by E G Radcliff
At first, the crowd split around him as he walked through it, and councilors avoided being the first to present themselves. Clearly, nobody had prepared. Even the men who looked willing to step forward were cowed by the expressions of their peers, and the throne room remained silent, save for the hush of uncertain whispers. Áed had to maneuver himself before a councilor and engage him in unwilling conversation before anyone would approach, but before long a small cluster of interested councilors were listening in. Áed felt as though he was channeling Ninian; Ninian was rarely more at ease than amidst a crowd, and Áed had learned from his easy mannerisms.
Áed intrigued the Council of the King. They wanted to know about his hands, his eyes, how he had lived in Smudge. They wanted to know how Seisyll had died, and Áed explained that the king’s robes had caught fire on one of the torches that lined the hall. Given Seisyll’s madness, the old king’s story about a man holding fire in his hands was easily dismissed, and Áed accepted the Council’s sympathy for being the victim of such a terrible rumor. More delicately, one of the councilors asked about Áed’s time in the dungeons and the punishment he’d suffered. Instead of replying, for the words might still quiver in this throat, Áed pulled aside his scarf and let the men crane their necks around one another to see the top of the tattoos. Councilors gaped and gasped, and some looked faintly sick, but it changed the tenor of the room. Perhaps it humbled them. Perhaps they respected him for surviving.
Eventually, the questions trickled to a stop, and the Council no longer looked at him leerily. “Councilors,” Áed addressed them, raising his voice so that the room quieted. It was a powerful feeling. “I’m going to retire for today. We will talk further tomorrow.”
Without waiting for the councilors to say anything, because he didn’t want his words to be construed as a request, he nodded to the General and walked through the crowd, smiling at the Council’s goodbyes.
It was time to find Boudicca and Ronan. He hurried down the hall at a fast walk, Cynwrig wordlessly ahead of him. He didn’t want to be caught by any advisors before he had a chance to clear his head, so when they reached the stairs, Áed bounded up two at a time and let Cynwrig speed up to match his pace.
Gilt walls transitioned to white stone as Cynwrig led him through the palace, and beyond that, candlelight gave way to sun and fresh air. They passed into an arching walkway that cut through the gardens in the palace courtyards, and the wind, fresh with the smells of flowers and clean soil, filled Áed’s lungs and helped breeze the nerves from his head. A final door greeted them past the courtyards, which opened to a dizzying spiral staircase that they followed up to what was now Áed’s quarters.
The General’s knuckles had scarcely rapped the door before Boudicca threw it open, and she stepped aside to let them in. “How did it go? Is the Council accepting?” She kept talking, but Áed missed everything else she said.
The room that he had just entered was not a room. He’d expected something like Boudicca’s flat, maybe a little smaller. He had not expected arching windows whose glass was as fine as sugar, a floor whose colorful tiles were too artful to step on, or a sweeping staircase that arced weightlessly to a second floor.
“Áed?” Boudicca was saying, and he snapped to his senses as she nudged his arm. “Are you alright?”
“What? Yes, I’m alright.” He shook his head in disbelief at a magnificent bookshelf in the corner of the room, stacked with beautiful volumes. Above him, an elegant chandelier held a multitude of white candles. “Where’s Ronan?”
She gestured to the staircase. “Upstairs. I doubt he heard you come in.”
Áed crossed over to the swooping staircase and took the steps one at a time, still amazed at the luxury around him. “Ronan?”
The boy’s head popped out of one of the doors. “Áed?” He stepped into the hallway. “Did it go well?”
“That was my question,” Boudicca’s voice floated up from downstairs.
“Yes, I think,” Áed responded to both of them. “At least, I don’t think anyone hates me too passionately. How do you like it here?”
“It’s better than I expected,” Ronan confessed. “It’s quiet.”
“Can you show me your room?”
Ronan held the door open in invitation.
