by James Tate
Eventually I grew impatient and cleared my throat. "I should think that this squares the debt between us. You could feed and clothe a hundred orphans for the price that stone would fetch."
Bloodeye gave me an unreadable look as he tucked the stone into his desk drawer and closed it with a click. "Very well. Consider yourself free of debt, Rybet Waise."
Wait, what?
My jaw hung open in shock, and I stood there like a stunned possum while Bloodeye picked up his pen and continued writing in his ledger like I'd already left the room.
"That's it?" I demanded, when he said nothing more. "It's that easy?"
Bloodeye paused his pen, looking back up at me with a raised brow. "Was it that easy to steal from Queen Filamina, then?"
My jaw snapped shut, and I backpedaled. "No, not at all. I just meant..." I flailed for words. His easy acceptance of my demand had been totally unexpected and thrown me for a loop. "What price will see Jules released?"
Bloodeye shook his head and sighed. "Rybet, our business here is done. You and your royal escort are free to leave, and I suggest you do so before I change my mind."
As badly as I wanted to stay and argue, I knew that cold tone of voice. He wouldn't be swayed into freeing my friend. Not today, anyway.
Swallowing all the protests I wanted to make, I spun and opened the door just in time for the sound of a woman's scream to echo down the hallway. This floor wasn't part of the whorehouse and that hadn't been a scream of pleasure, so I shuddered with revulsion and fury.
"Don't take it all so personally, Rybet," Bloodeye said, speaking to my back as I stood there frozen in rage. "I run a business, not a charity."
Just as I was about to storm out, a thought occurred to me, and I closed the door again.
"One last thing, seeing as our business is now done." I turned back to face the ultimate authority who'd governed my whole life so far. "You found me on the streets when I was four years old, didn't you?"
Bloodeye's brow furrowed slightly. "Yes, that's right."
I pursed my lips. "How did you know how old I was?"
A knowing smirk curved his lips, and he met my gaze without flinching. "You told me. Four-year-old’s are such chatty creatures."
"But not chatty enough to tell you who'd cared for me up until then? Seems odd." I was heaping the sarcasm on, and it wasn't going unnoticed.
"Is there something more specific you'd like to know, child?" Bloodeye asked in response, his grin wide and challenging. "Just ask."
Looking into his amused face, I knew I was staring into a bear trap. As hard as it was to walk away from answers, I bit my tongue and shook my head. "Nope, nothing. Just curious is all. How's Magda doing?"
Bloodeye clicked his tongue, almost looking disappointed that I'd backed down from the confrontation I'd been gearing up for. "No change. I'll tell her you were asking, though."
I nodded, then let myself and Ty out of Bloodeye's office before I cracked and started demanding answers from him. Like... did he know my mother? They would have been a similar age. But asking probing questions like that would be as good as admitting my true identity. On the off chance he didn’t know, I couldn’t risk clueing him in.
"That was interesting," Ty murmured as we stepped back out into the street, sticking to the rotting wooden pathway that kept our feet out of the water. All these years past the Darkness, and the Pond was still holding onto those last few inches of water throughout all the streets.
I sighed, feeling deflated at the odd, anticlimactic meeting with Bloodeye. "I'm confused," I admitted to my princely lover. "I thought he had orchestrated this whole thing, getting me oath-bound into the Royal Trials for his own gain. I'm almost positive he said he wanted me to become queen so that he would have shadow control of Teich. Now I'm questioning my own memory of that meeting."
Ty nodded his understanding. "No doubt he's up to something, but I don't think that's it. We'll just keep an eye on him. For now, that's the best we can do."
"I guess," I agreed, falling quiet as a man coming the other way passed us on the narrow walkway.
A subtle shift in the air, a sharp burn in my mark, and the unmistakable sound of a blade being pulled from a sheath all smacked into me at once, and I reacted on instinct.
My arms locked around Ty, shoving him with all my strength out of the path of the dagger and into the murky water of the Pond. Unfortunately, he had the same idea to try and protect me, so we ended in a tangle of limbs and splashing water.
