by M C Dwyer
Aidan thanked them, and all six of the Ailerons turned their attention outward, wary of an attack. Had Nepenthe been of a dishonest nature, it would have been a prime opportunity for him to act, as the Ailerons’ trust in him was now complete. Fortunately for the Ailerons, Nepenthe was so grateful to have found people to take care of him that he did not entertain the idea of betrayal for a moment.
The attack, when it came, happened shortly after the party had stopped for a brief lunch break. Lira and Mae had retreated into the trees to relieve themselves, so it was the four men and Nepenthe who bore the brunt of the attack.
Whooping and hollering, seven or eight figures on horseback swept into camp. Had their quarry been the noblemen they appeared to be, it might have been successful; instead their ambush turned into a rout when the women appeared suddenly from the trees, flanking the attackers. Half of them were quickly dispatched and the others retreated, hotly pursued by Aidan, Rhian, and Charl. The others stayed behind and cleaned up the mess, dragging the bodies away from the road and trying to coax Nepenthe out of hiding.
The bodies were dealt with quickly, but Nepenthe was another matter. He was curled into a ball, his arms clasped over his head while he shivered violently. Eventually, Mae sat down next to him and gently rubbed his back, murmuring nonsense until he stopped shaking.
By the time Aidan and the others had returned, he had emerged, wide-eyed and shaken but able to move on. He stuck close to Aidan, burying his face in Aidan’s broad shoulders as they rode.
No further bandit trouble appeared to delay their journey, and a week later, the group approached the largest city Nepenthe could ever remember seeing. It stretched for several miles, with taller brick structures raising their heads above their humbler, wooden neighbors. At the center of the city was a slight rise, and it was on this that the palace of Alain had been built.
And it was a palace, Nepenthe decided, rather than a castle—castles were built for defense, but this sprawling and multi-towered building was more akin to a bakery confection than a fortress, much like—but here Nepenthe’s memory bumped into a wall, and he blinked and forgot.
The group of seven descended the last hill and approached the city walls, the Ailerons suddenly much more cheerful with the end of their journey in sight, and Nepenthe trying not to gawk like a country bumpkin. As they approached the palace, he was assailed by sudden doubts as to his welcome. What right did he have to expect anything from this foreign king? His imagination painted an image of a stern older man on a dais, stroking his beard and demanding to know why he should allow Nepenthe to stay.
Nepenthe shuddered and tried to banish the image, but by the time they clattered into the cobblestoned courtyard, he was nearly sick with nerves.
Several young men and women dressed in identical uniforms ran out from the stables, smiling and greeting the Ailerons and holding the horses while the Ailerons dismounted.
“Sir Aidan!” one boy called. “I have a new trick to show you!”
Aidan merely smiled, but Rhian laughed as he tossed his reins to another stablehand. “I hope it’s better than your last one. Though watching you try to explain to the chamberlain how that window came to be broken was pretty funny, I have to admit.”
The boy flushed, but it didn’t dampen his grin.
On the other side, Mae was greeting one of the stablehands with a sisterly hug and asking after someone named Alan. The girl smiled warmly and said he was doing much better.
Nepenthe stood in the center, an island of inactivity. His hands clenched, balling up his tunic in his fists, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and relax his hands. He smoothed the tunic with sweaty hands and looked for Aidan again. His moment of inattention had cost him, however, and Aidan was nowhere in sight. His breath came more rapidly, but he was suddenly seized from behind by a pair of warm hands, and a voice he knew said, “You’re with me, boy.”
Drinian led him out of the stableyard and into the palace through one of the side doors. Even this was more opulent than anything Nepenthe could remember, and he looked around him with his jaw open.
“You look like a fish,” Drinian said, not unkindly. Nepenthe snapped his jaw shut but continued to gaze around him, hungrily drinking in the details.
“This is the Ailerons’ wing,” Drinian said, steering him down a long hallway lined with doors. “Men are on this floor; women are on the next.” He gave Nepenthe a gentle shake. “Men aren’t allowed up there after last bell; the king’s pretty strict about that. So don’t let me catch you wandering around there.”
