The Hidden King

by E G Radcliff

  Elisedd replied by staring.

  Áed raised his voice. “Guards!” Immediately, the door flew open, and Áed’s guards stood at attention. “Take this man away.”

  “Wait!” Elisedd protested as the guards took hold of his arms. “Where?”

  “The dungeon for now. Not too deep, not yet.” He didn’t think he could condemn anyone—except perhaps Óengus—to the horror of those deep, lightless cells, no matter what they’d done.

  The guards nodded perfunctorily and half-led, half-dragged a protesting Elisedd, whose silver words shattered uselessly on the ground.

  Éamon covered his mouth with his hands and sank back down into the chair. There was a trembling in his shoulders. “I can’t believe…” He looked up, and his lavender-blue eyes, one ringed by that horrible bruise, found Áed’s face, wordless.

  “I’m sorry.”

  But Éamon only closed his eyes. “No. That was too long in coming.” He looked up at Áed, and the haze fell back over his expression. “Gods, Áed, I am so sorry. So sorry.”

  “Éamon, why didn’t you tell me? If he threatened Boudicca, we could have had Cynwrig protecting her, even protecting you.”

  “I couldn’t.” Éamon grimaced. “I’m so sorry. Elisedd has people everywhere, and it would take a word from him to have Boudie dead in an hour. No time. No time at all.” He cupped a palm to his eye. “My Gods. My head.”

  “Here, let me see.” Áed nudged Éamon’s hand out of the way. “You said he used a candlestick?”

  “The one on the mantle.”

  Áed eyed the heavy bronze and gave a low whistle. “Was he trying to kill you?”

  “Not sure.” Éamon replaced his palm over the injury. “Usually he doesn’t hit places that show.” His uncovered eye blinked. “My head’s all foggy.”

  Áed wasn’t surprised. “Alright. Let me get rid of this wine, and we’ll figure out what to do.” He carried the glass to the room where Éamon had prepared it, and then he poured it down the drain.

  When he returned, he gave Éamon his hand and helped him up. Elisedd’s son swayed for a moment before he steadied. “Áed, do you believe how sorry I am?

  Áed nodded. “I do.” Éamon had risked a lot by warning Áed, and Áed was still grateful.

  Éamon sagged with relief. “What will you do with my father?” His voice wavered just slightly. “The punishment is death, I know that.”

  Áed didn’t plan on keeping to that. No more blood on his hands. “I’m not going to execute him. Perhaps I’ll banish him to No-Man’s-Land.”

  A little more relief relaxed through Éamon’s shoulders. “Maybe I shouldn’t be glad of that…”

  “He’s your father.”

  Éamon nodded, and Áed gestured toward the door.

  “Come on. Boudicca’s in my chambers, and you two should talk. The General, too, if you can find him around.”

  Éamon nodded and followed him out.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The mid-afternoon sunlight streamed through open windows. Boudicca sat, knees tucked up, on the couch next to Ronan, and her face brightened as Áed came in with Éamon behind him. Then her mouth fell into a perfect ‘O,’ and she was up from the couch in a moment. Her stepbrother slumped into her arms, and she hugged him, hands worried on his back, before she pushed him away to see his face. His eye had begun to swell closed. “Éamon,” she gasped. “What happened?”

  “Where’s Cynwrig?”

  “I don’t know. Why? Éamon, what’s happened to you, are you alright?”

  “We need to talk. Cynwrig too.”

  Boudicca shot Áed a worried, questioning look. “Would you tell me what’s happened?”

  Éamon replied. “Elisedd tried to poison Áed.”

  Boudicca’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I’ll explain,” Éamon mumbled. “I’ll do better when I can think straight.”

  “Gods… alright. Alright. Áed, are you alright?”

  Áed nodded assuringly. “I’m fine.” His eyes fell on Éamon, who had leaned heavily on the wall. “Elisedd assaulted him with a candlestick. Do you think it’d be a good idea to bring him to your flat for a little while?”

  “I was about to suggest that.” Her hands gently touched her stepbrother’s injury, and Éamon winced. “Where is Elisedd now?”

