The Hidden King

by E G Radcliff

  After six weeks, Áed no longer needed bandages on his back or arms, but even as the weather warmed, he wore long sleeves. His scars were deep blue, nearly black, and he hid them as best he could. The only place where any of Óengus’s work showed was where the tattoo on Áed’s back emerged just slightly above the collar of his shirts in an artful snarl of curves, and Áed had fallen into the habit of brushing his knuckles over the marks to explore the spiny peaks of the design. The tattoos fascinated Ronan, but the boy knew better than to say so.

  After six weeks, Áed was slowly learning to recognize written words, though he still struggled to hold a quill. Boudicca bought books for him, simple books that were usually petty and frustrating, but that he could understand. Ronan had been curious, so Áed had taught him what he knew, and had found it helpful to teach. Ronan picked it up quickly, and sometimes Áed became his student.

  From the books, Áed learned more than just words and the order of letters. Boudicca sat with him often and explained passages about battles, heroes, kings, and disasters. Áed had only truly finished one book, a small volume about a fire that had burned through the city, but the feeling of achievement had been marvelous.

  Six weeks was longer than he’d thought he would need, and although Boudicca insisted that it was fine, Áed could see the strain growing in the city. The General’s face grew more haggard by the day as the August Guard, without a king, began to fracture. The nights grew more chaotic as the Guard could no longer quash the rabble-rousers who either lusted for the throne themselves, frothed with hatred about the murder of the king, or hungrily awaited the arrival of the heir.

  Six weeks.

  On the last day of the sixth week, Áed was ready. He could wait no longer, he had learned what he could, and it was time to leave.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Morning came quickly that day.

  Áed dressed simply, adding a jacket that hid the back of his neck, and peeked out the window at the wakening streets. Ronan rallied sluggishly as Áed slipped out of the room.

  Boudicca met him in the hall, and Áed groaned.

  He had underdressed. Significantly.

  Boudicca’s hair, done in an ornate tiara of perfect braids, caught the sunlight, and garnet ornaments rested weightlessly in the waves of her locks. A pattern of amber beads danced over her sleeves and spilled down the front of the dress to her waist, where they hung as if a sparkling stream had frozen mid-tumble.

  She looked him over and crossed her arms. “Áed,” she said as her eyes surveyed his clothing. “Have you forgotten what we’re doing today?”

  Áed brushed his fingers over the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize that was the expectation.”

  She sighed again and beckoned with a wave of her hand. “People know you’re from Smudge, so you’re going to need a little extra to assure them you’re one of us. Fortunately, I’m prepared. Come on.”

  When he followed her into her room, he stopped in the doorway. “A thiarcais.” Hanging from Boudicca’s wardrobe were garments, clearly meant for him, and he tried to back out of the door. Boudicca beat him to it.

  “Not a chance, Áed.”

  He groaned. “Isn’t it a little much?”

  “It’s a bit underwhelming, actually, but it’s what I could get my hands on. Don’t worry, you’re tough. You’ll live.” She smiled mischievously. “Besides, you might have to get used to it.” Áed slumped, defeated, and Boudicca sensed her victory. She pointed to the clothes on the wardrobe. “Go into the closet and put those on.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  He didn’t like it. Boudicca, scrutinizing him in the middle of the room, looked pleased, but Áed was not happy.

  The fabric was heavy and shimmering, and the depth of the colors made him do a double-take every time he looked at his sleeve or down at his chest. He would, without a doubt, attract attention. Boudicca had thought of everything, even including a fashionable flame-blue scarf to cover the back of his neck, and when Áed caught a glimpse of himself in Boudicca’s mirror, he looked taller, more confident, and slightly otherworldly.

  He really didn’t like it.

  Boudicca nodded approvingly. “Oh, Áed,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her and beaming proudly. “You look so handsome.”

  “Stop it,” he groused.

  Her hands found his shoulders and tried to steer him toward the full-length mirror in the corner, but he resisted and she frowned. “You don’t believe me?”

  He shook his head, scowling. “I don’t like looking at myself.”