“Well, ceann beag,” Áed said, stepping in. “This is nice.” Empty shelves lined the walls, waiting to be filled, and Áed saw that Ronan had arranged his marbles on the nearest one. Beyond the windows, a dizzying drop plummeted into a garden far below, and the entire palace spread out before them, checkered with courtyards, walkways, and white verandas. From this direction, the great wilds were visible where the city dropped off, and the cliff plunged to grasslands ringed by those low, purple-blue mountains in the distance. “You have quite the view.”
Áed sat down on the bed and slouched against the wall. After a moment of contemplation, Ronan sat beside him and leaned his head on Áed’s shoulder. “You know what I keep thinking, Áed?”
The tone of his voice suggested his thoughts. “What?”
Ronan turned thoughtfully away from the cool breeze tumbling through the window. “I keep wondering what Ninian would say. If he were here.”
Áed gave his shoulders a squeeze and didn’t let go. “Oh, ceann beag. I wonder that all the time.” Ronan looked up at him, and Áed leaned back so that the breeze ruffled Ronan’s hair away from his face. “But I think he’s watching.”
Ronan nodded, a little smile on his lips. “I think so too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Áed mindlessly rubbed his thumb on the back of his neck under the soft scarf. Boudicca had gone home, and the General was elsewhere in the palace, probably ordering the Guard about and stubbornly not smiling. Outside, evening was dimming the day into colorless night.
There was one more thing that Áed wanted to do that night, something that had been bothering him in the back of his mind. The only problem was that, despite the duty he felt, the thought of completing the task himself made cold fingers of nausea spread through his stomach, and imagining the smell of the dungeon’s air made goosebumps prick up on his arms.
That was fine. Judoc wouldn’t want to see him, no matter Áed’s intentions.
Áed crossed to the door and leaned into the hall, where two guards flanked the doorway. He addressed the one on the right. “You follow my orders, don’t you?”
The guard, a dark-haired woman, nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Yours and General Cynwrig’s.”
“I need you to do something for me.” Áed explained what he wanted, and the guard bowed shortly.
“I’ll fetch him.”
“Thank you. Find a room for him, and tell him anything he wants to know.”
The guard departed, and Áed retreated back into his chambers. Ronan’s off-key humming floated down from upstairs, and Áed dropped onto the couch to wait.
Judoc had been Áed’s only comfort during his time in the darkness, and yet Áed had left him feeling betrayed and alone. That wasn’t entirely Áed’s fault, but it wasn’t entirely Judoc’s either, and so the debt of gratitude that Áed owed the old man still had to be repaid. Hopefully Áed’s guard inspired less terror than Áed would.
The beautiful chambers fell into darkness while Áed waited, and candlelight from Ronan’s room made shadows on the walls that shifted like ghosts as the boy moved and the flame flickered. The warm candlelight was at odds with the cool darkness that waited beyond the windows, and Áed realized that from these chambers, despite their lofty height, he could not look toward the Maze. The Red Sea, the tipping buildings, the gray filth on the streets, and the ragged humans that scurried and fought among them were hidden from sight and thought. It would be so easy to ignore everything that happened on the other side of the Gut. It would be so easy to relax in his sumptuous new chambers, dine on fine foods, and walk through the gardens with Ronan, pretending he had forgotten.
But he wouldn’t.
The long day had caught up with him
enough to make his eyelids sag when a brisk knock at the door stopped him from dozing. Swiping at his eyes, he hurried over to answer it.
The guard he’d sent stood in the doorway, sharp and straight. “It’s done, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.” He leaned back inside and called to Ronan that he’d be back in a little while, then stepped out and closed the door behind him. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him I was there on your orders, and he asked how that could be. I explained that you were the heir to the throne, Your Grace, and he didn’t say any more. He’s in the chambers a floor below us, Your Grace.” She gave a neat bow. “Will you go to see him now, Your Grace?”
“Yes. And you can call me Áed.”
Looking startled, she made to follow him down the stairs. “Oh. Alright. Well, I’ll accompany you.”
“Thank you,” he repeated.
She showed him down the stairs to an unassuming door and took up position beside it. Áed’s focus, however, wasn’t on her any longer as he raised his hand to knock.
There came no answer from within.
