The Hidden King

by E G Radcliff

  He cracked a wan smile at her as she bustled into the kitchen. It was clear she didn’t know what to do with him, and there lay the humorless difference: Boudicca, full of naught but the best of intentions, couldn’t relate to his history. Ninian would know what to say. His absence was a more brutal wound than the gouges in his flesh, but Áed had already completed his vigil. Ninian was gone.

  Áed pushed himself up and followed Boudicca into the kitchen. She turned around in front of the stove and gave him a smile, to which he nodded in return.

  “Áed,” she said softly. “You look embarrassed.”

  There was something stirring in him, an unwillingness to be seen when his body was so flawed, and when he felt so emotionally crumpled. He shook his head slowly and looked up at her beseechingly, begging her to comprehend. “I don’t understand why this happened. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to keep myself from breaking down, or how I’m supposed to take care of Ronan, much less lead a kingdom.” Boudicca’s face was sad and quiet, and Áed closed his eyes. “In the Maze we just survived. And now I have the luxury to feel, and I’m breaking.”

  Boudicca didn’t immediately speak, but she gently wrapped both of his hands in hers and lifted them up in front of her, making them a focal point. She was close to him, and didn’t seem to mind. “Áed,” she said, her voice was as soft as a breath of wind. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time, but there’s something I have to ask you.”

  “What’s that?”

  She regarded their hands instead of Áed, and couldn’t meet his eyes. “I found your letter,” she said. “While you were in the dungeon. You’d left it on the dresser.” She exhaled, lips barely parted. “Do you know what it says?”

  Áed looked down. “Yes. Well, mostly, I think.” Ninian hadn’t told him all of it. He knew that now. “But I think I’m missing some important parts.”

  Boudicca nodded and gave his hands a squeeze. “I’m going to get it, alright? You need to know.”

  She slipped out of the warm room and down the hall, and returned with the scrap of paper that looked even more delicate in her hands. All Áed felt was emptiness. He couldn’t imagine that what it had to say could be important enough to change him.

  Boudicca cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, and the little movement rippled through the fabric of her dress and made her skirt look fiery. Her face however, almost ashen, was anything but. “I’ll just read, then.” At Áed’s nod, she began.

  Áed—

  I owe you an apology. What ought to have been a gift to me is a burden that I will not carry, and for my selfishness, I am sorry. My actions are not of your doing.

  Áed’s throat was tight, but not from his mother’s words: He knew this part by heart, and he could not hear it spoken without hearing Ninian’s voice.

  I should like to explain myself. I don’t need forgiveness or a reason for my choice, but I want to be heard nonetheless. Child, you are the son of an animal, a glittering, half-mad animal whom I could not deter. I never expected any man to be so bold with me. Perhaps I resent you. I think I do. So I will not bring you with me, but leave you to become my revenge the way I know you will. You are as much my child as the dazzling animal’s, after all.

  “Boudicca,” Áed said hoarsely. He didn’t want to be anybody’s revenge, but it was too late for that, wasn’t it? Seisyll was dead. Ninian’s voice was in his head, memory echoing the words Boudicca spoke, and Áed pressed his hands to his temples. “Please, stop. I don’t want to hear this.”

  “I’m sorry, Áed,” Boudicca replied, but Áed noticed her hands quivered a little on the paper. “I think it will make things clearer.”

  I suspect you will come to hate me, she read. I understand. I do hope that nothing truly hurts you, and that you aren’t alone.

  Boudicca took a breath to continue, and Áed bit his lip. They had reached the point where Ninian had stopped reading. Áed could remember his love’s violet eyes flicking down the page, his long fingers folding it up and handing it back. “That’s it,” Ninian had said.

  He’d lied.

  There are things you should know, Boudicca went on, her hands worrying at the edges of the paper, because I’m sure there will come a day when you need an explanation nobody will be able to give. Your father was an animal, yes, and a human one. But your mother, child, is no such thing.

  Áed swallowed hard and found the counter to brace himself.

