by Kim Fielding
Aric pressed up against his shoulder. “What happened?”
“I sh-showed them my gift. Not Friddy—I wasn’t allowed to see him. Lord Maudit and h-his cronies. And they were fucking thankful f-for my dreams. Offered m-me a good salary, fancy apartments in the p-palace, everything I wanted. Except Friddy. I still wasn’t g-good enough for him.”
“That’s not right!” Aric said indignantly. “You were good enough for him to begin with, and then after you’d gone to such lengths to be….”
“Useful. I w-was useful but not noble. I should have known b-better, but I told you, I was a fool.” Gray ran his palm over his hair, smoothing it back, and then gently banged his head against the wall three times. “I was heartbroken, and the d-dreams, they got less bearable every n-night. M-my only consolation was that maybe I was helping people. Saving a f-few lives. I even saved P-prince Cadell’s son once, from a f-fall from a horse. And j-just a few nights later, I dreamed of another child. An infant, d-daughter of a beggar. She would die because h-her mother hadn’t enough milk and c-couldn’t afford a wet nurse.”
Aric felt ill again. He knew where this tale was heading. “Gods, Gray.”
“G-gods didn’t help her either. L-like you and Itan, I found her too late. D-damned hard to search when I could barely speak.”
Aric squeezed his arm, but Gray wrenched himself free and sprang to his feet. He paced the few strides his chains permitted him, reminding Aric of a caged bear he’d seen when he was a boy. The bear’s claws and teeth had been pulled, and it walked back and forth, back and forth, roaring its anger and despair.
“I was fucking f-furious. I fled from the palace to the city. I stayed first with my parents, but I couldn’t bear the sorrow in their eyes, so then I s-simply hid. I h-had silver and gold, and I m-moved from one inn to another. T-told nobody of my dreams.” Gray’s breaths were coming fast and heavy, as if he were still fleeing. It must have been hell for him to be alone like that, Aric thought, unable to communicate and with nobody to soothe him.
Gray abruptly stopped his frantic movements and collapsed onto his knees on the blankets. “I dreamed Queen Lentia’s death.”
Aric couldn’t help but gasp. He remembered when the queen had died. Aric’s great-uncle had died a year or two earlier, and Aric was still nowhere near his full size. A dozen years ago, perhaps. The queen had been walking in the palace gardens and was stung by a wasp—normally an event of little import, but her face had swelled and she had collapsed, unable to breathe. She was dead within minutes. The entire kingdom was in mourning for months, and it was rumored that the king never truly recovered from the loss. And now it occurred to Aric that she was not only the queen, but also Prince Aldfrid’s mother. The mother of the man Gray loved.
“It was s-spite,” Gray said quietly. “Nothing but petty v-vengeance. I said nothing, and f-four days later she was gone. I could… I could have lived with m-myself after that, I think. Convinced myself that her d-death was a price the crown owed. B-but vengeance is empty if your victim is unaware. I r-returned to the palace and told Lord Maudit. D-don’t know what I expected them to d-do to me. Hang m-me, perhaps.”
“Did you want to be hung?” Aric asked in a small voice.
“M-maybe. The dreams…. But they d-didn’t show me that mercy.” He rattled the chains that connected to his wrists. “They put me here, so I c-could continue to dream for them. I saw Friddy f-for one moment, just before they dragged me into this building. I thought he’d b-be enraged at me, b-but he only looked betrayed.”
Gray sank to the floor and folded his legs in front of him. One palm covered his useless eyes, as if he were still trying to block out the sight of his former lover’s face. Aric didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything, didn’t even move. Outside, the wind gusted, making the rain rattle against the wall. Aric closed his eyes and ran a finger around the rim of his empty cup. It wasn’t quite smooth; there was a small bump in one spot, and he rubbed and rubbed at it until the cup cracked under the pressure. The length of his finger was sliced open on the shard, but he didn’t cry out. Instead, he put the finger in his mouth and sucked at the coppery taste until the bleeding stopped. Gray could probably heal it, he thought. But Aric didn’t say anything.