Nepenthe cast a glance over his shoulder in time to catch Drinian’s grin. He gave a small smile in return.
Drinian pointed to a nondescript door on the left. “That one’s Aidan’s, if you need him.”
Nepenthe made a mental note of the number on the door and continued on under Drinian’s guiding hands.
“I’m in this room, and for now we’re going to put you in the room right next to mine.” He pushed open the door and ushered Nepenthe inside.
It was not a magnificent bedroom, but it was perfectly serviceable and nicer than anything he’d had in—well, in any of the time he could remember.
“It’s lovely, thank you,” he said softly.
Drinian nodded. “Ailerons eat with the king on most days, but you won’t be expected to join us. You can get a plate from the kitchen with the pageboys and other workers, if you like.” He paused. “Unless you wanted to eat with us?”
At the thought of eating with the king, Nepenthe had a strong flash of revulsion laced with fear. He flinched and shook his head emphatically. “No. No, thank you.”
“No worries.” Drinian smiled. “During the summer, there’s sometimes a bonfire out in the training yard after supper. Just ask any of the servants; they can direct you.”
“Thank you,” Nepenthe said again, and put his hand on the door.
Drinian took it as request to leave and ushered himself out. Nepenthe closed it behind him with a sigh and leaned against it for a moment, his eyes closed. Then, prompted by some inner urging he did not fully understand, he made a full circuit of the room, running his hands across the wainscoting and searching for seams or hidden latches. This accomplished, he peered inside the wardrobe and tapped on the back. Only when he was reassured that there was nothing hidden did he splash some water on his face and collapse, fully dressed, onto the bed.
Nepenthe fully intended to go down to the kitchens for supper, but the bed was so comfortable and he so tired that instead he fell asleep. He awoke sometime later from his usual nightmare to a dark room and the disorienting feeling of not knowing where he was.
He sat up groggily and after fumbling for the matches and candle he remembered seeing by the bed, managed to get a light going. He held this up and saw that someone had placed a covered tray of food on a table by the fireplace. There was no fire as it was a warm summer’s night, but Nepenthe shivered in spite of the fact. He didn’t like the idea that someone had come in while he slept, and managed it without waking him, too. He thought he’d locked the door; it was careless of him to forget.
Placing a hand on the cover, he realized it was still quite warm. It couldn’t have been there long—perhaps that had been what had woken him? This cheered him, and he dug into the chicken and roast potatoes with an appetite.
Now wide-awake and adequately fed, Nepenthe found himself unwilling to go back to bed. He crept to the door but heard nothing when he put his ear next to it. Opening the door cautiously, he poked his head around it, blocking the candle from any drafts with his hand.
Lanterns lined the hallway, illuminating the various rooms of the Ailerons, but no one was in sight. He wondered what time it was. He didn’t think he’d slept the whole night through; more than likely it wasn’t even midnight. He extinguished his candle and set it inside the room, then let the door close softly behind him. On silent feet he padded down the hallway, back in the direction Drinian had brought him earlier. He marked Aidan’
s door in passing, but then hesitated at the first branching in the hallway. Drinian had brought him in from the right; should he try the left, or try to find his way back outside?
Approaching footsteps accompanied by laughter decided him, and he swiftly ducked down the left branch, making another swift turning down the hall. He paused briefly, looking back and memorizing his return path, then continued down the hall, hugging the walls and looking, if he but knew it, like an amateur thief come to burgle the place.
A carefully memorized staircase and two hallways later, he found himself next to a set of glass doors that let moonlight pour into the hallway. These opened onto a large balcony that overlooked a courtyard Nepenthe had not yet seen. A bonfire blazed in the center, and figures were standing in clumps around it, chatting and laughing and drinking from large mugs. Nepenthe knelt by the railing, resting his chin on his hands and gazing into the crowd. He tried to spot Aidan but was stymied by the shadows and the dancing firelight. A party paused briefly under his balcony, and though he couldn’t distinguish words, he heard the high musical laugh that belonged to Lira and a deep, rich chuckle of a voice he didn’t recognize.