  I’d come to this realm on a festival night, and found that I couldn’t leave it while I carried you. Now, I return to my home. I don’t believe it’s a home you can ever be a part of, not any more than you can truly belong here. Boudicca paused and stared at the next line for a few seconds. You, my son, have my blood.

  And that blood is fae.

  For a beat or two, there was silence. “In ainm dé,” Áed finally muttered.

  Boudicca ran her tongue nervously over her lips.

  Áed pushed his ruined fingers through his hair and couldn’t tear his eyes—red, of course, because of all the colors, he’d never met another person with red eyes—from the letter in Boudicca’s hands. “I had the right to know that.” Ninian hadn’t told him. Ninian had made the decision not to tell him, and Áed had believed the lie. He’d believed the lie because Ninian had earned Áed’s trust, complete and simple, and for all Áed’s ability to read a human being, he’d never thought to look for deception from his love.

  “Áed,” Boudicca started, setting the letter down, but Áed turned away.

  Étaín had broken him for what he was. That inhuman side of him had killed two people. “Ninian should have told me,” Áed murmured. “Boudicca, do you think if he had, if I’d known, I’d have learned to control it? I’m getting better now, but it’s taken me too long, and look what’s happened.”

  Boudicca shook her head and dropped her eyes to the floor. “Áed, we’ll never know. But… I understand why he didn’t tell you.” She shrugged weightily in response to his questioning stare. “I almost didn’t tell you. The fae are unpredictable and dangerous, and I’m sure that deep down, Ninian hoped that part of you would never surface.” Her face was sad. “Maybe he thought that if he told you, if you recognized it, you would change.” She spread her hands. “And he didn’t want that, because he loved you.”

  Áed hid his face in his hands. This, of course, was what Ninian had used his last breaths to apologize for. But perhaps his love had been right. Áed had changed. “Thank you,” he mumbled to Boudicca. “For telling me.”

  She crossed to him and carefully put her arms around him. He rested his forehead down on her shoulder, and she didn’t shy away. “After you eat, you should sleep some more. Half-fae or otherwise, you need it, alright?”

  He quailed at the thought of the nightmares sleep would bring. “I don’t think I want to.”

  Boudicca sighed. “I know.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  When he woke, it was nearly mid-afternoon, and he felt hazy and quiet. For a while, he just laid there and admired the grayish light on the walls that slanted in from the window. He heard muted taps on the glass and recognized it as rain; it pattered away, unhurried, and the drops cast hazy shadows against the opposite wall. Muffled thunder growled above the flat, and the rain made a gentle hiss that filled the air with dampness and renewal.

  Miraculously, he had not dreamed, but he felt a little hollow, a little new, and rather destabilized. His understanding of what it meant to be ‘Áed’ had shifted, and he waited for it to settle. It seemed wont to do no such thing.

  He padded out into the flat, where Boudicca was reading a book at the table, and she looked up at his approach. “How did you sleep?”

  “Well, actually,” he replied, taking a seat across from her. “I was surprised.”

  “Good.” Silence fell for a moment, a peaceful, rainy silence. Then Boudicca spoke. “We ought to take it slow today, I think.”

  Áed nodded in agreement and tapped Boudicca’s book. “Perhaps you could be
gin teaching me to read for myself.” So much would have been different if he had learned earlier.

  “That’s a good idea.” She stood and crossed to the bookshelf. “That’s a very good idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ronan came back from Gráinne’s as Áed was struggling through the alphabet. Ninian had made reading seem effortless, but even under Boudicca’s guidance, Áed had barely managed to remember the order of the letters. They were foreign, and it was strange to think that they represented sounds. They didn’t look like the sounds they embodied. They were too round, or too sharp, and certainly too complicated.

  Ronan, after giving Áed a concerned look, ambled over to the table and examined the page of Áed’s letters. “Are you learning fast?”

  Áed’s hand was cramping from trying to write, even though Boudicca had wrapped the quill in layers of paper to make it easier to grip, and he shook his hand out under the table. “I don’t think so.”

  “What has she showed you so far?”

  “Just the alphabet.”