When the minutes dragged by and Gray remained silent and unmoving, Aric scooped up the pottery shards and Gray’s undamaged cup. He walked back to the main chamber, where he tossed the broken pieces into his chamber pot and set Gray’s cup on the table. Then he put the teapot on top of the stove for a few moments, just enough to reheat the tea. He refilled Gray’s cup, returned to the cell, and pushed the cup into Gray’s hand. Gray took it silently but dipped his face and inhaled the steam. “D-do you hate me now?” he said after a brief pause. “Now that you kn-know.”
“No,” Aric replied, because a simple answer seemed best. A simple answer from a simple man.
Gray exhaled shakily and sipped at his tea.
“I guess I understand why they’ve treated you so badly,” Aric said after a while. “I don’t think you deserved it, but I can see why they’d lock you up, why they’d… keep you like this. It’s horrible, and you should have been forgiven long ago. You were young and they’d hurt you. But why did they take your eyes as well?”
“They didn’t.”
Only two words, but they sent a chill through Aric’s heart that was far worse than the cold he’d felt the night before. “Oh no,” he whispered. “What did you do?”
“I thought… if I’m b-blind I can’t have the Sight anymore. You see how w-well that worked.” He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Aric couldn’t bear it anymore. He crouched in front of Gray and gathered him in his arms, heedless of the warm tea that spilled between them. Gray was stiff at first, but only for a moment, and then he sighed and returned the embrace, tucking his face into the crook of Aric’s neck. “I’m a f-fool,” he said.
Not as much as me, Aric thought, because he was already formulating a plan.
Chapter 15
ARIC may have been stupid, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He decided that he wouldn’t say a word to Gray until it was too late. He’d never before had a secret—except his love for Gray—or anyone to keep a secret from. It felt a bit strange, like having a bird trapped in his chest and trying to get out.
Or maybe his new secret was more like a seed, planted inside himself and slowly growing. Now it was only a tender shoot, but as he coaxed it and fed it, it would get a bit bigger every day, sending tendrils upward and outward. He hoped someday soon it would flower and bear fruit.
Stop, he told himself sternly, deciding he made a much better mule than a poet.
“Do you find the Yganfrian War amusing, Brute?”
Aric snapped back to the here and now. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Master Sighard cracked his stick on the floor, clearly wishing he could crack it over Aric’s skull instead. “Why don’t you explain the factors that led to the war,” said the schoolmaster as the children snickered.
“Um… there was a famine, and the barons were delinquent in collecting taxes, so the king—”
“Which king?”
Aric wracked his brain. “Uh… Bolbec?”
“Bolbec the Third, you mean.”
“Right. King Bolbec the Third was trying to increase his naval forces because he was fearing an invasion from… the south. But he didn’t have the funds without the taxes, and—”
“Yes, yes, yes. That bit is obvious. What were the names of the barons who sided with the king?”
Aric hadn’t any idea. He stared at the ceiling high above, as if it might provide the answer, and when it didn’t, he looked at Quoen instead. She only shrugged. He was going to start blurting names at random when the door slammed open, startling them all. Warin came running across the polished floor at top speed. “Brute! Lord Maudit wants to see you.”
Aric stood. “Excuse me, sir.”
The schoolmaster glowered, but he couldn’t
very well prohibit his student from responding to Lord Maudit’s summons. “Tomorrow I shall expect a full report from you on the causes and consequences of the Yganfrian War.”
“Yes, sir,” said Aric. He was already halfway to the door.
Warin bounced along at his side as they made their way to the West Tower. The sky was bright blue streaked with a few white clouds, and the trees in the palace gardens were covered in white and pink blossoms. A few noblewomen were out in bright-colored dresses, their shoulders covered only by light shawls and their hair done up in impossibly intricate knots. They laughed to one another as Aric passed, but he was used to that and paid very little attention. He was too busy worrying about why Lord Maudit wanted to see him. Had someone finally entered Aric’s chambers in the Brown Tower and discovered the relatively comfortable way in which he’d been keeping Gray? Had someone decided to relieve Aric of his duties, perhaps send him away altogether? Had Lord Maudit somehow sussed out what was going on in Aric’s head?