Nepenthe sighed somewhat wistfully, but did not for a moment even consider going down to join the company. Instead he rolled away from the railing and lay on his back, enjoying the cool stone of the floor and the brilliant moonlight.
He may have dozed off there under the stars, but a scuff of a boot against stone brought him instantly up and to his feet, his back pressed against the railing.
“I apologize,” a voice said softly. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
Nepenthe said nothing, his eyes straining to make out anything in the shadows. The moon had slipped behind one of the towers at some point, cloaking the balcony in darkness. There—was that a darker shadow by the door?
“Shall I leave?” the stranger asked.
A brief jerk of his head was all Nepenthe could manage, and then he dashed past the lurking shadow and pelted down the hall. Somehow in the dark he missed his turning, but instead of slowing he simply ran faster, fear—unnamed and unknown—giving wings to his feet.
He was breathing in great, sobbing breaths, but a questing hand verified that no tears fell. That was a relief, at least.
Careening around a corner, he ran full force into a wall of familiar flesh. He bounced backwards but two strong hands kept him upright.
“Easy, lad—Nepenthe? What’s the matter?” Aidan leaned down to look into his eyes.
Somewhat calmer, Nepenthe could only shake his head miserably. He had no way to explain the storm of emotions he’d just endured. Instead, he clutched Aidan’s sleeve and rested his forehead against his shoulder.
Awkwardly patting him on the back, Aidan said, “I’ll take you back to your room.” Turning to his companions, he apologized and bade them goodnight. “Come on, then,” he said, tugging his arm gently.
Nepenthe fell into step behind him, and by the time they’d reached the door to his room, he was calm enough to whisper, “Good night.”
“Good night, Penthe,” Aidan returned, causing him to blink at the shortening of his name.
He simply nodded and closed the door, sliding the lock into place with a sigh.
The next morning brought breakfast, delivered by a curtsying maid who stared at him curiously before flouncing away under his scorn, and Aidan, who brought a job offer.
“Can you read, Penthe?” he began, slamming open the door and making Nepenthe’s heart nearly stop in fear. His bite of honeyed toast hung suspended on his fork, dripping down to puddle on the table. He looked at Aidan reproachfully as he mopped up the mess.
Aidan grinned, unrepentant. “Well?”
“Yes,” Nepenthe said, his voice low but clearer than it had ever been.
“Excellent. Orin the Master Scribe has work for you in the library.”
He blinked. “A job? For me?”
“You didn’t think we’d just let you stay in this room for free, did you?” His voice was serious, but his eyes were teasing. “Besides, everyone needs a purpose. And for now, this can be yours. Until we find something else you’d prefer to do.”
Nepenthe considered that for a moment. The library sounded like a nice, quiet place to hide away. “I’ll do it,” he said.
Chapter 4
An hour later, Nepenthe was regretting his eagerness. Orin was lovely—an older, scholarly man with a tonsured head and a rope holding his robes around his bit of potbelly—but the job he’d found for Nepenthe was daunting, to say the least.
“This is the record room,” he said, panting from the hike up the circular tower stairs. The room occupied the entire tower and was piled floor to ceiling with stacks of parchment, scrolls, and bits and pieces of vellum and old maps that were nearly too faded to read.
Nepenthe gazed around him in dismay.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” Orin said almost sheepishly. “It’s one of those projects I’ve been meaning to get to, but I’ve been meaning to get to it for nearly forty years.” He shrugged. “Things pile up. Now, I’m not expecting miracles, but if you could sort and organize things into piles, then I can go through the piles and decide what to keep and what to throw out.” He patted Nepenthe on the back, and for once the boy didn’t flinch. “I’ll be down in the library if you have any questions.”
He shuffled to the door then paused. “Oh, one other thing. We don’t allow any kind of flame in here, so when the light goes, close the shutters and come down.”