  Ronan’s beryl eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the page. “These don’t look anything like the words on the books.”

  Áed snorted. “It’s hard to hold the quill.” Ronan picked up the quill and started drawing on the back of Áed’s paper, and Áed watched, interested. “What are you making?”

  The younger boy thought about it, frowning. “A horse.”

  “A horse? Isn’t that hard?”

  Ronan penned a crooked oval and added some scribbles to the front and posterior, then four lines at the bottom. “A little.”

  Áed smiled for him. “I think it’s great. Why don’t you show Boudicca and ask her if she can tell what it is?”

  Grinning, Ronan danced into the kitchen, and Áed eased forward to rest his forearms on the table. He sighed, shaking out his hand again. It felt good to be doing something. He would study the letters until they were his, and then the words until he’d mastered them, too. He’d teach Ronan. As he finished the thought, Ronan trotted out of the kitchen and sagged dramatically into the chair opposite Áed. “She thought it was a cow.”

  Boudicca leaned around the corner out of the kitchen. She flashed the boy a smile and walked over to place a cloth-wrapped package on the table. “Here, Ronan, you just reminded me. This is for you.”

  Ronan broke into a smile. “It is? What is it?”

  “You have to find out.” Before Boudicca got another word out, Ronan was up from the table and wrapping his arms around her. Boudicca patted his back, smiling. “Oh, that’s sweet, Ronan.”

  “Thank you!” Releasing Boudicca, the boy bounded over to the table and scooped up the package. “Can I open it?”

  “Of course, it’s yours.”

  Beaming, he flew into the wrapping, and then looked with interest at the small leather pouch it had obscured. Ronan’s small fingers found the mouth of the bag and slipped it open. Inside, something rattled, and he poured some of the contents out into his palm. They glinted in the candlelit room. “What are they?”

  “Marbles,” Boudicca answered. “I bought them in the market for you.”

  Ronan was enchanted. “Marbles.” He let one roll off of his hand, and it bounced on the table and clattered to the floor. Áed scooped it up as it rolled toward him. “They’re so pretty!” Ronan exclaimed delightedly.

  “They’re for a game. I’ll teach you how to play, once it’s light out.”

  Áed examined the marble in his hand. It was smooth glass, but not clear. Transparent swirls of sanguine and pale blue laced its surface so that it looked almost sugary, and Ronan was right. It was beautiful. “Here, Ronan,” he said, and tossed it back. “Those are wonderful.”

  Boudicca smiled. “It seems right, doesn’t it? He should be able to play.”

  Áed agreed. Ronan didn’t need to worry about safety or hunger any longer, and Áed was happy to give him a playful childhood.

  After dinner that night, for which Cynwrig joined them, Ronan vanished into the bathroom, the General took a book from the shelf and staked a claim on the couch, and Boudicca stood for a moment, stretching. The energy in the flat was in transition as each person settled into their own activity, but Boudicca and Áed still inhabited that curious limbo that exists before one commits to a pastime. It seemed as good a moment as any. “Boudicca?”

  She looked up. “Yes?”

  “You’d know best if it’s wise, but I thought that maybe you could take my bandages off for a little while.” They were a reminder of what had happened right along with the stubborn pain.

  She straightened. “Not a bad thought. Let me get some supplies, and we can work in the bathroom.”

  He made his way to the bathroom and clumsily unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it gently off his shoulders. The bandages appeared free of new blood, and only the old blooms marred their whiteness. That seemed like an improvement.

  Boudicca opened the door and stepped in to the room. “Right,” she mused quietly as her hands gently found Áed’s wrists and nudged him around so that his back faced her. Then he felt her fingers carefully pulling away the edge of the bandages. “Does that hurt?”

  “Not too much.”

  “I’m going to take these off slowly. Let me know if you need me to stop”

  He flinched as the bandages parted company with his back and arms, and cool air brushed over his exposed skin. Boudicca sighed. “Well, everything is healing.”

  “Good.” He hesitated for a moment. “Healing with that ink inside?”

  Boudicca stood behind him, but Áed saw her slow nod through the mirror. “They really are tattoos.”

