The Prince of Secrets

by A J Lancaster

  Her laugh was deep and throaty, but she obliged, smoothing strands of his hair. “I came to scold you for getting out of bed.”

  “Excellent scolding,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “Continue.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, but she didn’t stop.

  “How did last night go?” he asked, snaking his good arm up to twine his fingers with hers. She let out a surprised ‘O’ as he pulled her into his lap.

  “You’re supposed to be resting!”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my knees.”

  She rolled her eyes but didn’t otherwise protest. Instead she carefully arranged herself to avoid his bad shoulder and summarised the discussion with her family. She made a face. “Aunt Sybil is particularly unimpressed with my leadership skills. So much so that she’s invited her friend’s son to give me advice, of all things!” Her eyes glittered with indignation, but a shadow passed over her face, a doubt he wasn’t used to seeing in her, one he hoped would fade with time as she grew into her role—because if he was sure of anything in this world, it was that Hetta would be a good lord to this land and her people. More than good—great. Unless I jeopardise that with my presence. He shied from the thought; he didn’t want to think of it, not with Hetta here and warm against him.

  “Are there other mortal faelands?” she asked quietly when she’d finished working through her annoyance with her aunt.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If there are, there can’t be many, I would think.” He answered the question she hadn’t asked. “I don’t know how faelands act when their rulers are new. My father”—his heart skittered just saying the words, as if the mere mention of King Aeros might summon him—“has ruled the Court of Ten Thousand Spires for many mortal lifetimes. He is one of the oldest faelords of Faerie. I don’t know what it was like when he ascended. And Stariel isn’t the same as a normal faeland in any case. It’s a shame you’re the target of Lady Sybil’s persistence, but perhaps some useful advice will come out of it. But even if it doesn’t, there is always trial and error. And you’re already proving a better ruler to Stariel than previous ones.”

  She sighed, but the shadow in her eyes had receded. “Well, not that I wouldn’t have liked more information on the subject, but it’s also sort of nice to know you don’t know everything.”

  He walked his fingers over her collarbone, just above the thick lapels of her dressing gown. “What particular piece of my apparent omniscience has irked you most recently?”

  Her voice was breathier than usual when she replied. “Alexandra,” she said, giving him a Look.

  Wyn froze.

  “Yes,” Hetta agreed as if he’d spoken. “She said she’d talked to Gwendelfear.” She shook her head. “I’m not angry at you about that, actually. I know you take other people’s secrets seriously. I wouldn’t expect you to break such a confidence.”

  He leaned his head back so that all that he could see was the peeling plaster of the ceiling. It was far from the only ceiling in the house so affected. When would they be able to afford a plasterer, given their failure at the bank? “You want to talk to Gwendelfear too,” he said heavily.

  “Can you think of a better way to find out what’s going on? Don’t tell me you came here at this hour merely to brood over the household accounts. I know you’ll have been trying to untangle everyone’s motives from yesterday. But it seems much simpler to ask rather than guess.” Her eyes were fierce and penetrating. “And don’t tell me that you’re thinking of leaving so there’s no point in asking them.”

  “I’m often here at this hour,” Wyn said mildly.

  Her expression softened. “I don’t appreciate you enough.”

  He laughed. “Hetta, do not fall for my attempts at deflection. I am quite ruthlessly manipulative when I’m avoiding a subject.”

  She burrowed into him. “Yes, I know, but still, it doesn’t seem fair to me how much we all expect from you. Those cleaning spells—you mentioned them as if they were nothing, but the house wouldn’t run with so few staff without them, would it?”

  “Well, it may have to learn, if Stariel persists in interfering with them.” He told her about Stariel shredding his wards, and her expression grew distant as she communed with her faeland.

  “Well, I’m fairly sure I’ve told it not to do that again,” she said apologetically after her eyes refocused. She shrugged helplessly. “Sometimes it has its own opinions on what constitutes good ideas.”

