by Jade Mere
“And don’t apologize,” Dyraien went on. “You may address me as Dyraien. Titles are reserved for those who lack self-assurance.”
His words sounded so fluid, so lyrical. Vatolok was a language of harsh syllables, but Dyraien wove his words like fine silk. And then Tahki remembered bowing was the correct edict. He started the motion, but Dyraien reached out, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him closer. He held him by the arm, smelling of rosewater and pine.
“You are my guest,” Dyraien said. “Don’t think of me as a prince, think of me as a host. If there is anything you need, ask.”
Relief washed over Tahki. It had been the first kind words spoken to him since he’d arrived. Finally he’d found someone who didn’t treat him like a burden. This was the kind of welcome he’d been accustomed to back home. Tahki tried to pull away, but Dyraien drew him a little closer. The gesture felt almost intimate.
“I do mean it,” Dyraien said. “The seclusion will get to you. But I will do everything in my power to make this feel like a home away from home for you.” His thumb lightly brushed Tahki’s palm.
“Thank you,” Tahki said. “I think I’ll feel better after some sleep, and after I know what I’m getting myself into. I mean, the details of the project. That’s all. I didn’t mean to say that I’m getting myself into anything… sorry. I just….” Dyraien’s finger lingered in his palm. The touch felt so faint it might not have even been intentional.
“Dyraien,” Rye said. “It’s late, and he looks tired.”
Dyraien’s smile wavered slightly. “You really shouldn’t apologize so much, Tahki. If you ever do something that truly demands an apology, it won’t feel as sincere.” He released Tahki’s arm. “I’ll go over the project details with you in the morning. It’s only us three in the castle tonight, so you shouldn’t have anyone disturbing you. Now, you look in desperate need of a bath and supper.”
Tahki released a shaky breath. “That sounds wonderful.” His eyes drooped a little at the thought of warm water and a comfortable mattress.
Dyraien motioned for him to follow. Rye moved silently behind him. Dyraien made grand gestures with his hands when he spoke, his body constantly moving along with his mouth. Rye kept his back straight and said as little as possible.
As they walked up the stairs, Tahki remembered the woman in the window. His father would say it was rude to question your host on the first night, but Dyraien seemed open to questions. “It’s only us in the castle you said?”
“Is that so odd?” Dyraien replied. “I’ve become accustomed to life without servants.”
Tahki hadn’t even considered how strange it was for royalty to be without anyone to cook and clean and saddle mounts for them. “Forgive me for saying so, but I saw someone in the window. A woman. She looked at me. At least, I think.” He realized then he might have imagined it.
Dyraien and Rye stopped. They exchanged a cryptic glance, and Tahki felt like an imposition.
“I see,” Dyraien said at last. “I was hoping this could wait for morning, but we might as well get this out of the way. Up here, step quickly, please.”
They reached the end of the hall on the second floor and stopped outside a door with red-tinged wood.
“You look quite exhausted,” Dyraien said. “It’s my turn to apologize for keeping you so late, but there is something I need to show you before you consent to work here.”
Tahki swallowed as he imagined what horrors might lay behind the door. “Sounds very secretive.” He tried to make light of the situation, but Dyraien turned serious.
“A secret is a beautiful, dreadful thing,” Dyraien said. “It is of the utmost importance you know how to keep secrets, Tahki.”
If they only knew. “I was raised to respect confidentiality,” Tahki said.
Dyraien smiled. “That’s very comforting to hear.” He removed a key from his pocket. Whatever hid behind those doors, it needed to be locked in. “I need you to understand that this entire project depends on discretion. If anyone were to find out about this place, about what’s behind this door, it would ruin everything. I’ve worked ten years on this project and handpicked everyone who has set foot inside this castle. Except you. For the first time, I charged Gale with the task of selecting someone to help us. So I must ask: Can I trust you, Tahki?”
“Yes. You can trust me.” Tahki tried to sound like his father when he signed a new decree or treaty. Authoritative. Honorable. Dependable. But his voice peaked a little at the end.