  The smile slid from her lips. “That’s…” She shook her head. “Later. The good news is that for the next stage, your eyes will be closed.”

  His eyebrow flicked up. “There’s more?”

  “Of course.”

  He shook his head decisively. “Nope. This is fine.” He went for the door again, but she blocked his path. Her fingers closed on his wrist and he turned reluctantly. “What?”

  “Please?” Her eyes were soft and begging, and she blinked at him pleadingly. “It’s important. You need to show that you understand the people.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She nodded toward a chair by the window. “Sit, please. It’s just a bit of paint, nothing absurd.”

  “Paint?” He resisted the urge to laugh. “Boudicca. Seriously.”

  “I’m being serious!” she insisted, and he could see she was. “It’s what people do for formal occasions. I’m going to accentuate your eyes, it will look very striking.”

  “I have red eyes,” he said as he let Boudicca steer him toward the chair. “I’ve been told they’re pretty striking already.”

  She just bobbed her chin, satisfied. “When I’m done with you, nobody will be able to look away.”

  The chilly paint felt smooth as Boudicca applied it to his face, and with his eyes closed, Áed could feel every brush stroke, and his nose tickled at Boudicca’s breath as she blew lightly on the paint to dry it.

  Boudicca patted his shoulder and chirped a cheery “All done!” In the same movement, she turned his shoulders so that he faced the reflective glass in the corner. “Feel free to compliment me.”

  It took a few blinks before Áed recognized himself.

  All in all, it could have been worse. The paint’s color could have been plucked from the last beams of a sunrise, and Boudicca had been right about its effect on his eyes. The warmth of the paint drew heat from them, and his shifting irises flickered as if with flames. A single brushstroke flicked up his forehead as if hinting at a crown. He raised his eyebrows and looked away. “I’ll admit it’s not what I expected.”

  Boudicca cracked a smile and opened the door. “You’re free to go.”

  Áed pushed himself up and crossed to the door in three steps, and Boudicca leaned out the door. “Ronan! I have something for you!”

  Áed turned back to her with a smirk. “Ronan, too?”

  “A little.”

  He shook his head. “Good luck.”

  Ronan pattered up to the doorway and skidded to a stop. His gaze darted up and down Áed’s person once or twice before moving on to Boudicca, who was lurking behind the door. “What…?”

  “Boudicca,” Áed answered, and Ronan shot Boudicca a wary look.

  “Well!” Ronan flashed Áed a hasty grin and took a step backward. “It looks great. I think I should probably… go get Cynwrig…” He turned, but Boudicca caught him by the collar. Ronan squawked. “Help!”

  “Oh, come on!” Boudicca said, exasperated. “You’d think I was trying to pull your teeth out!” She hauled Ronan through the door. “I have some clothes for you, that’s all!”

  The young boy stopped struggling, though his eyes still flitted about as if he suspected a trap. “That’s it?”

  “Yes! I don’t even have paint for you!” She sighed, flustered. “The whole point is that everyone looks good, but nobody distracts from Áed.”

  Ronan’s eyes skated over her brilliant red dre
ss and the gemstones in her hair. “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” she demanded, and Ronan shrugged.

  “I don’t think that will work.”

  Áed snorted, but tried to disguise it with a cough. Fortunately, Boudicca just seemed flattered, and Áed decided to get out of the way.

  He looked up as the door to the flat opened, and Cynwrig pushed his way in, looking flustered. The General often looked flustered recently, for which Áed didn’t blame him. Both Boudicca and himself had been pressing Cynwrig for insights into court life, customs and taboos, which families hated each other, and the ins and outs of court life. The General had warmed to Áed the more time they’d reluctantly spent together, and though they weren’t friendly, they’d managed a few conversations without glares or barbed remarks. The progress had been necessary, seeing as Áed didn’t intend to replace him as General of the August Guard. They’d have to get used to each other.

  The General’s eyebrows went up at the sight of Áed, and Áed gave a halfhearted wave of greeting. “Good morning.”