  “I ordered him to the dungeons for now.”

  She blinked and shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Well, I can, but… Gods. I’m so glad you’re safe.” She gave a little gasp. “Oh! What did the Council say?”

  “The coronation is tomorrow night, which is sooner than I expected, but it’ll be fine, I think.”

  She put a hand to her forehead. “Goodness.” She shook her head again, as if to clear it, and moved to take Éamon’s arm. Éamon didn’t argue. “Áed, I’ll come back tomorrow, but I have to tend to Éamon. You’ll be alright for tonight?”

  “Of course. Boudicca, thank you so much for everything.” He gave a little wave to Éamon, who managed a pained smile. “Heal quickly, Éamon. Thank you for warning me.”

  “I’m sorry. Again.” He returned the half-wave. “I’ll see you at the coronation. Be damned if I miss it.” Then, obeying Boudicca’s concerned murmurs, he let her steer him from the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Are you nervous?”

  Ronan had been up for hours and was bouncing from one foot to the other in Áed’s room. Áed nodded slowly. “Yes, a little.”

  “I’d be nervous. Why aren’t you more nervous?”

  “Don’t worry, it’ll catch up with me.” His nerves were doing their best to squirm through the fray of his thoughts. Nerves about the coronation, about humiliating himself, about what he would do afterward. He’d been planning since he first decided he’d take the throne: First, he would send supply carts to the Maze, under guard to prevent the gangs getting hold of them or people killing each other for a basket of apples or a bushel of wheat. It wouldn’t be a popular decision, and nor would the one in which he sent troops to break up the gangs, healers to tend to the damaged, and governors to prevent anarchy.

  He let out a breath. He’d be busy.

  Áed jumped a little when a knock sounded at the door, and he moved to open it. A page no older than Ronan stood outside, and the boy took off his cap and bowed low when Áed came to the door. “Your Grace,” the page said, straightening again. “I have a message from General Cynwrig. He says that if you meet him in the dungeon’s antechamber, he has something for you to attend to.”

  Áed frowned. “The dungeon’s antechamber?”

  “It isn’t an unpleasant place, Your Grace,” the page assured him. “Just a room with a door to the dungeon. I’ll show you the way, if you please.”

  “Ronan,” Áed said over his shoulder, wondering what this could be about. “I’ll be right back.”

  He followed the page down the stairs and through the palace halls with which he was gradually becoming familiar.

  “Did the General say his purpose?”

  “No, Your Grace,” the page replied promptly. “But he had a man with him who seemed rather frightening.”

  “What did this man look like?”

  “Frightening, Your Grace.”

  Áed sighed. After the previous day, he thought he was probably ready for anything, but that didn’t mean that he was excited for whatever scene awaited him.

  A door like any other door greeted them, and the page held it open for Áed. “Your Grace,” he said politely, bowing again. “General Cynwrig awaits inside.”

  “Thank you,” Áed replied, and the page took his leave with another half-bow.

  The antechamber was dimmer than the hallway, making Áed blink for a second, but when his eyes focused, he saw Cynwrig standing before him. “Your Grace,” the General said in his customary, professional tone. Something was different, however, something that didn’t show in the man’s voice but that Áed felt nonetheless; it was almost… friendly.

 
; “General,” Áed replied curiously. “What is it?”

  “Something that I thought you might like to see.” He beckoned Áed to follow, and started walking down the long room. The floor sloped gently downward and the walls were bare stone, which Áed didn’t like, but the air was warm enough and didn’t carry the dungeon’s oppressive dampness. At the end of the room, a forbidding door was barred tight, and Áed guessed with a shudder what lay behind it.

  “Why does the dungeon need an antechamber,” Áed asked, “if it has openings elsewhere?”

  “This serves as the guards’ lounge,” Cynwrig explained. “But I’ve cleared everyone out for the moment.” He stopped walking and turned to his right, and Áed followed his gaze.

  There, manacled to a cleat in the wall, sat a greasy-haired man with eyes of flat darkness.