"Stay close!" Ty shouted at me when he eventually came out on top—superior strength and all—then leapt back up to pursue our would-be attacker, who sprinted away into the distance. Shocked and confused, I sat there on my ass in three inches of dirty water, watching as the man who'd tried to stab Ty knocked over anything and everything to slow Ty's chase.
But this was no ordinary royal soldier chasing him, this was Prince Thibault.
He didn’t exactly wait to make sure I was following, but clearly respected my skills enough that he trusted me to handle myself.
I scrambled to my feet, clambering back onto the walkway and hurrying to keep them in my sight while Ty jumped, dodged, and even rolled under the shit our attacker was throwing into his path. It was all done with such fluid finesse that I could help but gape at his battle-strategy magic in action.
Ty caught the man when I was still some distance away, but when the flash of steel caught my eye from the folds of the man's cloak, I didn't hesitate.
Faster than I could have ever shouted a warning, I had one of my own blades soaring through the air. It landed with a heavy, wet thunk in the side of the man's throat.
"Really?" Ty drawled as I caught up to him. He still held the dead man by his shirt, but his unimpressed glare was all for me.
"What?" I demanded. "He had another knife, see?" I toed the blade at our feet where the dead man had dropped it.
Ty rolled his eyes, dropping the corpse he was holding. "I had that under control, babe. I wanted to find out who paid the hit on you before we killed him."
"On me?" I squeaked. "He tried to kill you! Clearly this disguise has done nothing to protect your identity."
Ty shook his head, exasperated, but cupped my cheek with a big hand and brought my face up for a demanding kiss. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured softly, our lips just a breath apart. "But that attack was definitely on you. Come on, let's search him before this lot turns us in to the royal guard." He jerked his head in the direction of all the shocked onlookers—way more people than I'd noticed were present until he’d pointed it out.
Crap.
"More like to Bloodeye's men. Better be quick."
We patted the dead man down efficiently, finding a pretty damning note in his pocket before Ty retrieved my knife and cleaned it off on the man’s clothing.
Silently we left the body where it lay, leaving it for Bloodeye to clean up as we rushed out of the Pond and back to the palace.
Chapter 20
LEE
Magic buzzed and tingled under my skin as I walked out to the gardens, making me flex my fingers as though that would help shake off the excess.
I'd just come from visiting Jules with the intention of only touching up the worst of her bruises, but the second I'd tapped into my magic, I'd known something was different.
When I touched her first injury, it healed in a fraction of the time they usually take—and the magic didn’t fade away afterward, like it should, lingering in my fingers.
A bit panicked, I'd taken off quickly to the gardens, to the one place I knew I could release excess magic in a safe way. The only way I knew how.
"Thank the gods," I breathed in relief, finding the greenhouse empty when I slipped inside. It was right on dusk, so most of the gardeners and groundskeepers were already finished for the day. I went straight to the line of small pots on the long counter down the center of the room—the seedlings. The second my fingers touched the soft soil, I released all that crackling magi
c and groaned as it drained out of me.
Careful to disperse the magic evenly among all the seedling boxes—so they would all grow evenly—I wandered up and down the table, touching each one as I went until I no longer felt so out of control.
"Wow," I said, refocusing on the table and finding the result of my work. Lush, leafy plants overflowed their tiny pots, bright blooms burst from every available space, and a tangled mess of roots dangled off the table.
There was no freaking way I could explain that away with good soil and sunlight. I was going to have to plant them all to hide the evidence or own up to the groundskeepers that I'd been creeping in and messing with their plants.
"Fuck that," I muttered under my breath. "Planting all night is a better option."
I shuddered at the idea of facing up to the head groundskeeper, a burly man called Thom. When I was a kid, he'd made it crystal clear that I wasn't to use my magic on his plants. He prided himself on his skill in growing flora naturally, but I couldn't physically keep myself away from the garden. Eventually I'd just started working in secret and letting Thom take the credit for such a flourishing garden.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize anyone was in here." The voice came from behind me—toward the door—and I spun around with what I was sure was guilt written all over my face.
