by Anne Wheeler
Kresten wanted to wrap his arms around her. He’d just turned the one safe place she had into something else she needed to fear. Barely, just barely, he managed to restrain himself.
“It was bound to happen, sooner rather than later. He usually stays away from the lodge —it’s far too provincial for him—but he—”
“Heard about me?”
“Yes.”
At least one of them was relieved, as ashamed as he was that she’d done his thankless task for him. A mid-grade officer of the Vilarian Imperial Fleet shouldn’t be afraid of giving someone bad news.
Then why did he care?
Kresten shoved the question away to debate in bed that night.
“And?” she asked.
“And he’s coming to call me a hypocrite, I’m certain. And to leer at you, though that’s not something he’ll get away with.” It was a blunt assessment of his brother, but Ryllis needed to be prepared. “I’m not thrilled about it, but there’s no way I can avoid it.”
“Which means I can’t avoid it either, can I?”
He shook his head. “Vidar is—well, let’s call him determined.”
“Then I will survive.”
As I have before, he could have sworn he heard floating on the breeze. She didn’t seem inclined to say much else, and he pointed up the mountain.
“Care for a walk?”
Ryllis picked at a paver that was flaking apart. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”
They hadn’t been up since That Afternoon, as Kresten had taken to calling it in his mind and he couldn’t blame her for her reluctance. Eventually, sometime far in the future, he’d take her back there, and she’d see the beauty instead of the bad memories, but that would be a long time from now. She needed to heal, needed to learn to trust him, and that was something he couldn’t rush, as much as he wished he could.
“Not the waterfall,” he said. “But Lina and Aared live just up the way, and they have these hens that I think—”
“The hens? She’s told me about them. And”—Ryllis’s eyes lit up—“that you’re afraid of being attacked.”
“Well.” Would she think less of him if he looked afraid? Probably. He pushed the thoughts of their sharp beaks from his mind. Having Ryllis tend to him if they mauled him again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, especially if she did it while looking at him like this. “Perhaps you should meet them before mocking me over that.”
“Perhaps I should.” Ryllis laughed. “Let me change first, Your Highness . . . then let’s go for a walk.”
The well-worn trail to Lina’s house looped through a meadow instead of the dense forest Ryllis had expected, and Westermark’s house was never out of sight as they made their way up. The spring weather wasn’t as warm as she’d expected, but the sun felt good on her face. She’d become used to the static fields protecting the windows in her room, but it meant they didn’t open, and the lack of a fresh breeze was one more thing she missed about Cereth. It was partly why she spent most of the time in the garden, as risky as that was. She never stayed in one area of the garden for very long and, except for very short trips to gather supplies, kept out of the greenhouse that contained the young plants. It was the young ones which were the most responsive to her power and always had been.
Kresten chattered at they walked, her arm on his, pointing out the early wildflowers and spring lilies that didn’t seem to mind the fact the snow had just recently disappeared. Ryllis cataloged them all in her mind—there was an unused side garden near the mansion she hadn’t yet touched, and Westermark wouldn’t object if she worked in it when she was finished with the courtyard. The natural look of the meadow would be beautiful there if she could properly recreate it.
“This trail is partly why I shut the place up when I’m gone, especially in the winter,” Kresten said as he helped her over a small ditch. “Lina doesn’t need to be hiking through here in the snow.”
“I’d imagine not. How long has she been with you?”
“Since my age of majority, when I inherited this place. I came up here to see it, took one look at it, and decided there was no way I could make all the necessary repairs before I left for the academy. The next time I visited on a break, well, I couldn’t believe it. My mother had been here and met Lina prowling around the mountains, and between the two of them and a whole lot of contractors, they’d made it beautiful.”
It hadn’t ever occurred to her that Kresten had a mother. It was a strange thought. “Does your—the empress still visit?”
“No. She’s rather ill. Intractable dementia.” He glanced at her, and she couldn’t read the look in his eyes. “She scarcely knows me anymore, and visiting usually makes things worse for her. Kresten is her baby, not a man.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I was the youngest, and I don’t think there was ever a time I didn’t see her as elderly. It’s why she and Lina got on so fabulously.”
“And Lina just stayed on all this time.”
“It works for her. She and Aared love the mountains and will live out the rest of their time here, but she also loves having her hands busy. Judging by the way she watches down the hill for the lights to turn back on, I think she lives for the day I show up again—and dreads the day I leave.”
An uncomfortable emotion she couldn’t identify right away sank in the meadow, dulling the spring blooms. Westermark was too caught up in his own plans to notice the change in their luster, but she wasn’t.
He would leave this place.
Of course he would. He had a career that required he be off-world more than he was home. He had family of the worst kind, somewhere in Carilles, the capital of Vilaria, and they wouldn’t let him camp out here forever. And when he was forced to return to his real life? The uncomfortable feeling turned to panic. Would he take her with him when he left? Loan her to someone else in the imperial family? Or, perhaps, would he send her to Carilles, to one of the numerous palaces there, to work the laundry machines or in the kitchens, far away from this lovely meadow?
“When will that be?” she asked, hoping she sounded idly curious.