“Judoc?” he called tentatively. “Are you there?”
The old man, if he heard, didn’t reply.
The door was unlocked, and Áed nudged it open to find a dark room that smelled of dust. Taking a candle from a bracket outside the door, he stepped inside, and the flame illuminated hulking forms of furniture lurking in uneven shadows. He squinted into the darkness and jumped back when, closer than he expected, a phantom-like form seemed to materialize before him. “Judoc?”
The phantom moved away and drifted into one of the skeletal chairs. “Áed.”
“Yes.” He took another step in, holding up the candle.
Judoc’s pale silhouette made a humming sort of noise. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
Áed took a deep, dusty breath and set the candle on a table. He couldn’t think of what to say, but he recognized the distrust that still lurked in Judoc’s voice.
With a thin hand, Judoc pointed accusingly to the candle. “What are you doing with that, anyway? Don’t pretend you need it.”
Casting a concerned glance at the guard, Áed hastened to close the door. “Judoc, please. I want to explain.”
The wariness in the man’s eyes didn’t abate. “How much of what you told me in the dungeons was true?”
“All of it. I swear.”
Judoc narrowed his eyes. “Now, I believe that you killed the king. But the lost loved one, the child who needs you, the torture… that was real?”
In response, Áed pushed up his sleeve and let the old man’s eyes take in the cruel tattoos around his arm. “I never lied. About any of it.”
A slightly less acerbic expression crept over Judoc’s features. “I know what you are,” he said, his voice wary and guttural. “You’re one of them. The ones across the veil. I’ll be damned if I know how you’re here, but you can’t deny it.”
Áed took a chair and gave Judoc a questioning look, and Judoc nodded grudgingly. Áed sat, the seat creaking softly. “I don’t deny it. Not entirely, anyway.” Judoc’s expression stiffened, and Áed propped his elbows on his knees. “I’m half. Half-fae.” Áed could feel the old man’s disbelief, then shock. “I only found out when I got out of the dungeon,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t know what I was doing any more than you did.”
Judoc mouthed the word. Half…
“Somehow, Seisyll managed to assault my mother. She burned him, but evidently not enough to stop him.” Áed gestured to himself uncomfortably. “So here I am.”
He could almost see the gears turning in Judoc’s head, his distrust thrown by the truth. “When you burned the king…”
“He recognized my mother in me.”
Judoc leaned forward. “Does it come easily to you? The fire, the manipulation?”
“The fire does. I’m not manipulative, but I can read people.” He nodded to Judoc. “You’re feeling betrayed, not a little afraid, and you’ve had the last six weeks to resent your memory of me—that’s hard to overcome. But it wasn’t your very first impression, and the kindness you felt toward me when we first spoke is returning, just bit by bit. Now, you’re curious, in a guarded kind of way.”
Judoc interlaced his bony fingers on his knees. He didn’t seem to believe Áed would hurt him, and that was progress. “That was impressive,” he said slowly, and then his clear eyes flicked to look at Áed’s hands. “I want you to show me the rest.” He pointed to Áed’s crooked knuckles. “Your fire. Show me.”
Áed was hesitant, but Judoc fixed him with a stare against which he dared not argue. Áed chewed on his lip as he extended his hand and allowed the smallest flame that he could make to dance between his gnarled fingers. It rippled in a draft from the old room, colors shifting from gold to white at its source, and for a moment, it distracted him enough to grow. He quickly pulled the heat from his hand. “I’m better at controlling it now,” he said, pushing both hands into his pockets. “But it’s still tricky.”
“Áed,” Judoc said warningly, eyes still fixed on the place the fire had been. “You mustn’t let anyone know about that.”
“I know.”
The old man leaned forward insistently, and his ratty beard brushed at his thighs. “I’m serious. I believe, now, that you didn’t mean me harm, but I can’t think of many who would give you a moment to explain. Fae on the throne? Áed, you’d be killed. You are not one of a well-loved breed.”
Judoc’s warning held weight; when he’d told Áed of the dangers of escaping prison, he’d very nearly been right about Áed’s reward.