Dyraien didn’t open the door. “I don’t want to frighten you, but please understand that if you do happen to slip, if you tell anyone about this, even if it’s only a hint or a whisper, and I feel you might endanger this project….” He paused. “No. No, I don’t think it will come to that. I have a good feeling about you, Tahki. I know you won’t do anything to displease me.”
Tahki stared. Had Dyraien just threatened to kill him if he told anyone? He hadn’t said the words outright, but the air around them felt thick with implication.
As Dyraien unlocked the door, a small lump of fear rose in Tahki’s throat. They stepped inside. An old oak bed in the center took up most of the space. The pale woman from the window sat in front of the bed, hunched over, mumbling a string of nonsensical words. Her hair was a tangled blonde mess. It looked as though someone had attempted to cut it with dull blades. She chewed on her fingertips and looked up at them as they entered. When she smiled, Tahki knew she was dumb in the head. He’d seen a few simple men back home. The servants called it mind-melt. They lived on the streets without a concept of who they were. They smiled when they bled. They laughed and pointed when animals walked by. They spoke with thick words, as though their gums were swollen. Back home, people like this were considered a nuisance. A thing to avoid. Merchants claimed stepping on their shadows would bring drought and famine.
Dyraien smiled at the woman, but it was a sad smile. “Tahki, I’d like you to meet my mother, Queen Genevi.”
Chapter 5
TAHKI WOKE for the second time that night. He had never been so tired he couldn’t sleep before. The room Dyraien had given him was on the second floor, but he could still hear the river tremble below the castle.
He drew a scratchy blanket up around his neck. His fingers and toes felt numb from cold, but at least he was clean. He’d found a heated bath waiting in one of the rooms. He wasn’t sure if it was meant for him, but Dyraien had insisted. There were no servants, which meant Dyraien had drawn the bath himself. It seemed strange for a prince to perform such a task.
Tahki flipped on his side. A window above his head let in dim light. The walls cracked a bit every time the wind blew. He couldn’t see the moon, but fog outside glowed with silver light.
He put his lumpy pillow over his ears and closed his eyes.
When he couldn’t sleep at home, he’d try to picture what his mother looked like. Not his mother from the portrait his father had commissioned after she’d died, but her face when she was alive. Smooth bronze skin. Moonlight-silver hair. Eyes that shone greener than a rainforest. He’d tried to draw her many times before, but he wasn’t good at drawing people. Sornjia had told him once that she had been reborn as a beautiful golden elephant, but the idea his mother was alive somewhere, and in the body of a dirty animal, only upset him. He didn’t care if Sornjia thought it was a great honor to be reincarnated as a golden elephant, or that his father always seemed pleased when Sornjia talked about it.
His mother was dead. He couldn’t write to her and ask what she thought about Rye. About Dyraien. About accepting this job. About lying about who he was. About the secret Dyraien made him keep.
The queen was out of her mind. But why keep it a secret? The most powerful woman in the world had been reduced to a mumbling heap of crazed woman. That would put Dyraien in command. Wasn’t that what every royal child wanted? To rule in place of their parent? Dyraien had said she’d fallen ill ten years ago and never recovered and that her condition worsened each year, so the
re was no hope of recovery.
Maybe Tahki had been hired to build the queen a home, where she could be hidden away and kept safe until… what? It was strange and a little unorthodox to keep her illness from the citizens. Someone would find out sooner or later. He wondered how they’d gotten away with it for so long. He’d tried to ask more questions, but Dyraien had smiled and told him, “In the morning, Tahki. All your questions will be answered in the morning.”
A small part of him delighted at knowing such a tremendous secret. It made him feel special. But another part of him recoiled at the danger. If Dyraien, or any of them, found out he was from Dhaulen’aii, what would they do? They would kill him for sure. Yet Dyraien had been so kind to him. And Rye… he didn’t know what to think about Rye.
Tahki started to drift off again when the table across the room rattled. His eyelids parted. The room appeared darker than it had a moment ago. He sat up, groggy.
On the other end of the room, a dark shape hunched in the shadows. For a moment he thought it was just part of the small desk, but then it twitched ever so slightly.
