed your evening.”
“It has been most interesting,” I reply evasively. We enter the courtyard where the carriage waits.
“I thought as much. How did you like my cousin?”
“He is very different from Your Highness.”
Kestrin hands me up into the waiting carriage, then pauses, retaining my hand in his. I take my seat, my hand still outstretched and caught in his, and wait.
He smiles crookedly. “You have a way of not answering questions I am coming to enjoy.”
I feel myself flush, but it is not all embarrassment. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I mutter.
“I hope you will join us again.”
“I would not intrude more than I have already.”
“It is no intrusion, lady, but a pleasure.”
I look past him to Melkior’s door. “While Your Highness may find me an interesting topic to fill your idle hours with, I pray you will pity a poor goose girl and let her be.”
My words sink into the quiet. A horse shifts, his hooves scraping the cobblestones, and that is all. I meet Kestrin’s gaze, waiting, hoping.
“There will be another dinner in three weeks’ time. Will you not come?” He holds my gaze, and I cannot read the emotion written there.
“Your Highness,” I look away, knowing how it must go. I am, after all, a servant now. He can use that easily enough, even knowing who I truly am. “I can only obey.”
He releases my hand as if I had burnt him. “No. I would not rob you of your choice. But if you change your mind, I hope you will tell me.”
I glance at him wonderingly. “Your Highness.”
“I thank you for this evening, my lady.” He swings the door shut, calling up to the driver. I fall back against the cushions and close my eyes, but the whole drive to the stables I see the prince as he stood in the courtyard, telling me of the next invitation, listening to my response: face drawn and serious, woodland eyes shadowed. The expression lingering about his mouth and lurking behind his eyes haunts me; it is only once I have changed and settled down once more in Falada’s stall that the right word comes to me: despair.
Chapter 22
Falada and I follow West Road to the plains, Falada’s hooves crunching into the frozen gravel. The wind lies quiet, making the day seem almost warm, though the clouds hang low and foreboding as always.
“Falada,” I start, and then stop. Only last night I shared dinner with Kestrin, and realized he knows who I am. Yet he has not forced me to return to the court. The only thing he has forced on me is his trust: it is the one thing I would not have.
“Yes, Alyrra.”
I shake my head, and we walk on in silence, turning off the road to follow one of a myriad of ragged paths. The grass here is bent and broken, white with hoarfrost. I take a breath and say, “If the Fair Folk are so strong, why do you think I could help the Prince?”
“They are strong,” Falada replies, “but they are not invincible.”
“What is their weakness?”
Falada laughs. “You are still naïve, child. They have no one overbearing weakness, just as humans do not. They were simply created as limited beings, as were all creatures.”
“Then how can anyone expect me to help Kestrin? I’m no sorceress, nor have I any interest in magic. I don’t see what you or he could expect me to do.”
“I hope you will answer your duty to your people and to Kestrin.”
“What will that accomplish?”
“Only you can guess at that, Alyrra.”
“It will do nothing,” I respond savagely. “Kestrin will die one way or the other, and I will be used as a pawn again if I am not sent back home.”
“And Valka?”
“Valka deserves whatever she gets.”
“What will she do when the time comes?”
“What time?”
“The time for the Lady to kill Kestrin.”
I stand completely still at that, listening to the whisper of his words fade away. It is easy for me to suggest that the prince might die, but to hear Falada so bluntly refer to Kestrin’s eminent murder brings me back to myself.
“What will Valka do?” Falada prods.
“She will give him up,” I reply, hating her, hating myself.
“When?”
“Once she is well settled. Married, perhaps with child.”
“So she will not allow herself to be a pawn.”
“No.”
“Can you not find your own way and help Kestrin as well?”
“How? I’m a goose girl, Falada. I’m dispensable, a pawn by definition.”
“That is your choice.”
“You are impossible,” I snap. Falada sighs and turns back towards the city. When we reach the road again I hold out my hand to him, touching a wisp of his mane. “I can’t make the rules, Falada. This isn’t my game.”
“If you are in the game then you can make it yours.”
“I can’t learn magic. I don’t want to.”
Falada glances at me curiously. “No one has asked you to.”
“No,” I mutter. We walk the rest of the way to the city in silence, Falada throwing me the occasional unreadable glance. My mood follows me home, clinging like so much mud to my boots.
***
I dream of a brown forest, the sky overcast and gray. I find small corpses littering the ground, dried to husks, bones protruding: rabbits stretched full length behind skeletal bushes, foxes torn apart at the edges of clearings, little creatures—moles and squirrels—curled into death-still balls, cushioned on the fallen leaves.
I do not care. I am driven by thirst, my throat so parched it may bleed if I cannot find drink. Eventually, I stumble upon a flowing stream. When I bend to drink, my eyes encounter fish floating belly-up. I straighten, my gaze fastening on the stiff bodies of deer, half-submerged. When I open my mouth to scream, my throat tears and fills with blood, choking me.
I sit up gasping for breath, coming back by degrees to the stable and its smells, the soft whiffling of horses. Falada sleeps, undisturbed by my sudden waking. I watch the soft rise and fall of his chest, trace the clean curves of his body against the darkness of the far wall. It is a long time before I fall back to sleep.
***
Joa comes to the stall door at dawn. I had heard soldiers come through earlier,
a strange occurrence, but they were far enough away that their muted conversation did not reach me. Now, from the look on Joa’s face, I wish I had tried harder to listen.
“What is it?”
“Orders from the princess,” Joa says, his face sallow in the half-light.
“I thought she was gone.”
“She returned yesterday.” He looks away. “She wants her horse put to death.”
I stare at him blankly. He nods past me, to Falada.
“No.” The word jerks from me as if a hand has yanked out my heart.
“I am sorry,” Joa says quietly.
“No! Falada isn’t hers. She can’t kill him.”
Joa shrugs, refusing to meet my gaze.
“When?” If there is enough time for Falada to get through the city gates—
He makes a helpless gesture. “They’re waiting.”
“Give me a moment,” I tell him. He leaves without a word. “Falada,” I whisper, turning to him. “If I ride you they won’t dare hurt you. We can get away—the city gates are right here.”
“No, child.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“They will shoot me and arrest you. We would be hunted even if we escaped the gates.”
“You cannot let them kill you.”
“If I struggle, they will know I am a thinking creature and I will endanger my people. If you struggle for this, you will endanger all that hangs in the balance.”
He is right. I feel perilously close to tears. “I will kill her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You will not attempt to avenge me. Do you understand?”
I cannot escape his gaze. “Yes.”
“Have my head hung in the city gates that I might see you.”
“What?” I stare at him, appalled.
“Do it.”
“As you wish.” I hear the sound of approaching boots. “Oh Falada,” I whisper, and step forward. He lowers his head, his chin resting on my shoulder. I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his mane. The boots stop outside our stall, silence rolling out to smother every other sound.
Falada lifts his head, disengaging himself, but as he does he brings his mouth to my ear and breathes softly, “Stay.” I nod, touching his cheek, then turn towards the men. I do not recognize the soldiers. I ignore them, addressing Joa instead.
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