The Hidden King

by E G Radcliff

  Boudicca poked him and he jerked up, realizing he had been dangerously close to drifting off. Shoving his fingers through his hair, he blinked around. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

  “It’s alright,” she said, clearly disbelieving.

  “Ungh.” He stretched, arching his back to a chorus of pops. “When did it start being morning?”

  Boudicca yawned. “The sun only just came up.”

  Her yawn was contagious, and at the appearance of the light, his vision swam. “Hey, Boudicca…”

  She nodded, covering her mouth again. Her nose scrunched up when she yawned, stacking wrinkles on her forehead. “Yes. Go to bed.”

  He couldn’t even summon the energy to express his gratitude as he stumbled to the bedroom, ignored Ronan’s sleepy protests, and crawled under the covers.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  He was awoken by a scraping sound, followed by a beam of light hitting him squarely in the face. Groaning, he rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s been ages, you know,” a woman’s voice said, and he cracked his eyes open a sliver.

  He lay in a truly wonderful bed. No wonder he felt so well-rested. Anyone would be, after sleeping in a thing of beauty such as this. Blinking, the past few days caught up with him, and, as his pleasant mood deflated, his surroundings began to make sense. “Ugh,” he muttered, propping himself up on an elbow and looking over his shoulder. “Boudicca?”

  “He lives!”

  “Guess so.” He sat up fully, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his wrists and squinting in the brightness.

  She crossed to the door. “You’ve been sleeping for a day and a night.”

  That got his attention. “What?”

  Her hair, plaited into a bun on the top of her head, bobbed as she nodded with a chuckle. “I took Ronan down to the market and bought him some clothes that fit better, and then we went to the bakery and got him a sticky bun.”

  Áed was still blinking at the sun’s glare through the window, but now he blinked in surprise as well. “Cad é?”

  “What?”

  “You went out?” he demanded, unaware of her confusion, and rubbed his eyes again to clear the film of sleep. He couldn’t tell why it shocked him so much, not when Ronan went around the Maze, a far more dangerous territory, alone. Boudicca nodded, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yes,” she said, sounding a touch miffed. “He liked the bakery, especially.”

  That was good, wasn’t it? Áed shook his head, trying to banish his inexplicable defensiveness. “How does he seem to be holding up?”

  “Well, as far as I can tell. He’s in the kitchen right now, I have him kneading dough for bread.” She twirled her finger at him. “Also, nobody here speaks that other language of yours, so you’d best forget it quickly if you don’t want to stick out.”

  “What? You don’t?”

  “Nobody does.”

  “Huh.” Áed rolled over and tumbled gracelessly out of the bed. “Boudicca, I can’t believe you let us stay this long.” As soon as they could leave, he resolved to do so. Maybe, if he promised to find a way to pay her back, they could borrow clothes. That way, Áed could look for a job so that they could find a place of their own to stay. If they were careful, nobody would have to know where they came from, and they could start their new life.

  “Well,” she said, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully as she regarded him. “Maybe I’ve decided that I like the company.”

  Áed snorted. “I thought you could get in trouble for sheltering anyone from the Maze.”

  “Make sure you say ‘Smudge,’” she corrected, raising an eyebrow. “You really are going to have to blend in if you don’t want to get arrested.”

  “Sorry. Smudge.” Saying ‘I’m from Smudge’ almost felt like a betrayal of his home. It couldn’t be right to take its enormous complexity, its despair and its hope, and refer to it all as a pathetic smear of dirt, but Boudicca had a point. And, he reminded himself, he hated the Maze.

  “And yes,” Boudicca went on, turning to breeze out the doorway. Her tone was a bit rebellious, and pleased with itself for being so. “I am fully aware of the risks.”

  When Áed went into the kitchen, Ronan greeted him cheerfully enough, although Áed could still see darkness lurking in his big green eyes. It would be a long time, he knew, before that darkness faded, but he could take comfort in their safety. It seemed that things might be stabilizing. “Good morning!”