The man standing there was a stranger to me, but based on his uniform, he must have been a member of the grounds staff. His curious gaze slid from me to the table of overflowing flowers behind me, then back to me again before he dipped his head in a small bow.
"Your Highness," he said, "I apologize for the breech of etiquette."
His words confused me for a moment before I realized he meant he'd seen my face without a mask. I'd grown so used to ditching the itchy thing around both Zarina and Sagen, I'd largely forgotten to wear it around the palace at all. It was a miracle no one else had noticed—or commented on it. Maybe they'd just assumed I was Lee the gardener.
There wasn't much point in trying to deny my true identity here, though. Lee the gardener didn't have magic, and the mess on the table was quite clearly due to magic. Heck, this poor old guy had probably just seen the pots as blank soil, the seeds freshly planted and invisible.
Then there was the stupid rule about commoners being put to death if they see a royals face. That law screamed of mother and her vanity, despite the claims it was an old tradition.
"No apologies necessary," I replied with an uncomfortable smile. "I shouldn't have been breaking etiquette myself. I promise, I won’t be hauling you off to the gallows for my own laziness." I ran a hand through my hair and shot a look to my freshly bloomed flowers. "I don't suppose we could keep this between us? Thom... doesn't appreciate my help."
The man—who had thinning white hair and deep lines on his face—seemed startled, but nodded his head, eyeing the flowers himself. "Do you need some help planting them, Highness?"
On instinct, I started to decline. This man had either finished for the day or was just about to. I didn't want to impose upon him for what could be hours of digging and planting simply because I'd lost control of my magic.
"It's no bother," the man assured me before I could even say a word. "I find working the gardens at night calming. Don't you?"
I couldn't have agreed more, so I nodded and smiled back at him. "If it's no trouble, I could probably use the help."
He just rolled up his sleeves and headed over to the tool rack to grab us a pair of small shovels and some thick gloves.
"I'm Kevaml." He introduced himself when he joined me once more. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Highness."
I shook his hand with a tight smile. "You too, Kevaml."
For some time, we worked in companionable silence, transporting plants from the potting table and out to the gardens, planting them in discreet places where Thom wouldn't immediately notice a new addition.
The whole process was calming. Grounding. Despite the massive amount of power I'd already used, I didn't feel the usual exhaustion that expending my magic brought on. Instead I was alert, full of energy like I'd slept for a full week. In the small areas that I dared use a trickle of magic to help an ailing tree here or a chilled violet there, none of it was a struggle. I was fully recharged like there was now a never-ending supply of magic in my well.
It was scary as shit and something I needed to discuss with Zarina and my brothers as soon as possible. But these flowers wouldn't plant themselves.
"You like to heal things, don't you, Highness?" Kevaml commented, startling me after I’d spent a little too long helping a struggling Dogwood tree.
I gave him a guilty glance—knowing full well I shouldn’t have been using my magic on the trees—and dusted my hands off. I'd ditched my gloves a while ago, preferring to feel the soil beneath my fingers. "It's my gift," I replied with a small shrug. "I don't think I could stop even if I tried."
The old man considered my answer for a moment, tugging off his own gloves and tucking them into his back pocket. "No, I don't think it’s that simple. Your magic doesn't push you to heal things—people or plants. I think it's you who pushes your magic in that direction."
I frowned, not understanding. "Me or my magic, it's all one and the same." I paused at his curious expression. "Isn't it?"
Kevaml just blinked at me, impassive. "Is it?"
There was something strange about this old man, I just couldn't quite place my finger on what it was. "If it's not, how do you explain the uncontrollable need I feel when I see someone hurt or a tree struggling to thrive?" I indicated the dogwood, which was looking a million times better already.