  A frigid shiver ran from Áed’s head to his toes, and he took an involuntary step back as the torturer’s eyes flicked over him, grim and gummy about the edges. “Cynwrig,” Áed managed, swallowing hard and glancing back toward the entrance, toward the hall and safety. “What the hell.”

  Cynwrig folded his hands behind his back. “Your Grace, when you arrived half-dead at my sister’s flat, I recognized the work of this man.” He nodded toward Óengus. “I recognized, too, that he had never been given an order to harm you.”

  Óengus’s black hair lay lank on either side of his face, and his nose shone with oil. He looked smaller than Áed’s memory had attested, but he still gave Áed a curling smile. Áed looked away, heart stuttering a little. He had never wanted to see this man again. Never. “I thought… I thought it was a punishment for what happened to Seisyll.”

  The General shook his head. “Your punishment would have been a simple death had Cadeyrn not taken mercy on you. And, seeing as Cadeyrn is the merciful sort, he never gave this man permission to lay a finger on you.” Cynwrig fished a cigarette out of his pocket and, placing it between his lips, lit it. He exhaled the smoke into the torturer’s face. “So I took it upon myself to bring justice.” He shrugged, holding his cigarette carelessly between two fingers. “I didn’t approve of you, Áed, but this was too much to ignore. Far too much.”

  “General,” Áed said slowly. His heart was beating hard just from being in the same room as Óengus, but he was beginning to make sense of Cynwrig’s intentions. “I might actually be starting to like you a little bit.”

  Cynwrig took another puff of his cigarette, the smoke making the room hazy. “I’m flattered. My point for bringing you here is that my men finally caught this rat trying to leave the palace—evidently he’s been hiding in the dungeons—and arrested him. He’s yours to deal with as you choose.”

  The torturer, Áed noticed, was terrified. His beady little eyes darted around the room, and every time they landed on Áed, the man turned a shade paler, until he was the color of a corpse. He looked ready to piss himself.

  Good.

  Gathering his courage, Áed took half a step closer to the man who had so thoroughly ruined him. “General,” Áed said thoughtfully. “What would ordinarily be the punishment for his crime?”

  Cynwrig smiled, just a little bit. “He’d be tattooed as a criminal and left to beg on the streets.”

  “Hmm,” Áed said, braving another step. Óengus’s stink stopped Áed from coming any closer, and Áed wrinkled his nose. “I think that would be a sorry punishment for the streets.”

  “What would you have me do, Your Grace?” Cynwrig raised an eyebrow.

  “Please,” the torturer croaked, but Áed ignored him. “Please, Your Grace, have mercy on your misguided subject.”

  “You’re looking for mercy in the wrong place,” Áed replied flatly. He turned to Cynwrig. “Tattoo him as a criminal,” Áed directed. “And bury him deep in some gods-forsaken cell.” He put his back to Óengus, facing Cynwrig alone. “Then forget about him.”

  With a brief nod, Cynwrig extinguished his cigarette and placed his hands professionally behind his back once more. “Your Grace,” he said. “Consider it done.”

  The torture-master moaned pitifully as the two began to walk away, but his complaint fell on impassive ears.

  “His fate seems rather vengeful,” Cynwrig observed to Áed as they crossed the long room again, heading back toward the hall.

  Áed considered it. The General wasn’t wrong. “Do you begrudge me that?”

  Cynwrig shook his head. “Not at all, Your Grace. Not at all.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The General bid Áed good luck and left to prepare the August Guard for the coronation ceremony, and back in his chambers, Áed flopped onto the sofa and let out a long breath. Ronan climbed up next to Áed and leaned on him, and Áed dropped an arm over the boy’s shoulders. “You ready, ceann beag?”

  “Are you?” Ronan adjusted himself so he could see Áed’s face. “You look stressed.”

  Áed chuckled. “A little, mate. I didn’t like the person I just had to go see.”

  “Cynwrig?”

  “No,” Áed said. “Someone else.” He sighed. “Can you believe it, Ronan? Tonight—”

  “You’ll be King,” Ronan finished for him. “Are you excited?”

  Áed deflected. “Are you excited to be a prince?”