He was a nervous wreck by the time they reached the West Tower. Warin was clearly willing—in fact, eager—to follow him inside, but a guard shooed the boy away, and Aric was left on his own.
The round man frowned at him but ushered him into the office, where Lord Maudit was deep in conversation with a pair of men in embroidered waistcoats. He looked up when Aric entered, motioned impatiently for him to wait near the door, and continued talking. The men had thick accents that were hard to understand, but they seemed to be discussing something to do with the security of trade routes and bandits. Aric decided it was nothing to do with him and went back to fretting. Sweat was dripping down his back and making him itch, but he tried his best not to fidget. He wished he was back under Master Sighard’s disapproving gaze.
After an eternity or two, Lord Maudit and his guests seemed to reach some sort of agreement. They shook hands and exchanged papers, and the men in waistcoats spared Aric quick, derisive looks before they sailed out of the office. Lord Maudit made a beeline for his desk, where a half-empty glass of amber liquid was sitting somewhat precariously atop an uneven pile of books. He threw back the remaining liquor in one long swallow before gesturing for Aric to approach.
“You’ve been here nearly a year,” Lord Maudit said without preamble.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Nobody else has ever lasted a year. Not even close.”
Aric wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing.
“Why haven’t you left, Brute?”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
Lord Maudit narrowed his eyes. “Do you know why he’s kept like he is?”
“I… I heard, sir.”
“And what do you think of that?”
Aric couldn’t lie about this. He met the lord’s eyes. “It’s horrible, Your Excellency. He’s been miserable for so long.”
“He betrayed his queen and his kingdom. He betrayed his supposed friend.”
“He was young, sir.”
Lord Maudit shook his head. “When you were younger, did you betray your friends like that?”
“I had no friends, sir.” And then, because he might never have another chance, he added, “Please, Your Excellency. Hasn’t it been enough? Can’t he be let go now? Or at least given a bit more freedom? I could… I could escort him around the palace now and then, or maybe—”
“No.” With a heavy sigh, Lord Maudit looked into the bottom of his empty glass. “Gray Leynham’s sentence was pronounced by the king himself, and it is final. More than a decade later, and the king still mourns his wife.”
They were difficult words to hear, every one of them like the tightening of a chain around Aric’s heart. But they also strengthened his resolve to see his plans through—assuming he wasn’t ejected from the palace forthwith.
Lord Maudit set his glass down on the desk again, this time on a bit of bare wood that hadn’t yet been covered by papers. “Prince Aldfrid has asked me to convey to you his appreciation for your dedication to duty. He understands that your task is a… taxing one. I have ordered that your salary be doubled. Two silver coins each month and two extra for the festival.”
Aric gasped. He had barely any need of coins as it was, so he had a healthy balance on the ledgers. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do with twice as much. Oh, but yes he could. He could give it away, couldn’t he? He could live here at the palace in comfort, spend a few coppers now and then on this or that, and have most of his pay left over. How many beggars could be fed on two silver coins each month? How many blankets could he buy to hand out when it got cold? How many times could he pay a healer to stop a fever, mend a twisted limb?
“You may go now,” Lord Maudit said, and after a brief pause, Aric hurried away.
He didn’t hurry all that far, however. Once he was outside the West Tower, he found a sunny bench that was tucked away near the laundry, where the sweet smell of lavender and soap drifted by his nose and a flock of sparrows argued over some crumbs scattered on the cobbles.
Life had never been so complicated when all he had to do was haul rocks up a hill. He’d never been responsible for anyone’s fate then—barely even his own—and he’d had no decisions to make. Now he felt again as if he had a great weight on his shoulders, but it wasn’t one he could simply remove and drop to the ground. And no matter what he did, he was going to do harm to someone.
