The doughy man’s face dimpled in all the wrong places with his humorless smile. “Well, I suppose that makes two of us. Now, shall I escort you wherever you might have been going?”
“That’s not necessary, Your Eminence. I was just off to my chambers to take luncheon before council.”
“Ah, perhaps we might dine together. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”
Braith took a step. “Is that so?”
“Did you drop something, Highness?” Naith seemed to have just noticed the parchment. “Is that the king’s writing?”
Before he could get a closer look, Braith leaned down and snatched it up. She nearly tumbled over in the process. “Indeed. I’ve just come from the king’s chambers.” She didn’t offer anything else, and she prayed he daren’t ask.
She cleared her throat and began a measured stroll. “Why should we not speak as we go?”
“Surely.” Naith kept pace with Braith in silence for a moment. “Highness, I pray to the great goddesses that you’ll forgive me any impertinence.”
Braith smiled thinly but did not look at the high priest. “Avoid impertinence and I shall not have to.”
Naith’s chuckle held no warmth. “Sometimes duty demands that which one may find uncomfortable.”
“What troubles you, High Priest Bo-Offriad? Is there something I can do for you?” The parchment moistened beneath her sweaty fingers.
“I’ve noticed, Highness, that your visits to the temple have been sporadic of late.”
Once per moon. It was all her father required of her, though this clearly disappointed him. Even so, it was no secret between Braith and the king that she only attended temple services for the sake of the peasants. So they might see their rulers carrying on Tirian traditions. And that had been the agreement for some years.
“I attend as often as the king deems necessary,” she said at last.
Naith’s tone cooled. “As spiritual advisor to the royal family, I find this troublesome. Highness, I fear you’ve lost your faith.”
“Have I? Well, if you are concerned about my weekly offerings, never fear. They will continue as always. Nothing has changed.”
“But Princess Braith, if perhaps you were more intimately connected with the happenings at the temple in Urian . . .”
“It would strengthen your position at court?” Braith said dryly. Her patience had been spent. “Naith, my family keeps your temples well furnished. We keep your coffers—and your own pockets—quite full. Is that not enough? Surely this must be a raft you do not wish to upset, for fear of drowning.”
Naith reddened. “I was only worried about your spiritual well-being, Highness.”
“Of course. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” She stepped toward the hallway leading to her chambers.
“What about our luncheon? There are still several things I’d like to discuss with you.”
The parchment in Braith’s hand grew slick. If she held it much longer, the ink might be washed away by her perspiration.
“I’m sorry, but I have other plans this afternoon. Another time, perhaps.”
Naith’s face hadn’t calmed. “But Highness, it’s really rather important that I—”
“You’re too late,” an intruding voice cut in. “The princess has plans already.” Dray Bo-Anffir stepped from an adjoining hallway. “With me.”
Braith’s gaze hopped between the two men.
Naith’s eyes narrowed. “You? The princess is to dine with you? I can hardly understand that. What could you have to discuss with her?”
Dray slipped an arm around Braith’s waist. “Personal matters.”
Braith swallowed down bile.
Naith’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. He glared at Dray, then turned his fiery gaze on Braith. “I see.”
Braith pushed Dray’s hand from her waist. “Sir Dray forgets himself. There is no such personal business between us.”
“But we do have plans for luncheon.” Dray smirked at his adversary. “Sorry to disappoint, Your Holiness. You must save your wheedling and flattery for another day.”
The two men stared each other down, and Braith decided whatever hatred sizzled in those gazes had little or nothing to do with her.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
She managed several paces down the hallway before Dray caught up and matched her stride. “You’re welcome.”
She glanced at him but didn’t dare stop walking. “Am I?”
“Got you out of having lunch with that insufferable toad, didn’t I?”
“I suppose. But what is your price, I wonder? Must I now dine with an insufferable serpent?”
Dray threw his arm out in front of her, and Braith jerked to a sudden stop. “Now, now. That’s not very nice, is it?”
“Forgive me.” She shrank away from his blockade. “I grow weary of being used as a game piece.”
Dray pressed his other hand against the wall so that Braith was trapped between his arms.
She glanced down the hallway, but Naith had already disappeared. She was alone with this man. Again.
“Sir Dray—”
He inched toward her. “I thought I told you to call me Dray.” His breath found her bare neck.
Braith gasped. “Sir, my chambers are near and my servants are inside. I will scream.”
Dray pulled back, what appeared to be genuine astonishment on his face. “Scream?”