“I have another lunar cycle of leave,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “And no one has pressed me for a visit yet. They know I need the recovery time.”
“And then?”
What will happen to me?
“I report to Fleet headquarters in Arvika.”
The sun suddenly seemed so much hotter. Was it better to be taken to some Vilarian Fleet base where her circumstances would be visible to dozens of Fleet officers? Life was bearable enough now that dying was no longer at the forefront of her mind, but the very idea made her want to hide in her room and never come out. No one could survive that kind of humiliation.
Only on Vilaria, they were forced to.
“Your Highness—”
He chuckled. “Don’t look so anxious. You’ll come with me, of course. I have a flat there. There aren’t any gardens, but I have space for some pots. Anything you want.”
It was an answer, but was it the answer she wanted?
“That doesn’t please you?” he asked when she didn’t reply.
Ryllis focused on her feet and the damp earth underneath them. “Does it matter what pleases me?”
“Of course it does.”
“Just not enough.” She looked up at his face, twisted in confusion. “That was a rhetorical statement. It doesn’t require an explanation or cursory argument from you. I know where I stand.”
“Legally, perhaps.” He took her hand and pulled her to a stop. “But do you know where you stand with me?”
“Beyond a doubt. I’ve known since I realized that my father is governor in name only. Nothing but the desires of the Star Realm and its imperial masters matter—we conquered ones do not, especially on planets like Cereth. We are only to yield unquestioningly to whatever is ordered of us, and if that demand is slavery, well—we yield to that, too, without any argument. It’s always been
that way. I know how the galaxy works.”
“Ryllis.”
Her eyes began to burn, and she ducked her head so he couldn’t see the tears. It wasn’t anger in his voice. She’d wanted anger, not pain, and certainly not guilt. But anymore, anger wasn’t Westermark, and she couldn’t fight someone who treated her with kindness like he had over the past few lunar quarters. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm.
“No,” she said, brushing her cheeks dry. “Fine. I suppose I don’t know. I thought at first you meant to force yourself on me. I know it happens. We all know. And you’d been on Cereth for such an extended time, your wife gone so long . . . Then I thought perhaps you were trying to seduce me, make me believe it was my idea, so I’d give in easier, and you could assuage any guilt you felt about what you were doing. The way you looked at me in the snow and the way you comfort me after I’ve had a nightmare—it doesn’t make any sense, and that was the only explanation I could come up with. Only you haven’t touched me like that, ever. When you do, it’s respectful and warm and kind and exactly when I need it. You let me while away my time in the gardens, where I want to be more than anywhere except Cereth, and you somehow act like this is a normal situation for a prince with a slave he doesn’t seem to need.”
“You make me happy,” he said. “You always have, from the very first day I laid eyes on you. Why wouldn’t I want to do the same for you?”
Ryllis looked away from him, out toward the mountain. He put his palm on her cheek and drew her face back toward him. His touch flooded her with warmth, a strange feeling on this unprotected and breezy hillside. She should have hated him for manipulating her emotions, but instead she hated herself for feeling the way she felt.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Lina was shocked when she saw you that first morning at breakfast. And she reacted that way because she knows I’ve never used slaves since I reached my age of majority, indentured or otherwise. I barely use servants. You’ve probably already figured out that I misled you before about the house being filled with them—she’s the only one here now that Iria is retired for good, and at my flat in Arvika, it’s just me. I like it that way, the quiet and the solitude, but I enjoy your company more. So much more.”
He ran his thumb down her neck, and the meadow grew warmer. Over his shoulder, the snowdrops grew more vivid. Ryllis closed her eyes. The flowers didn’t understand. Westermark couldn’t be making her this happy—could he?
“Even so, if you don’t wish to accompany me to Arvika, I won’t force you—and the idea of sending you to the palace in Carilles never crossed my mind, if that’s what you’re worried about. Lina would be thrilled for the company if you stayed here, and I would survive by imagining your smile. I’d miss you more than you could ever imagine if you chose that option, but I suspect you’d have too much to do here to feel the same about me—I expect that wild, overgrown garden will be a paradise when I return.”
It was a bit of her self-sovereignty back, and Ryllis wanted to throw herself at him and kiss both his cheeks for the unexpected compassion. She pried his hand off her face instead and gave it a squeeze.
“Can I think about it?” she asked. Suddenly, with a sliver of long-desired freedom right in front of her, she wasn’t sure she wanted it. Was it the mountain she wanted—or was it him?
“Until the very second that shuttle departs with me on it. Now,” he said with a smile, “let’s go see these chickens.”
Chapter Ten
Aared greeted them with a wave when the house came into view, a leaf green wooden thing with steeply angled sides that met on the top to shunt off the heavy winter snows. The front was almost completely covered in tinted windows, the large front deck swathed in pots filled with whatever Lina could grow this high up. Kresten had always loved it for its mountain charm, from the very first time he’d visited.
The chickens? Well, the chickens were another story, but there were only a few in front pecking at the spring ground. They looked too busy to harass him. Kresten waved at Aared in return, deftly sidestepping a trio of hens as he came down the stairs to greet them.