“In fact,” he went on, “you must act with caution anyway. Whether or not they believe you killed Seisyll, and whether or not they know your little secret, you are the dead king’s bastard son from the slums across the way. Not everybody will be pleased to have you on the throne, especially if they find they can’t use you for their own ends. Which, given what you are, I suspect they shall.”
“Ah.”
Judoc looked at him sideways, his gray-clear irises full of the candlelight. “What? Has something already happened?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.” He recounted his meeting with Boudicca’s stepfather, and the old man’s face folded with the intensity of his listening.
Judoc frowned, his deeply-lined face uneasy. “Elisedd. I knew him when he was seven years younger. I say, that man.” Judoc swayed his head slowly from side to side. “That man could talk his way into, out of, or alongside any situation the mind can create.” He rubbed the back of a finger across his chin. “Are you meeting with the Council soon?”
“I plan to. There’s a lot to talk about.”
“You’d best be careful, Áed,” Judoc said again. “My gut says it’ll be awhile before you have more friends than enemies.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Someone was knocking on his door.
Áed pushed himself up, brushing sleep from his eyes, and ran his hands through his hair, which stuck up anyway. Boudicca had gone home, so the chambers held only Ronan and himself. He dragged himself out of bed and slipped on the shirt he’d worn the day before, yawning at the soft morning light and the polite round of knocking that came again.
The hall was quiet, though soft voices rose from beyond the door. Remembering Judoc’s warning, Áed kept a hand behind the door, ready to defend himself if he had to, but his guards would surely not allow an obvious threat to approach. He opened the door a crack.
Elisedd stood beyond, his piss-yellow eyes examining his nails.
A second person, an unfamiliar young man with nearly-white hair, snapped to attention at the movement of the door, and Elisedd looked up a half-second later, almost lazily. “Elisedd,” Áed greeted him warily, and nodded to the man whose name he didn’t know.
Elisedd smiled greasily and bowed. “Áed, I’m honored to see you again. Has the move to the palace been comfortable?” An undertone of distaste ran beneath his words.
Áed on
ly held his tongue, waiting for Elisedd to state his business.
After a couple of uncomfortable seconds, Elisedd cleared his throat. “Allow me to introduce you to my son, Éamon. He is still a novice in the ways of the court, and I hope to educate him.”
“Oh?”
Éamon offered an uncomfortable smile, but quickly looked away when his father shifted in front of him. Áed wasn’t entirely sure what Éamon’s education had to do with him, seeing as Áed wasn’t particularly knowledgeable himself, but it occurred to him that that may have been Elisedd’s underhanded point.
“Your ascendance to the throne provides a valuable lesson on the nuances of politics,” Elisedd explained.
“Really.” It still wasn’t clear why Elisedd had come, but Áed didn’t want to engage in a verbal dance. Not this early in the morning. “Then I’ll offer some advice.”
Elisedd blinked in surprise. “Why, of course.”
Áed turned to Elisedd’s son, who, he noticed, had his father’s cheekbones but lacked his calculating eyes. “Inviting yourself to the private chambers of the Coming King and waking him early is not the best way to win his favor.” He smiled. “It’s just advice. But Elisedd should know better.” Without waiting for either of them to say anything, he turned back inside.
He’d almost made it to the stairs when he heard footsteps behind him and turned to find Elisedd reaching for his shoulder. Automatically, Áed dodged the councilor’s hand and sidestepped, and Elisedd lost his balance and stumbled to steady himself. When the man straightened, his face was flushed. “Áed—”
“What are you doing, Councilor?” Áed demanded.
“I have done nothing but try to serve Your Grace,” the councilor managed, but his jaw was tight.
“I didn’t ask for that.” Dangerous or not, Áed felt instinctually that keeping Elisedd close was even more risky than pushing him away. Keeping him at arm’s length might at least diminish the councilor’s ability to use him.
“Then you’re a fool,” Elisedd snapped. Immediately he seemed to realize what he had said, for he pursed his lips and then closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath through his nose. “Your Grace.”