  He leaned his head against hers, enjoying the warmth and scent of her so close. The dark currents tugged at him, tempting him to start an entirely different tactic of distraction, but he ignored them and said instead, “It’s not an entirely terrible idea, to try to uncover DuskRose’s motives. But I would like to wait until after Wintersol before we try to summon anyone.” He was only delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t seem to make himself let go. Not yet. And maybe there was something he was missing, some way out he hadn’t yet seen.

  There was a deep silence in which the tick of his wall-clock was suddenly audible, the little metal clicks of the gears slicing time. Wyn was moderately certain they were both recalling Hetta’s words from earlier: I won’t forgive you if you leave. Could he leave, knowing that?

  “Why wait?” Hetta challenged.

  “This is a time of…seasonal magic. It will reach its zenith in a few days, at Wintersol. Fae can be…unpredictable at such a time. And your family won’t plan to leave the bounds till after that in any case. It should be safe.”

  She tilted her head. “Does the unpredictability include you?”

  He smiled and spread his hands. “I am fae.” Much though he might wish otherwise. “In any case, I think it likely you will receive an emissary from DuskRose soon, regardless. It would explain why Princess Sunnika aided us, as a prelude to negotiations.” He tightened his arms around her. “Although it’s also possible that she feared I was about to expire and was merely acting to prevent my oath from becoming void in order to maintain the imbalance of power between the courts.”

  Hetta disentangled herself so that she could meet his gaze. “What does that mean?” Her eyes were as dark as wet river stones.

  He kissed her, deep and full of all the things he didn’t know how to say without sounding ridiculous. Her mouth resisted his for perhaps a half-second, refusing to encourage this change of subject. And then her lips softened with a quiet sigh and she leaned into the touch. Her hands went to his neck, winding in his hair. The world became a tangle of sweet, piercing sensations, warm breath and cool fingertips, the texture of cloth and soft, exposed flesh. It wasn’t until her hands began to wander somewhat lower that he pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers in a soft rebuke. They were both panting, little huffs of warm air against each other’s skin.

  “You don’t care to take this somewhere else?” Hetta said, her voice quiet but steady. It was an offer more than a question. Wyn gave a minute shake of his head, grappling to form a coherent sentence without much success. Hetta didn’t argue, merely making a regretful noise and then re-buttoning her way up to his throat. Her fingers rested lightly on either side of his neck, smoothing tiny circles.

  “Perhaps you should get off my lap,” he suggested.

  Her smile was wicked. “Am I bothering you?” She wriggled suggestively, and his breath caught, body tightening in a way she could not be unaware of. She laughed but slid obediently off him, depositing herself in the neighbouring seat. “But you make a good point. Before you distracted me so ably, I was demanding an explanation. Emissaries? Have we become a sovereign nation, to host ambassadors?”

  Wyn spread his hands, still painfully aware of how close she was, of how little effort it would take to bridge the distance between them. “In a word: yes.”

  Hetta looked thoughtful. “Well, that will certainly be something of a surprise to Her Majesty.”

  “There’s a reason mortal lords have to swear fealty to your Crown, though they’ve largely forgotten it.”

 
; “I haven’t sworn mine, yet, though,” Hetta pointed out. “I was planning to go down to Meridon in the New Year and sign all the official documents and suchlike.” Her eyes sparkled. “Does this mean in the interim I’m running a kind of rebel state?”

  He smiled. “If you like.”

  Hetta shook her head. “Fascinating as these revelations are, we’re getting distracted again. This is about oaths, somehow, isn’t it? I remember you said that fae are bound by their word and that they forfeit power to break it.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes.” He sighed, cold seeping into his soul, as if her warmth against him had been the only thing holding it at bay. “Yes. I am…not all that I should be. Fleeing a marriage I had promised myself to lessened me. But it didn’t affect only me. The Court of Ten Thousand Spires made that same promise also.” A memory taunted him, of his younger self, trembling but hopeful, trying not to stumble over his words as he spoke the oath. He remembered staring at the back of Princess Sunnika’s head, wondering desperately what she was thinking and what this promise of a new beginning meant to her. The ink-black and cherry-pink strands of her hair had gleamed beneath the faelights.