Kevaml gave a small shrug. "I would think that your own compassion and selflessness has crafted your magic into what it currently manifests as. Your desire to help everyone and everything, regardless of whether they deserve it, speaks to your depth of character, Highness."
It was an interesting perspective and not one I'd ever considered. My brothers and I had come into our magic as young boys but had only wielded it for the first time as young teens. When the plague had ripped through Lakehaven, we’d worked together to cure it, and it'd taken a combination of all our skills to do so. But Kevaml was suggesting it was our personalities that dictated our magic, not the other way around.
"I don't know," I murmured, thinking it over as I knelt back down and dug another hole for a new flowering plant.
Kevaml handed me a ready plant, its roots all loosened up. "Tell me this, sire. If there were a person in a position of power—a person who'd let ambition and hatred corrode their mind to the point of insanity, to the point where they no longer retained even a shred of human decency—what would you do to ensure this person was incapable of destroying more lives?"
I sat back on my heels, confused about the question. "Well, I don't know."
Kevaml just stared back at me. "Yes, you do."
I frowned at him, frustrated. "I guess I'd try and heal him. Mend whatever had broken inside him."
My gardener friend smiled a knowing smile. "Of course you would. Your brother, Thibault, would answer the same question quite differently, I imagine."
I grunted a noise of agreement. Ty wouldn't even second-guess that choice; he'd kill first and ask questions later.
I heaved a deep sigh. The scenario Kevaml was posing wasn't random. He was talking about my father, Titus. And he was right. In the back of my mind, I'd been running through all kinds of strategies for how I could try and heal my father.
"Some people," Kevaml said softly, "are too far gone to be saved. Some people simply don't deserve our compassion."
I shook my head. "I don't believe that."
"You give so much of yourself away, Highness. What happens if you wake up one day and find all the parts of you are gone, taken by less deserving people, and there's nothing left for you? For the ones you love?" The old man didn't sound like he was casting judgment, merely making an observation, but I shook my head again firmly.
"It doesn't work like that
," I told him with absolute confidence. "Compassion and kindness aren't finite resources. They don't simply run out if they've been overused. In fact, I believe it's the opposite. The kinder we are to those less deserving—as you say—then the more kindness we have to give." As I said this, I felt the absolute truth of it in my soul. "That's a well that will never run dry, so long as there is breath in my lungs."
Kevaml stared at me for a long moment, his face both open and guarded all at the same time, revealing absolutely nothing. Then he smiled. For the first time, I sensed I was seeing a genuine smile from him, while everything up to this point had been more calculating.
"I agree, Prince Louis. I absolutely agree." He gave a nod of approval, like I'd passed some sort of test. "We're almost done here. Why don't you let me finish up? You must have a special lady waiting on you by this stage of the Royal Trials." His suggestive brow waggle made me laugh, and I stood up.
"Thanks, Kevaml. This has been pleasant." I brushed the worst of the dirt off my hands and onto my pants, then offered him a hand to shake. "I appreciate your wisdom."
The old gardener shook my hand with a benevolent nod. "As I do yours, Highness. Enjoy your night."
I headed back to the palace with a bounce in my step, my heart and mind calm and at peace after my chat with Kevaml. I'd only made it halfway back to the greenhouse when I realized I still had the old man's handkerchief tucked into my pocket. He'd given it to me earlier when I'd had some dirt in my eye, and I didn't want to keep it. Cotton handkerchiefs didn't mean much to the nobles, but I was well aware that a lost one would be an expense a gardener didn't need. So I turned around and went to hand it back to him.
"Kevaml," I called out as I came closer, finding him bent over the flower bed, patting the soil flat around the violets we'd just planted. "Your handkerchief."
The old man turned at the sound of my voice, then gave me a blank look.
For my part, I stopped dead in my tracks, looking around with confusion. The man looking up at me was the same age as Kevaml, with the same wispy white hair and deeply lined face... but this man had deep, muddy-brown eyes, while the man I'd just spent hours gardening with had clear, light blue ones.