  He sighed heavily. “Stupid of me to hope.”

  There was a quiet clink as her nails tapped the bottle of ointment, and a beat of silence. “I don’t think it’s stupid to hope.” She drew in a breath between her teeth. “Ooh, that still looks bad. Stay still, this is going to burn for a second.”

  Sure enough, the potion made him grit his teeth as she dabbed it on the afflicted place with a cloth, but the pain faded quickly into coolness.

  Suddenly, Boudicca froze, and Áed’s stomach twisted in reaction. “Quiet,” she whispered as he turned around, holding out a hand to arrest his motion. He stilled, listening, but at the sight of her suddenly-focused face, he heard only his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  “What is it?” he hissed, but she waved a hand at him.

  “Stay here.”

  She closed the door to the bathroom as she left, leaving Áed straining to hear. Boudicca’s footsteps crossed to open the front door, and then her voice penetrated the wall. “Oh, goodness! I wasn’t expecting you!”

  Áed sagged in relief that her tone held no fear, but instinctive wariness kept him alert. Reaching down, he snagged his shirt and drew it over his head, ignoring how it brushed on his exposed wounds.

  “What are you doing here?” Boudicca’s voice went on, and was answered by a smooth baritone.

  “I thought I’d check in, see how you were faring. Say, why is there a guard out here?”

  “Cynwrig’s with me, that’s his man. Oh, here, come in.”

  “Thank you dear. Ah, that’s better, now.” The door closed, and footsteps crossed to where Áed thought the radial table would be. “I did think that wherever you were, your brother might be, too. It seems I was right. Cynwrig! I’m glad to see you well!”

  “Well enough, I suppose,” The General’s assured voice came. “Better now that the August Guard is in order, we had some chaos in the beginning.”

  “Oh certainly, I know it’s all been horrid. But you’re well. Oh, come now, won’t you stand for me?”

  The couch creaked as Cynwrig shifted off of it. “My apologies, Father. It’s been a taxing time.”

  Áed’s eyes narrowed, though it should make sense; Boudicca and Cynwrig’s father—or stepfather, he remembered—was worried about them, and had come to check on their safety. Still, an uneasy tingle coursed from Áed’s heart to his finge
rtips, bringing with it a touch of heat.

  “That it has, that it has. Let’s have some tea, shall we?”

  He heard Boudicca move to the kitchen, and her stepfather kept talking.

  “Come and sit down, Cynwrig, I’ve been worried over you, you know. Not on the couch, at the table.”

  “Father,” Boudicca’s voice interrupted from the kitchen, “Do you have news?”

  “News? News about what? I’ve got heaps, my girl, you’ll have to be more specific. I assume you mean what’s afoot at the palace?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Well,” the man said with some satisfaction. “It’s all very interesting, I’ll tell you. I hear Seisyll’s son’s an interesting fellow.”

  Áed heard Boudicca draw in a quick breath. “How do you know? I thought he was meant to be dead.”

  “Dead! Heavens, no.” The deep voice chuckled. “I haven’t personally met the boy, but I know someone who has. He’s been seen in the city, too: He’s got two bad hands and eyes like fire. Quite unnatural. Now I ask you, what kind of creature can hold fire in his hands without a burn?”

  “Isn’t that what Seisyll claimed?”

  “Indeed. The old king was half-dead, of course, by the time he spoke to anyone, but he was very clear about it. He said the boy had bright red eyes, and he summoned fire to his hands.” Áed could practically hear the man’s smile. “Now, you know what that sounds like.”

  Boudicca forced a laugh. “It sounds ridiculous, Father. Seisyll probably caught himself on one of the torches and imagined the rest.”

  “Oh, perhaps, perhaps.” The man stopped talking and made a gruff little grunt. “Say, did you have company?”

  Áed froze, and he heard Boudicca do the same. “I’m sorry?”

  “Company, yes. You’ve got leftover food on the counter and plates in the sink.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “It was only Cynwrig and myself.”

  “All those dishes?”

  “Cynwrig doesn’t clean up after himself.”