Nepenthe nodded absently, his head already three steps ahead into the task before him. Orin was right; the room was a mess, but there were hints of organization behind the chaos. The piles closest to the door were the newest, and the piles in the back that he couldn’t yet reach looked to be the oldest.
Clearing a spot on the floor, he sat down and began to go through the piles. There was a bit of everything in them: journals from previous members of court and earlier kings, receipts for random items including things as mundane as winter peas and tallow candles, treatises on the neighboring countries and the wild lands beyond the sea, and even a map of those lands, with dragons and other fantastical creatures penciled in the borders. Nepenthe spent a while poring over that one, fascinated by a place he hadn’t even known existed.
As he was squinting at the map and trying to decipher the faint pencil marks, he suddenly realized that it wasn’t the map but the light that was at fault. Somehow it had become dusk without him noticing. On cue, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t had lunch that day, either.
He quickly moved around the room, latching the shutters and making sure his piles were in an order he’d remember tomorrow. Halfway down the stairs he met Orin huffing and puffing his way up.
“Thank goodness, child,” he said, stopping to breathe. “These old bones don’t do stairs as well as they used to.”
Nepenthe smiled up at him, and Orin laughed.
“Here,” he said, reaching into the sleeve of his robe and withdrawing a handkerchief. He held it to his tongue and then used it to rub at the line of dirt on Nepenthe’s brow. “It’s dirty work; I know. Be sure to wash up before you go find your supper.”
Nodding obediently, Nepenthe took Orin’s arm and helped him descend the stairs.
Orin laughed at him but didn’t refuse the help. “Go, child,” he said when they reached the bottom. “And tomorrow bring a bit of bread and cheese for your lunch, so you don’t starve.”
Nepenthe’s stomach growled again, making Nepenthe blush. He ducked his head and ran out of the library, first returning to his room to wash and then making his way to Aidan’s room. At his knock, Aidan stepped out.
“Ready for supper?”
Nepenthe nodded. “But I don’t want to eat with you all,” he murmured. “Can I eat with the servants?”
“Sure,” he said. “They generally eat in shifts, so you can just jump in line with whoever’s currently eating.”
He led the way down t
o another section of the palace Nepenthe hadn’t yet seen, and introduced Nepenthe to the head chef. She was a tall, forbidding woman with a hawk-like nose and iron-grey hair, but she looked kindly enough on Nepenthe.
“Well, help yourself, child,” she said, waving a wooden spoon in the direction of the food line. “I’m not here to wait on you. Follow the line to the next room; there’s tables and chairs enough for a small army, so you’ll find somewhere to rest yourself.”
Aidan waved good-bye and disappeared, and Nepenthe stepped into line behind a boy about his size.
“Hi,” the boy said.
Nepenthe ducked his head, combing his curls forward, and mumbled, “Hello.”
“You new here, then?” he persisted, handing Nepenthe a wooden platter and a spoon.
Accepting the utensils shyly, Nepenthe nodded.
“No worries. You’ll get used to it soon enough. I’m Alric, by the way.”
Nepenthe wilted slightly under Alric’s protracted gaze, and barely managed to whisper, “Nepenthe.”
“Nice to meet you, Nepenthe.” They stepped forward in the food line, and Alric ladled some stew onto Nepenthe’s platter. “The food’s good, and there’s plenty of it, so long as Cook don’t catch you coming back for thirds”—at this, a spoon descended from on high, landing on Alric’s head with an audible thump and making Nepenthe flinch.
“I see you, Alric, my boy,” the chef said, shaking her spoon under his nose.
Alric grinned unrepentantly. “She’s actually my grandmum,” he said confidingly. “She likes to beat me whenever she can.”
“Which is not nearly as often as you deserve,” she said, turning away.
“True enough,” he said happily, then used a set of tongs to place a warm bun on Nepenthe’s platter, too. “So, where are you at, then?” At Nepenthe’s look of confusion, he clarified, “I mean, what’s your post? Where are you working?”