  “Good morning.” Áed yawned again, eyeing the dough all over Ronan’s hands. “How much of that is staying on your fingers instead of going into the loaf?”

  Ronan shrugged. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “It’s all supposed to go in that ball, mate. Unless you feel like sticking your hands in the oven.”

  “That what you did?” Ronan quipped, and buried both hands in the dough again with a smirk.

  “Low, mate.” Áed tousled Ronan’s hair good-naturedly. “Is that going to be breakfast?”

  Ronan looked at his work critically. “I hope not.”

  Boudicca peered over his shoulder. “It looks good. Here.” She took his hands in hers and began scraping off the dough that clung to them, patting it onto the loaf. “Now we’re going to wait for it to rise.” She crossed to the sink and rinsed off her hands while Ronan massaged soap into the crevices between his fingers. “And in the meanwhile, we can eat.”

  Ronan joined Áed outside the kitchen door while Boudicca bustled around the kitchen.

  The boy leaned on Áed. “I like it here.”

  Áed put an arm around him. “Yeah?”

  The younger boy nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  Áed opened his mouth to respond, but then Boudicca stepped out of the kitchen carrying a tray, and, distracted, Ronan hurried over to the table.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “So,” Boudicca said. She began many sentences with “so,” Áed noticed, and suspected that, once observed, that kind of trait would become irritating in a different person. “The Festival of Fire.”

  Áed blinked. He’d forgotten again. It occurred to him that in the whole time he had stayed in Boudicca’s flat, he had not gone outside. In truth, he had not even given the view from the window more than a cursory glance, and he knew that if someone were to ask him what lay beyond the glass, he’d have no idea.

  Boudicca was still speaking, oblivious to his musings. “I think we ought to go and celebrate. It’ll be so crowded that nobody will notice you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There will be so many people, nobody will pay you any mind. Besides, you’re clean, and you’re dressed properly. Wear some mittens, and you won’t stick out at all.”

  Ronan tugged Áed’s sleeve. “I’d like to go the festival.” His eyes held glimmers of excitement.

  The hope in his expression worked like a weevil into any reluctance Áed harbored. Ronan had grown up too fast, but it could be different now. He could feel free, enjoy himself, grow up happier. Still, he looked to Boudicca. “Surely you’re going with someone already.”

  She shook her head. “No, I go alone, and then I mingle. I never have plans on festival nights.” She smiled at Ronan. “Maybe this year, I could change things up.”

  Ronan’s sparkling eyes fixed hopefully on Áed’s face. “Please, Áed, I want to go…”

  Áed ruffled his hair, smiling at him and then gratefully at Boudicca. “Of course, ceann beag. I do, too.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The weather was still damp, and so Áed scrounged around in the guest room closet for a coat. When he had found one, he headed down the hall to find Boudicca fastening a stylish, asymmetrical hat with pins to her thick locks. Áed frowned. The brim flattened near the front, hiding part of her face. “I think that hat’s broken,” he said.

  She looked up and made surprised eye contact through the mirror on the back of the door. “What? Oh.” She caught what he meant, glanced back at the mirror, and narrowed her eyes alluringly. “It’s meant to be like
that. A little… mysterious.” She winked at Áed’s reflection in the glass. “Who’s the girl under the hat? Makes it a game.”

  He blinked, feeling entirely lost. “I had no idea my ignorance of hats could have such complicated social implications.”

  Tossing her head back, Boudicca let out a peal of laughter. “You’re funny!” She turned to face him so she no longer addressed his reflection. “You know, for someone who can’t read, you have an impressive vocabulary.”

  “Thanks,” he responded self-consciously. “It’s from living with Ninian.” Ninian had eaten up words when there had been nothing else to fill him, and it occurred to Áed that not all of Ninian’s legacy had been lost. “You’re going to the festival with the intent to flirt?”

  “Of course.” She took her coat from the rack, a long black duster that flowed all the way to the ground. She left it unbuttoned so the fiery carmine of her skirt showed through. “What, don’t you?”