He’d never had much use for prayers. He’d always figured that the gods had more important people to listen to. But now he bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Please,” he murmured. “Please guide me. Just this once.”
Not surprisingly, no celestial being appeared in front of him to tell him what to do.
When his butt grew sore from sitting on the stone bench, he stood and made his way to the kitchens. Lunch, at least, would be dependable and uncomplicated. He found Alys right away and helped her carry a huge bag of carrots inside.
She blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Warin tells me Lord Maudit wanted to see you.”
“Hmm.” He leaned up against a wall—as much out of the way as possible—and crossed his arms.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. He just wanted to pass on the prince’s thanks for staying so long.”
“Oh.” She dumped an armful of carrots into a wooden tub, picked up a knife, and began to peel. “Why have you stayed so long, Brute? Doesn’t it get to you, the screaming in the night?”
“Of course it does. It’s terrible.” He didn’t tell her that it was even worse when the screaming man was in your arms, trembling and crying.
“But you haven’t run away.”
“I guess I’m too stupid to know better.”
She snorted. “Come on by tonight after dinner. We want to discuss the wedding with you.”
He didn’t know what that was about, but he said okay and picked up his lunch pail from one of the broad, scarred tables and carried it back to the Brown Tower.
Gray was standing in the corner of the cell, humming something under his breath. He looked up with a broad smile as soon as Aric entered the room. “I was h-hoping you’d come by.” His stutter had disappeared almost entirely in recent weeks, although it still reappeared when he woke up after one of his nightmares.
Aric felt an immediate twinge of guilt for all the time he’d sat on the bench. “I’m sorry. You must get so bored.”
“I’m used to bored. Nowadays I think of the books you’ve read me. Or I just think of you.” His smile didn’t go away, but it faded a little, became wistful. “Those thoughts will do me well when you’re gone.”
“Gone?” For the second time in a few hours, Aric’s heart thumped with fear. “Who says I’m going anywhere?”
“You’ve been here for ages. You c-can’t… can’t last forever. You shouldn’t. N-now that you can read, you could be a clerk, a scribe. Maybe they’d find work for you in the l-library.”
“Maybe, but I’m not go
ing anywhere.”
Aric had stopped bolting the cell several weeks earlier. There wasn’t much point in it, given the chains that still kept the prisoner affixed to the floor. If anyone came to check on Gray, they were going to find plenty of things to make them angry: Gray’s clean hair and body, his shaved face, his pile of quilts, the thin layer of fat he’d accumulated between skin and bones. And it was easier for Aric to enter with his hand full if he didn’t have to fuss with the lock every time. So now he just walked in through the open door and handed Gray a hunk of still-warm bread. “Here. Eat.”
Gray took a bite and chewed at it thoughtfully. “Wh-why are you staying?”
“Why is everyone asking me that today?” Aric cried.
“Who else asked?”
“Lord Maudit.”
“Speak to him d-daily, do you?”
Aric huffed with exasperation. “He summoned me today. He said the prince was grateful that I’ve stuck around, and then His Excellency doubled my pay.”
“So that’s why you’re still here? The pay?”
“I’m here because I love you!” Aric yelled, and then bit his tongue. Gods, that was not something he’d intended to say out loud.
Gray had gone very still. “Wh-wh-what?”
“Nothing.”
Gray closed the few feet between them and poked him in the chest with a single long finger. “That was not n-nothing.”
If Aric were the one afflicted with a stutter, it might have saved him many times over. Instead, he suffered from the opposite problem: a tongue that was much faster than his brain. “Pretend I didn’t say it,” he begged.
“I damned well will n-not!”
“It doesn’t…. You don’t…. I know you could never….”
“Never what?” Gray said. He’d moved even closer, so that his chest was almost touching Aric’s. If Aric were a foot and a half shorter, they would be nose to nose. As it was, Gray had his neck tilted back, and even though he had no eyes, he seemed to be seeing Aric, to be looking right through him.