  Hetta pursed her lips as she absorbed the information. “Your father lost some of his power too,” she guessed. “When you broke your oath.”

  Wyn remembered the wrenching pain of it, the snap of something inside his soul as he made that final, desperate decision to run. “I believe so. How much, I don’t know, but perhaps enough to shift the balance with DuskRose should hostilities between the two courts recommence. My father and Queen Tayarenn were closely matched in the last conflict. I suspect DuskRose has been testing his power ever since, but they cannot openly attack without directly flouting the High King’s command.”

  Hetta frowned. “So this isn’t just about punishing you. Your father wants to get his power back, doesn’t he? Can he get it back?”

  “Yes. Most obviously, by forcing me to fulfil the promise.” Wyn ticked the thoughts off on his fingers. “Secondly, he could repay DuskRose a price equal to that of the broken promise, but I doubt he would choose to do so. DuskRose will exact a heavy price to discharge the debt—they will have no desire to see my father’s power returned. Thirdly—” He paused. “The oath is void if I am dead.”

  “Hence the lug-imps,” Hetta said grimly.

  “Hence the lug-imps,” he agreed. “My sister Aroset sent the lug-imps, but it was almost certainly with my father’s blessing.” He thought of Lamorkin’s information. “I think she was Plan A, as it were. I believe my brother Rakken may have suggested an alternative approach to solving the oath-debt, one less favoured by my father. That would explain why Rakken deliberately sabotaged Aroset’s attempt—to give himself the chance to win the game himself.”

  He knew what she was about to ask; her quick mind was one of the things he loved about her. But he wished she would be a little less quick in this one instance. He didn’t want to hear her say—

  “Can I buy your debt from ThousandSpire without DuskRose’s agreement?”

  He put his hands flat on the desk and pushed himself to standing, wincing as his injured leg took his weight. He persevered and limped over to the window.

  “Wyn?”

  He knew she was debating whether to come to him. His fractured reflection rebuked him from the diamond-patterned windows. The night was dark without even the promise of dawn; the sun wouldn’t rise for at least another four hours, this close to Wintersol.

  “I don’t want you to have to pay for me,” he said, finally. Storms take it, she’d homed in on the loophole that could free him, but how could he burden Stariel with his oath-debt, given what he’d already cost it?

  She made an impatient noise, and he turned back to face her.

  “Are you done brooding? Because obviously I don’t want to bargain with the fae either, but I will if it solves the issue. I know you don’t like it, but do you have any better ideas?” Her eyes blazed a warning. “And don’t say that you could leave Stariel. Or at least, don’t you dare say that you’ll leave Stariel for my own good. If you’re going to run away, leave me out of it. This relationship has to go both ways, Wyn; that means we solve this together.”

  The silence drew out between them. I love you, he nearly said again, but it would still be unfair to say it, not unless he could add, and I promise I won’t leave to the end. And he couldn’t make that promise, not when he didn’t know what the fae might ask of her.

  But as if she had heard him anyway, she closed the space between them and rose on her toes to kiss him. He pulled her closer, warmth to hold against the deepening cold, the terrifying reminder of all he stood to lose. When they broke apart, her eyes shone as bright as stars, a wordless reflection of his own depth of sentiment.

  “Let me bargain,” she murmured.

  His arms tightened around her, a wordless, instinctive negative. “You should remember your children’s tales, Hetta: it’s unwise to bargain with the fae. You will not like their prices.”

  “Well, if it reassures you, remember I don’t have to agree to anything your relatives demand. But surely it can’t hurt to at least try?”

  It didn’t reassure him nearly enough. She didn’t understand, not truly, what she was contemplating. Jack’s words simmered in his mind. How could he call this protecting Stariel, bringing the worst of fae machinations to bear upon its lord? But she was right; he had no other suggestion to offer. Or at least, none except that which she’d already dismissed. The need to protect warred with the desire to stay, the proverbial immovable object meeting irresistible force until something had to give, the merest inch of compromise. Was this weakness? It didn’t feel like it.