  “Flirting…” He pretended to consider for a moment, cocking his head. “Hmm. Nope.”

  “You ought to try it. Not now, I mean, I’m not trying to be insensitive, but you’re handsome enough. There’s always fun to be had in that.” Her words were entirely frank, and he knew that she was stating what she saw as a fact. It surprised him.

  “Ronan!” Boudicca called, and Ronan raced into the room excitedly. Boudicca handed him a coat, and the boy began, with excitedly clumsy movements, to find the armholes in the black fabric.

  “Say,” Áed asked, curiosity shifting onto a different subject. “Where did you find clothes that fit Ronan? Before you bought some, I mean.”

  “I borrowed them from Gráinne, the apothecary owner, who has a grandson about Ronan’s size. Which reminds me.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “If we meet anyone I know, you two are visiting cousins.”

  “Understood.”

  “Are we going?” Ronan chirped, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

  Boudicca opened the door, and Ronan hopped out into the hallway, eyes shining. “Yes, we’re going! Come, come!”

  The top of the stairs was just as it had been two days ago, smelling of spices with an air of quiet between the doors. This time, however, the hall wasn’t empty, and Áed stiffened, bracing for a conflict as an old woman emerged from her apartment. A smile crowned her creased cheeks, and her reddish hair was streaked with silver-gray beneath a festive yellow hat. Ronan stared.

  “Hello, dear!” the old woman sang, and Boudicca, who had turned to lock the door, looked up. Immediately, she broke into a warm smile.

  “Good morning, Gráinne! How are you?”

  The old lady grinned. “Oh, I’m never better! But how about you, Boudicca? Looks like you have guests?”

  “Oh, yes! My cousins.”

  The woman’s grin only widened. “You know, I won’t even bother to ask which part of the family they’re from.” She smiled kindly at Ronan, who returned the expression timidly, stepping closer to Áed. “Well? Are you going to introduce us?”

  “Of course.” Boudicca slipped the keys into a pocket of her long coat and gestured to Áed. “This is Áed, and his little brother Ronan.” Gráinne beamed at them. “Áed and Ronan, this is Gráinne.”

  Gráinne extended a hand, and Áed shook it apprehensively, hoping the mitten was thick enough to disguise the wrongness of his hand beneath it. The old lady didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as she smiled at him maternally and moved on to Ronan. Áed closed his eyes for a moment, offering up a prayer of gratitude to whomever listened, and opened them again to find Gráinne beaming. “Are you all excited for the festival?”

  That got Ronan nodding. “Boudicca is going to teach me how to dance!”

  “Well, you couldn’t find a better teacher.” Gráinne winked at Boudicca, who smiled back easily as Gráinne adjusted her hat. “I must be off, dears. Boudicca, lovely to see you, and it was a treat to meet you both.”

  “Likewise, Gráinne,” Áed replied politely, and she grinned at him.

  “Enjoy the festival!” With that, she moved past them down the hall.

  Boudicca smiled after her. “She treats me like a daughter.”

  “How many years does she have?”

  “Fifty-two.”

  Ronan’s eyebrows popped up. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  Ronan glanced at Áed. “The oldest person I know is Máel Máedóc, and he has… what?”

  “He’s in his forties, I think.”

  Boudicca frowned, her rosy eyes blinking. “The oldest person you know is in his forties?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head, looking baffled. “The oldest person I know has seventy-nine.”

  “Seventy-nine!” That was unheard of. Unimaginable. What did someone even look like when they had seventy-nine? “A thiarcais.”

  “Ah,” Boudicca reminded him. “None of that, remember? You’re from here.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, and, passing the side door that was still fused closed, Boudicca led the way through the shop. When they emerged from the teetering wooden shelves, she pushed open the door to the outside.

  Immediately, sensation engulfed them.