“You guess rightly my father would probably welcome some manner of union between the two of us. But if you simply take what you’re after, I assure you, you will find a permanent home in the dungeon.” She lifted her chin, though it quivered. “Please do not dishonor me by forcing me to be more specific.”
Something Braith had never seen there before settled onto the face of Dray Bo-Anffir—a wounded look swimming in his eyes, like a child who had been unfairly reprimanded. “Braith, did you think I would—”
“Please. I beg you not to continue. You have quite the reputation, as we both know. You have been cultivating it for years. But I’m not a lady-in-waiting or a kitchen maid or the lass whose father manages the stables that you might similarly take advantage of me with no repercussions.”
Dray stepped back. “I—I’d not force you, Braith. That’s not what I—”
“Please, Sir Dray!” Braith’s face flamed. “I do not wish to discuss the particulars with you.”
The wounded look hardened. “Oh, now I understand. I have a reputation at court, therefore I must surely have forced those women. I’m a godless man, therefore I have no scruples at all. I make no attempt at piety and am honest about my designs and so am rewarded by you thinking of me in the most heinous of terms. It is quite a bit easier to think in black and white, isn’t it, Princess?”
The fire spread from Braith’s cheeks all throughout her body. Not embarrassment now, but utter indignation.
“If a lady has been seduced and deceived, do you call that willingness? If you assert your political power, promise her wealth or even just your affection, perhaps you have not used force. But you have used manipulation, and it is the same in my eyes.”
“Yes, it would be.” He snorted. “Black-and-white Braith. Braith the ice princess.”
She bristled. “Call me what you will, sir, but any man who freely admits to seeking himself above all things disqualifies himself from my esteem—whether he can understand why or not. Whether you seek to force, seduce, manipulate, or try to coerce me into agreeing to your plans, your aim is the same. You wish to set yourself upon the throne of Tir when you’ve no right to it.”
Angry tears burned her eyes. “And that makes you a wicked man.”
Dray’s voice turned to stone. “So be it.”
The next moment, Braith’s back slammed into the wall and Dray’s lips pressed against hers. She only just managed to keep the stolen parchment between her fingers under the force of the blow.
Braith struggled. She jerked away and screamed.
The shriek, high and panicked, echoed down the hall.
Dray backed away of his own accord. “You’ll want to make sure that parchment is well hidden before the guardsmen arrive, Princess.”
He knew. The blood drained from Braith’s face.
Clanking armor announced the guardsmen before Braith could see them. Moments later, two soldiers came into view. Both skidded to a halt at the sight of Braith and Dray alone in the hallway.
One soldier spoke. “Highness?”
The threat slipped away from Dray’s face. “Ah, well done, good knights. Your quick response does you credit. But there’s nothing to fear. Her Highness merely saw a rope-tail skitter down the hall, as they will do. I happened to be nearby, and all is well now.”
Braith’s knees wobbled beneath her gown. He knew. Her position was tenuous at best.
So she turned to Dray and flashed a wan smile. “Thank you, Sir Dray. Hopefully the rope-tail has skittered away for good.” She nodded to the guardsmen. “Shall we?”
The soldiers shuffled behind her as she hurried to her chambers.
Cameria stood in the hallway before the princess’s chamber doors. “My lady?”
The clanking of the guardsmen’s armor stopped as they resumed their positions beside Braith’s chamber doors. Braith grabbed Cameria’s outstretched hand but couldn’t seem to find words yet.
“My lady, I heard you scream.” Cameria’s dark eyes were wide enough for Braith to see her own reflection in them. “What’s happened?”
Braith glanced at the guardsmen, then nodded toward her door. “Let us take luncheon, Cameria. I’ve had a fright.”
The two women slipped into Braith’s chambers, and Braith instantly sank into a chair in her front room. She slapped the parchment to the table beside her lunch, then dropped her head into her hands.
“Princess.” Cameria fell to her knees beside Braith. “Tell me what happened.”
“Officially, I saw a rope-tail,” Braith said shakily. “So let us hold to that if anyone asks.”
“And the truth?”
The truth stuck in Braith’s throat. She forced it out. “I had another encounter with Sir Dray. His intentions have been made quite clear. Also . . .” She hesitated, but then continued. “I stole this from my father’s desk.” She slid the parchment across the table toward Cameria.
Cameria gasped. “Stole, my lady?”
“I suppose there truly is a first time for everything.”
“But what is it?”
Braith eyed the wretched thing. “I don’t know yet. Something the king scribbled during council yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t see it from where I sat, and I had to know.” She frowned at her friend. “Something is amiss, Cameria.”