  At that, a slow smile unfurled over Ronan’s face. Clearly, he hadn’t thought of that, though in the six weeks before their move to the palace, Áed and Cynwrig had discussed it. Ronan would be the ward of the King, a king with no children; he would be heir to the throne. Prince of the White City and all the Gut. “I’ll be a prince?”

  Áed smiled. “You sure will.”

  A knock at the door presently announced a visitor, and Áed got up from his seat to find two people that he had not seen before. One was a portly woman with a cheerful expression and hair done up into a dimpled bun on the top of her head, and the other was a girl of perhaps Áed’s age with a quiet face and hard, observing eyes.

  The two of them, dressed in servants’ garb, stepped into the room at Áed’s invitation and curtsied in unison. “Your Grace,” the woman said modestly. “We’ve come to make you ready.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” He offered a smile that, he realized, probably held a hint of nervousness. “What are your names?”

  The girl looked surprised that he asked, and the woman responded. “I am Aifric, and this is Aileas.”

  Aifric and Aileas. He wondered how many times he would call them by the wrong names until he remembered which was which. They had no supplies with them, and he frowned. “Are we to go someplace else?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Aifric replied with another curtsy. “We will escort you, if you will follow.”

  Áed gave Ronan a hug, murmured a “See you soon,” and then they were off.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  They arrived at a room, and Aifric bustled inside. “See that door there?” she said, pointing, and Áed nodded. “That opens to the throne room. When we’re finished, you’ll walk right out there.” Aileas ambled over, and Aifric nudged Áed in her direction. “Get him dressed,” she directed, “while I prepare everything else.”

  Aileas nodded to Áed and turned away, and Áed followed.

  Aileas led him behind a folding screen, a space shared with an enormous wardrobe and a chair, and she opened the doors of the wardrobe and began rifling through the clothes. It all looked immensely rich. Without even looking over her shoulder to speak to him, she ordered: “Undress.”

  “What?”

  Aileas pulled her head out of the wardrobe and fixed him with a strange look. “Undress. Take your clothes off.”

  “With you here?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “How am I supposed to dress you if you’re already wearing something? Leave your underclothes on, I don’t care, but we don’t have time for modesty. Have you ever done this before?”

  “No.”

  “Then do what I say.”

  “Your rudeness is refreshing,” Áed grumbled, and Aileas turned back to the wardrobe
as he pulled his shirt over his head.

  “You’re no older than me,” her voice came, muffled by fabric. “Coming King or not.”

  “Are you always like this?”

  She pulled herself out of the wardrobe again, looking critically at a piece of clothing in her hands. “You’re to be king because Seisyll was completely mad. Now, I think he had it coming, dying like that, but you were just lucky. I don’t see how you deserve my deference—” Her words stopped abruptly as she looked up at him. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  Áed dropped into the chair to pull off his shoes as her eyes flitted over his exposed upper body. “Luck’s a funny word for it.”

  “I’d heard,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t…”

  Áed dropped his shoes next to the chair and stood. Aileas’s gaze followed the motion. “Didn’t believe it?”

  She shook her head. “They were just rumors.”

  He shrugged. “I wish they weren’t true.”

  She straightened her shoulders and seemed to reclaim her confidence. “Perhaps I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

  “How about we do this properly?” He held out his hand. “I’m Áed. Nice meeting you.”

  Aileas gingerly shook his hand, and she didn’t even try to disguise her stare at its crumpled shape. “Aileas.”

  “No assumptions, yes? We’ve just met, after all.”

  “Do you actually want me to call you Áed?”

  “Yes, please. I like my name.”

  She nodded, and the way she looked at him had changed. He was almost sure he noticed a hint of respect in her eyes.

  That gave him a bit more hope for his future as King.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Áed had never even touched material so fine, not even when Boudicca had prepared him for the move to the palace. Aileas refused to let him look in the mirror yet—in fact, she covered it with a cloth—but when he looked down he thought he was practically shining. The colors were muted, but they captured the light with impossibly fine threads, held it, and threw it back in a way that shifted when he moved.