“Sornjia?” he said instinctively. It took him a moment to remember he wasn’t in his own room, and his brother slept miles away.
The dark shape swayed.
“Who’s there?”
The darkness stilled.
And then the most unusual sensation struck Tahki. He felt as though he was looking at nothing. Like the dark shape was not a shape but the lack of something, of everything.
His heart pumped and anxiety stirred his brain. He put his feet on the chilly floor, ready to hop out of bed, when the shape jerked upward.
Tahki froze.
A set of dim eyes blinked open across the room and stared at him. A face in the dark wall. Human or animal or something else, he couldn’t tell.
The shape looked slender now, but he could distinguish no features. Maybe an animal had crawled in through a window. He knew nothing about the wildlife around here.
And then the dark shape took a step toward him.
Tahki spun around and fell off the other side of his bed. The blanket wrapped around his feet and he struggled to free himself. He heard a gentle pat pat pat. Footsteps. The thing walked toward him. He unraveled the blanket and hurled himself forward in the dark. His face hit the wall and he let out an involuntary cry. He could feel something warm on the nape of his neck, but when he spun around, the room was empty.
His pillow and blanket lay on the floor. He panted and stared a long moment before he considered finding Rye. But what good would that do, and why had he thought of Rye before Dyraien or Gale? Rye would laugh at him.
Night hallucinations were not uncommon. Lack of sleep and anxiety could play a nasty tune in your mind. Obviously he’d had some kind of lucid nightmare.
Tahki returned to his bed. He sat up for a long time, but the room stayed undisturbed. He stared up at the dark ceiling until a dreamless sleep relieved his thoughts, and he dozed uninterrupted until morning.
HE FELT more himself when he woke. His muscles ached and his stomach growled, but his mind worked like a well-oiled clock. His first thoughts were of the dark thing in his room, but he dismissed them as a nightmare. If it had been an animal, it would have left smudge marks or hair or something on the floor.
He slid out of bed, hoping he hadn’t slept in too late. Someone had laid clothes outside his door. He slipped them on, a tight sleeveless white shirt with dark leather sides, and boots and pants to match. There was a coat, too, white and short and made of fine leather, but he didn’t think he needed it. He wanted his skin to acclimate to the cold climate as fast as possible.
He’d never cared about fashion, but as he walked down the stairway and caught a glimpse of himself in a window reflection, he couldn’t help but think he looked decent in Vatolok clothing. They were so different from the baggy, colorful silks back home. So sleek. So modern. So not like anything he’d worn before.
In the foggy light of day, the castle didn’t seem so ominous. He heard metal clinking and followed the sound. The scent of fried ham and garlic washed over him. He reached what he assumed was the kitchen and poked his head inside.
Rye sat hunched in a chair, mulling over a paper in his hand. He sipped a cup of black coffee. “Bread’s in the wooden box on the counter,” he said without looking up. “Meat’s hanging in the pantry. Cheese is here. You’ll have to brew more coffee if you want some.”
“Not really a coffee drinker,” Tahki said. “Tea would be nice.”
“There isn’t any.”
Tahki lingered by the door. The kitchen had a stove and exactly one pot, one pan, and one spatula in sight. There were a few eggs in an egg tray and some garlic. An island took up most of the room. Long windows let in light beside the table where Rye sat. Outside the window, he could see the dark wooden waterwheel, motionless in the fog.
He had never seen such a small kitchen. Castles were supposed to be grand estates, and kitchens should be large enough so the servants could make feasts. But Dyraien had said they didn’t have servants. Did that mean the castle was built intentionally like this?
Tahki’s stomach growled again. He stepped up to the counter. Eggs sounded good, but he didn’t know how to make them. He could probably crack one open, but how long did they cook for? Back home, he ate curry omelets almost every morning but never saw them made. He decided to make fried bread instead. If he undercooked it, it wouldn’t make him sick.