  “Promise that you won’t agree to anything without asking me first. Promise me, Hetta.” She hesitated, and he met her gaze, unflinching. Her clear grey eyes struck straight at the heart of him, but he would not back down. Not on this.

  She wrinkled her nose. “All right. I promise. Are the fae fond of sheep?” she asked lightly. “I think I could part with one or two. We need to update our breeding stock anyway.”

  He laughed, brittle as hoarfrost, but the hard knot of terror eased a little. She had promised. If they truly were going to attempt to bargain with ThousandSpire, he would need to map out every possible contingency, define the hard limits of what could be offered. The cost of his debt would not be monetary, but guilt still clawed at him as he thought of the incident at the bank.

  “So,” she said, stepping back. He released her reluctantly. “Our working theory is that your brother has persuaded your father to let him try to bargain with me for your debt instead of simply trying to kill you outright?” When Wyn nodded, she added, “And you think DuskRose will want to send us an emissary for the same reason? To bargain with me for your release?”

  “Perhaps,” Wyn said slowly. “Or perhaps not. Perhaps they will try to persuade you to cast me out, or not to deal with ThousandSpire. I imagine DuskRose wouldn’t be entirely unhappy for the current state of affairs to continue.”

  “But if DuskRose don’t want you to marry their princess either, doesn’t that make them oathbreakers too?”

  Wyn shook his head. “Intent is not action. So long as Princess Sunnika remains unwed and professes willingness to marry me, they have kept their side of the bargain.”

  “She can’t marry anyone else without breaking her oath too?” An unfamiliar expression crossed Hetta’s face. Jealousy, he identified with a startled jolt.

  “You are jealous of her?” he asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his tone.

  “It’s all very well for you to tease me about it,” Hetta grumbled, “but you might have mentioned that your fiancée was fantastically beautiful and well-endowed enough to set up her own dairy farm.”

  He should not find jealousy endearing, and yet he did, if only because it wasn’t an emotion he’d seen from her before. That had to mean something, didn’t it? “Former fiancée,” he emphasised. “And I am not su
re when precisely you think such a comment, voiced by me, would have been well-received on your part.” She narrowed her eyes and he chuckled. “Do you need me to praise your, er, dairy farms?”

  That did coax a reluctant huff of laughter from her. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

  “A little,” he agreed. “Though I am happy to indulge you. I hope, however, that this gives you a greater appreciation for my past sangfroid upon witnessing your obvious admiration for Lord Penharrow’s person.”

  “I didn’t admire—” Hetta began but stopped when he raised a cynical eyebrow. She slumped in defeat. “Well, perhaps I did. You never let on that it bothered you!”

  “It was very understandable that you admired Lord Penharrow’s…physical attributes. He is, after all, a most finely built man. Though I think not, perhaps, as handsome as I am.”

  She laughed, delighted, and his heart lifted.

  “All right,” he said, when her amusement had quietened. “I am finished brooding; let us plan.”

  19

  Embroidered Peacocks

  Wyn assembled his troops early the next morning. It was a less inspiring sight than it should have been, given Stariel’s understaffed nature. Hopefully, that was another thing that would change with Hetta’s lordship. Though changing it with any speed would depend on securing the bank loan. Which he’d obviously done a marvellous job at so far.

  Still, at least the existing staff were worth their weight in gold. They were typical Northern folk, inclined to speak their minds, allergic to formality, dedicated workers, and loyal to the bone. He looked down the long table in the servants’ hall, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn. Some, like Clarissa, he’d known since he’d arrived. Others, like Lottie the housemaid, were more recent additions to the household.

  “I want to thank everyone for the hard work you’ve put into keeping the household running smoothly, particularly this last week. I know it’s a difficult task with so many of the family home and not as many staff as I’d like,” he said frankly. “But I’m proud of how you’ve risen to the challenge. Now, some of you will already have heard this news from Lord Valstar, but I want to repeat it now, for clarity. You are a largely sensible lot, and I trust you will treat this information with that same attitude.” He laid out the broad details of his and Hetta’s encounter with the lug-imps yesterday. From the staff’s reaction, they had already had a chance to absorb the news.