“Your Highness.” Aared nodded respectfully, but his eyes were on Ryllis. “And Ryllis. My dear, Lina severely understated how lovely you are. But come, come. I’ll make you some tea—it’s cooling off, and we wouldn’t want the ladies to peck the prince to death.”
Her laughter rang out as they followed Aared inside, and Kresten poked a finger in her ribs.
“You just wait,” he said, “until they lay their beady little eyes on you. Keep laughing at me, and I won’t bother coming to your rescue when they do.”
“It’s a good thing, then,” she retorted, sitting next to him on the sofa in the main room, “that I can handle myself among a bunch of birds.”
“Not these. You have no idea.”
She laughed again and turned her attention to Aared. He waved off her offer of help with the tea and eyed them both while he bustled about the open kitchen. “It’s been a long while, Your Highness.”
“I was on Cereth for almost a solar cycle.”
“Ah.” Aared focused on Ryllis for a moment and frowned. “Right.”
“Aared,” Ryllis said, “tell me about the hens. I hear His Highness is . . .”
“Terrified of them?” Aared chuckled. “Yes. Six years ago, he was visiting, and for some reason, offered to take the feed out to them.”
“And they attacked me.” He could still feel their beaks breaking through his skin, could still hear how he’d hollered at Aared like a child.
“The prince slipped in the mud,” Aared said, ignoring him. “The feed went flying, and they came running, naturally. Only they were a little confused about what was food and what was royalty.”
“You can say that again.” Kresten glanced at Ryllis, who looked horrified and amused at the same time.
“We did get rid of the roosters after that,” Aared said. “It was the least we could do—and you didn’t argue about dinner that night, either.”
“Too little, too late. I still have scars, believe it or not.” He hitched up his pant leg and pointed. “Seven years in the Fleet, and the only marks I have to show for all my pain are from a bunch of birds.”
Aared shrugged and placed two cups of tea before them. “And how is the Fleet drudgery going?”
Next to him, Ryllis reached for her tea like nothing was wrong, but he felt her tense more than he saw it. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to hear about the Fleet. “Nothing new to report. You know how it is. Drudgery is drudgery.”
“Except for Cereth.”
His blood chilled. After so long, it was obvious when he was being questioned. But Aared was no threat. Just curious—a quality he’d picked up from his wife.
“It was a routine deployment,” he said.
“Not so routine, it seems.” Aared picked up his own cup. “You returned with a slave.”
“I did.”
“Then all your pretty talk about freedom and autonomy was just that?”
He should have known his straightforwardness would come back to bite him. Well, better a hypocrite than Aared and Lina—and Ryllis!—knowing his secret. He was behind enough questioning her as it was, and that would bring things to a screeching halt.
No. You’ve brought things to a screeching halt yourself.
“Really, Aared,” he said. “Could you at least have the decency to not question my decisions to my face? Especially in front of her?”
“I’m not questioning anything, Your Highness. I’m simply perplexed at the change in you.”
Kresten looked at Ryllis again. She’d clutched the tea in her hands like it was about to be torn away from her, and her lips were pressed closed, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t trust herself to stay silent.
“There’s nothing to be perplexed about,” he said. “We’ve eradicated thousands from various planets over the years. You know that. I knew Ryllis on Cereth, and I wasn’t about to subject her to
who knows what kind of future when I had the opportunity to bring her here. It seemed like the best option for all concerned.”
“Knew her? I’d assumed she was assigned to you when you arrived on-world.”
“In the prison.” Ryllis’s shaky voice cut in. “He was one of the guards. And he—he was good to me, as much as he was allowed. He gave me hope and has continued to do so since I arrived.”
Kresten couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but she’d never talked of those lunar cycles in front of him before now. She spoke to her hands, but even so, it sounded like she was defending him—or maybe thanking him.
Aared raised his eyebrows. “Ah,” he said. “Of course. Sometimes I forget what he does off-world. That does sound like His Highness.”
“And yes,” Kresten added, “I requested her when we arrived on Vilaria. Why wouldn’t I? Is that clear enough?”
“It is, Your Highness.” Aared turned toward Ryllis. “What do you think of the Kebnekaise Mountains?”
“They’re cold,” she said, after a short look at Kresten. “But beautiful.”
She didn’t look as flat as her voice sounded, and she didn’t look lifeless, but she didn’t look happy, either. Kresten didn’t blame her. He wasn’t all that pleased, either. It was too bad grabbing her hand in front of Aared was out of the question—not that there was a chance Lina had kept her observations to herself. Aared likely knew of the furtive glances, how they brushed fingertips, and how Ryllis ate in the kitchen with him every night.
“Has he told you about the cave behind the house?”
She shook her head. “The cave? No.”
His chance. Had Aared given it to him on purpose? Kresten stood. “I think I’ll do that now, if you don’t mind. If you’ll excuse us. . .”
Aared nodded, even though Kresten could feel his stare on his back as he led Ryllis outside. He stopped her on the back deck after they’d escaped out the door.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I should have known, should have warned you. Aared is a little too forthright for his own good.”