He found a knife and sliced off a piece of bread. The first time, he sliced too thin. It crumbled into tiny bits. He tried again. This one came out jagged but thick enough to fry. He put the pan on the stove and found a match in a jar. The stove was a great black clunky contraption built into the counter space. It looked nothing like he’d ever seen, probably a newer design. The ones back home utilized an open flame, but even those were only used by the servants. They did the cooking and cleaning and all the other simple tasks that suddenly didn’t seem so simple. But he was only frying bread. It couldn’t be that hard.
He found a chamber below the stovetop with kindling inside. He lit it, and it blazed fast, growing too large. When he tried to fan it away, the flame burned his hand. He yanked away.
“Something wrong?” Rye said. Tahki looked up. Rye was watching him.
“No,” Tahki said. He grabbed the iron pan and set it on the hot plate and then tossed his bread in.
The bread wasn’t doing anything. He remembered watching merchants fry food. It usually sizzled. Why wasn’t it sizzling?
He glanced up. Rye stared at the pan.
“What?” Tahki said.
Rye shook his head. “Just wondering what you’re doing.”
“Frying bread.”
Rye raised an eyebrow. He waited a moment and then walked over to Tahki and looked in the pan.
“What did you coat it with?” he said.
“Coat it?” Tahki looked down. “Oh.” He grabbed butter from one of the shelves, cut off half the stick, and plopped it in.
“Is this how you normally cook?” Rye said. “It’s a wonder you aren’t five hundred pounds. I’ve never seen anyone make fried bread like that before.”
“Well, this is how we make it back home.” Tahki moved the bread around until it started to smoke. “Shit.” He grabbed the pan. The hot iron burned the same hand the fire had before and he released the handle. It clanked back onto the stove. The smoke grew thicker. Tahki swept the room for some water, but by the time he found a jug, Rye had removed the pan from the stove and thrown the bread in the sink. It was completely black on one side, white on the other.
Rye placed the pan back on the stove. “Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who couldn’t fry bread.”
“I’m used to my kitchen back home,” Tahki snapped. His hand hurt. He blew on the burn.
“Did your family have money?” Rye said.
“What?”
“You can’t cook. You acted like meeting a prince wasn’t anything special. Y
ou think very highly of your architectural work, so you’re educated. You think people who grew up in the lower cities have no chance in the world. So I assume you come from money.”
Tahki scowled. “So what if I do?”
“You should know this isn’t a normal castle. There isn’t anyone to serve you or hunt for you or make your bed.”
“I can do all those things just fine,” Tahki said. Was he supposed to have made his bed? He’d just left his pillow and blanket on the floor. Had someone made his bed back home? He’d never noticed.
His hand stung. He held it close to his body. Rye watched him a moment before reaching for the bread. He cut a new slice with no jagged edges. With his free hand, he cracked an egg in a bowl and beat it with a fork, then coated the bread in egg and dropped it in the pan.
Tahki started to protest, but Rye moved so fluently he couldn’t ask him to stop. He stood behind Rye, close enough to smell coffee and linseed oil and salt.
After a minute, Rye jerked the pan forward and back, arm muscles flexing as he flipped the bread. It sizzled. The cooked side glistened with golden fried egg. Tahki stared. With every small motion, Rye’s muscles tensed, then relaxed, then flexed. His bare shoulders rolled, the bones in his right wrist rotating smoothly when he flicked the pan.
Tahki had never paid attention to anyone’s arms before. Maybe he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Sometimes when he was groggy, he would fixate on small things, like how dark his pencil marks were or how textured his paper was. He tried to shake off the fixation. He felt like some swooning twelve-year-old who’d found their first crush. Maybe entering a new country triggered some hidden urges.
His father would have been delighted. He’d done everything in his power to try to get Tahki to take interest in someone—anyone—because it would be healthy. It would be normal. But Tahki had always been more interested in the homes they visited than the inhabitants. Even when his father discovered Tahki preferred men—and he would be denied grandchildren—he still pushed him to date. There were services, his father told him, that offered a surrogate mother or man, if two men or two women were married and wanted children. The entire conversation had been uncomfortable. Dating seemed like such a chore. He had architecture, and that was enough.