  Yellow and white flowers hung over the doorway, creating a curtain through which to pass, and in the white-brick street, even the carriages held white-thorn branches and sprigs of frizzy blooms. A magnificent bonfire, roped off with garlands of flowers, roared at the end of the street, and people sat on a few barrels nearby while others maneuvered around them, hoping to fill their cups with whatever the kegs were serving. Along the side of the road, bands of musicians had set up, and they strummed on lyres and blew into flutes, creating a cacophony of competing melodies that echoed through the crisp air. A group of children tore down the road, each carrying a doll made of grass and tiny blossoms.

  Áed stepped off the stoop. “Goodness.”

  Ronan was bouncing again, tugging them toward the celebration. “Come on, come on!”

  The fire beckoned to Áed, but Ronan wanted to see the musicians, so Áed allowed himself to be led. He watched with amusement as Boudicca took hold of Ronan’s hands and started teaching the boy where to put his feet for a dance. Ronan concentrated as hard as Áed had ever seen, and Áed didn’t stifle the smile that spread over his face at the sight. The musicians grinned too, and they cheered when Ronan tripped his way out of step and covered it with a proud bow.

  Ronan, beaming, looked to Áed, who took his hand and nodded toward the road, which burst with color and motion and things to see. “Want to explore?”

  Ronan responded with an enthusiastic nod, and the trio set off down the street.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It seemed like they did it all that day. They went to the bakery, where they got sticky buns with tops decorated in yellow flowers. Ronan wanted to ride in a carriage, and so they took a bouncing ride around the city to watch the revelry. Boudicca showed Áed and Ronan how to twist hawthorn flowers into a crown, and she cheerfully looped a spray of blossoms around the brim of her hat to match her companions. There were so many little fires around, so many flowers and fluttering ribbons, that Áed felt almost dizzy.

  When finally they returned to Boudicca’s street, the sun had fallen low in the finally-cloudless sky. The bonfire then appeared exceptionally bright, and it gleamed like a beacon through the deepening chill. The crowd around it grew and made merry in the warmth. The mood was jolly, and people had begun dancing around the fire, clapping to the rhythm of drums that echoed from the bands along the streets. Boudicca pushed off through the crowd for a moment, leaving Áed frowning and looking around after her, but eventually his eyes caught on her flame-colored dress as she pushed her way back toward them. She carried two mugs, one of which she handed to Áed. “Here. Cheers.”

  Ronan looked on with interest as Áed took a drink. The wine warmed him from the inside out, though it tasted different from what Boudicca had shared with him at her
flat. Boudicca finished a drink, caught his curious expression, and answered his unspoken question.

  “Rhubarb.”

  He nodded, taking another drink. “I like it.”

  She took another long draw, and Áed raised an eyebrow. Even at the Festival of Fire back in the Maze, he only let ever let himself get a little tipsy. Perhaps here it was safe to be drunk in public, though Áed personally didn’t intend to test that.

  “Can I try?” Ronan whined, tugging on Áed’s sleeve. “Please?”

  He raised his eyebrows at Ronan’s begging face. “You won’t like it.”

  “How do you know if I don’t try it?”

  Áed rolled his eyes and handed Ronan the mug. It was the Festival of Fire, and a tiny bit wouldn’t do much more than make him feel grown-up. “One sip.”

  Thrilled, Ronan accepted the cup with both hands and brought it to his lips, eyes crinkled with anticipation. Instantly, though, his nose wrinkled, and he handed the mug back with a scowl. “Blech!”

  Laughing, Áed took the mug back. “Told you so.”

  “How do you drink that? I need to clean my tongue!”

  “I like it.”

  “And as for your tongue,” Boudicca chimed in, “People are starting to bring out food to share. You’ll be able to chase away the taste soon.”

  “Food?” Ronan perked up, looking around. Sure enough, people were traveling back into the buildings, returning with tables and delicacies to go upon them. Someone moved the garland roadblock since the street traffic was nearly gone, and the crowd spread out. Áed noticed that people were filling plates and then leaving a portion in a basket at the end of the table.