  Cynwrig dropped onto the couch, and Áed noted with some jealousy that he wore only simple pants and a neat shirt. The General tugged a cigarette from his pocket and glanced away from Áed to light it. “You look different.”

  Áed plucked absently at the material of his sleeve and felt the golden embroidery around the cuffs. “Thanks, I guess. Blame your sister.”

  The momentary silence that fell between them broke presently at the sound of Boudicca’s door opening and Ronan stumbling out. Boudicca followed, seeming pleased as Ronan tugged at his collar with an expression of irritation.

  Áed grinned at him. “You look great, ceann beag.” To allow silence to fall would be to invite reluctance into his head, and so he didn’t. “Shall we go?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The mood stayed reflective, but it grew even quieter as they piled into Cynwrig’s waiting carriage. Their plan, on which Áed concentrated to avoid letting nerves into his head, was relatively simple. Áed would go straight to the throne room while Cynwrig used his authority to convene the various nobles, advisors, and Quarter-Masters that constituted the Council of the King, and they would meet in the throne room. From that point forward, Áed would be recognized as the Coming King, and the decisions would come from him.

  The carriage clattered down the bustling streets, and people cleared out of its path. Despite the August Guard’s presence, the number of people hiding under cloaks or hoods had increased, and a furtiveness dominated the people’s manner. It showed in the way that women looked over their shoulders and men held themselves up to look stronger, and shadows darted in and out of alleys, bypassing the guards as they spread lies and stolen goods. There were no more children on the streets.

  The palace loomed, that white monolith in the heart of the city, and Áed’s gut twisted at the sight. Directly beneath the carriage’s wheels, the dungeon coiled like a ball of worms through the ground, and Áed could almost sense its chill under his feet. As the carriage and its occupants wound their way nearer to the palace, Áed found his fingers itching for heat. He curled them as tightly as he could and ignored the urge.

  People noticed the carriage. Cynwrig’s face was familiar to them, and they glanced at him and then quickly back at their feet. Their obvious wariness only drew them closer, as people are attracted like moths to flame to anything out of the ordinary. By the time the General guided the horse to a stop, a crowd had gathered around the palace gates that was pretending not to be a crowd at all.

  The realization of what he was about to do hit Áed squarely and suddenly, as if he had not been bracing himself for it for weeks. The throne of a kingdom and the responsibility it brought were about to land upon his shoulders, the tattooed and scarred shoulders of Áed from the Maze, the shoulders of a recently-illiterate bastard who still couldn’t write, the finery-and-gem-clad shoulders of someone who had never worn finery or gems until that morning. He pressed his forehead against the cool window as Boudicca pushed her door open and swished out.

  A worried Ronan tapped Áed’s shoulder, and Áed gave him a quick smile and a hug before pushing his door open. He didn’t want time to change his mind.

  He strode over the white cobblestones toward Cynwrig, ignoring the increasingly interested glances from the not-crowd in the corners of his vision. The General looked him up and down, certainly taking in the flush that tinted Áed’s cheeks and the muscles twitching in his hands. “Are you alright?”

  Áed nodded curtly.

  Boudicca put a hand briefly on Áed’s shoulder, but let it slip off before anybody’s eye could catch on the motion. There was wisdom in that. He shouldn’t show weakness by accepting comfort, no matter how much he wanted it.

  Áed fell into step in front of Cynwrig, who walked a half-pace behind while Boudicca and Ronan followed. The horse nickered, and Áed decided to believe that it was wishing him good luck. Their footsteps echoed against the walls of the palace as they approached, and then they quieted, those echoes fading into silence. The guard on duty, a young man with daffodil-colored eyes and mousy hair, snapped smartly to attention and focused on Cynwrig. “General!”

  Cynwrig nodded. “Quinn.” He gestured with his chin toward the door, and the guard, Quinn, moved to open it. As his attention diverged from his general’s face, though, his gaze slid over Áed, and the man froze.

  His eyes flicked from Cynwrig to Áed, then back to Cynwrig.

  Cynwrig raised an eyebrow. “The door, Quinn.”

  The guard’s flabbergasted stare raced over Áed’s clothes, the paint, Áed’s eyes and hair. “Are… is that… General, is that—”

  Cynwrig nodded shortly. “This is your future king. You had best open that door.”

  Quinn was still spellbound and stuttering. “But I thought… everyone said… Óengus—”

  “Yes,” Áed replied. His voice, he was impressed to note, held steady even as the rotten stench of the torturer’s breath and the gleam of the man’s instruments flashed through his memory.

  Cynwrig leveled a cold glare at Quinn, who snapped out of it. The guard hurried to pull the door wide. “My apologies, Your Grace, and General Cynwrig, please forgive me.” He bowed deeply, and the group swept through.

  The palace had become no less revolting in the absence of a monarch. When Boudicca reached out to touch a jewel-encrusted candle sconce with something like awe on her face, Áed could only scowl, though he tried to force his features into the same regal blankness as Cynwrig’s.

  The General was businesslike. “Right,” he directed. “Áed, come with me. Ronan, go with Boudicca. You remember where to go, Boudie?”

  She nodded, squeezed Ronan’s hand, and together they broke off down a different hallway.

  “Perfect.” Cynwrig said. “Áed, I’ll show you to the throne room and then inform the Council of the King.”

  Áed followed him until the gilded door to the throne room loomed malevolently before them. The softness of the fallen-gem light from beyond made his heart race as Cynwrig pushed it open, and Áed’s palms began to sweat so that it took nearly all of his composure to step over the threshold onto the marble.

  The cavernous chamber whispered with shifting replies as the two of them crossed to the spur of the throne. The shadow of Seisyll lurking around the edges of the room did little to ease Áed’s jitters.

  The General squared his shoulders, collected and confidant. “I’ll be back.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Áed clicked his tongue experimentally, and the sound reverberated once, twice, and a third time as it fractured on the walls and returned. The sound bounced, it was lively, and it sprang across the distance with crisp energy. Quiet expanded into hollow, faraway echoes in the arching space; the entire room sighed as Áed let out a breath. It felt dangerous to speak. Anyone could hear.

  The wait didn’t last long before a new sound bubbled from the end of the hall. Áed drew himself up in false confidence as the first person ente
red the room, followed by another, and then another. As murmurs and hushed voices filled the space, Áed could only hope that the men wouldn’t set upon him, vengeful and frothing, for the death of their king, because he would be sorely outnumbered in a fight. Then he realized that he’d reverted back to his old way of thinking, where every person was a threat, and so he must have been more anxious than he’d realized. The Councilors he saw had more fat around their middles than murderous intent in their eyes.

  A few bold souls strode quickly toward Áed, followed by their warier peers. Finally, a few men ambled in slowly, as if it was no matter to them whether or not they had a king. Áed determined to keep an eye on them.

  The Council stopped short about ten feet from where Áed stood near the throne and gaped, unwilling to draw nearer. Áed linked his hands behind his back. “Good afternoon, Councilors.”

  There were a few uncertain replies.

  “I am Áed, son of Seisyll.” The words felt wrong, but he spoke them anyway. The truth wouldn’t stop being true because he avoided it. “And heir to the throne.”

  For just one fragile, tenuous moment, the great hall stayed quiet save for the retreating echoes of his voice.

  Then it exploded into noise.

  Áed held up his hands to quiet the crowd, and all of the councilors’ eyes fixated upon their forms. Just like that, the focus of the room snapped to him, and a little shiver ran over his skin. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat and did a quick sweep of the crowd for Elisedd, but fortunately, the Master of the Northeastern Quarter seemed to be absent. Councilors retreated before him as Áed stepped off the dais. “It’s true that Seisyll is no more, but I am his son. It is my right that you welcome me.”

  His argument was met not by an uproar but a muted buzz of voices, and Áed nearly bit his lip. Entitlement in his words was a necessity. It was a show of power to speak in such a way, and these men respected that.

  Still, without their trust, their respect meant little.

  “I would like to be open with you,” Áed said, spreading his arms. “You may ask me what you will.”