Cameria’s lips pressed together. She kept her gaze focused on Braith. “I’ll leave you, my lady.” She slid the parchment back toward the princess without looking at it. “So that you might read it alone.” She hesitated. “If you think it’s safe for you to be alone.”
“I have the soldiers outside my door. If they can’t protect me, we’d be lost anyway.” She sighed. “Thank you, Cameria.”
Cameria nodded. She picked up a basket with a cloth over its contents. “May I take this extra food, my lady?”
Braith nodded. “Of course.”
Cameria curtsied, then slipped from the room. Braith rose and bolted the door behind her.
Then she returned to the table and stared at the parchment. She almost didn’t wish to read it now, so great was her dread. But the king’s stormy expression and the distracted way he muttered to himself—and his adherence to secret laws Braith had never heard of—forced her hand. It was too much to ignore.
She picked up the parchment—the one the king had shown to Dray at council.
She flipped it over and scanned the words. A warrant for the story peddler, Tanwen En-Yestin. Braith gasped at the next words. “Arrest or execution. Reward: two hundred gold pieces.”
The king never issued such a warrant with any other design than to kill. If the girl could be captured alive, it would only be so she might be tortured for information or some other purpose before her eventual demise.
And the king was willing to part with two hundred gold over it.
Braith let the makeshift warrant flutter back to the table and covered her face with her hands.
If there was any god to listen, Braith prayed Tanwen En-Yestin would meet with a quick, merciful end.
Chapter 25
Tanwen
“Karlith?”
Karlith looked up at me from the fire where she was getting an iron pot situated for the evening stew. “Aye, lass? Something bothering you?”
“No. Not exactly.” I scooted beside her and absently added dry twigs to the blaze. “I just wondered . . .”
Truly, I felt a fool for even thinking of asking.
“Aye, Tannie?”
“I want to be able to do more with my storytelling,” I blurted. “If you all are on the side of right—and I believe you are—then I should be doing all I can to help. But I feel like my stories are nothing more than practiced loads of fluff that the king wants me to know, and a couple bits of fairy stories left over from my childhood. Can you teach me how to be a real storyteller?”
Karlith smiled, but I could tell it was a smile that meant no. “Tannie, we agreed before we brought you here that our aim was to protect you. We’re not asking you to join a revolution or stick your neck out. We’ve been watching you all this time to keep you safe.”
“I’ve been here a week.” I knew it sounded feeble as a new hatchling. “It isn’t long, but it’s long enough for me to know.”
“Know what, child?”
“That everything you’ve told me is real. The pieces fit together—the king and who he is. Why we’re all stuck hiding out in a swamp. All I need to do is look at Gryfelle to know that all this business with crowned stories and squashing things down isn’t right. I want to learn to be a different sort of teller.”
Karlith sighed. “Believe me, Tannie, I’d like to help you. But—”
“Karlith, aren’t you the one always going on about truth? You say art has a way of revealing it, but you don’t want to let me learn how. Why?”
She chuckled. “I was going to say I can’t teach you because I’m not a storyteller. I’m a colormaster, lass.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I bit my lip. “Maybe Zel could—”
Karlith shook her head before I could finish. “Zel is still shackled to the ghosts of his past. He isn’t sure we ought to be using our gifts. Leastways, not in the way War and Dylun would like. He’s frightened of his weaving gift, and I don’t think he’d help you grow yours.”
And that left . . .
“I’ll teach you, Tannie.”
I glanced up. Of course. There he was, leaning against a tree, arms folded and smiling at me.
Sure as stars in the sky, it wasn’t that I didn’t want Mor to teach me. But I’d scarcely been in the Corsyth a week and already it was becoming unbearable to be around Mor without speaking my mind to him.
Or in this case, my heart.
Not free, Tanwen. Not free, not free, not free.
Didn’t help much, but the constant reminders would sink in eventually—wouldn’t they?
But I smiled and tried to be casual about it. “Aye, Mor. That’d be nice. . .”
“Catch.” Before I could even blink, Mor shot a strand of story toward me—sparkling, silvery mist.
In a flash I answered with a strand of fire that swallowed the mist before it could reach me. “Hey, now! What was that all about?”
Mor grinned. “Test number one. You passed. Good reflexes.”
I glared at him. “Rude.”
“Aye.” He laughed. “But I’m a pirate. What did you expect? And you answered, didn’t you?”
“I suppose. Hey, how’d that happen? I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t have an idea and make it come out as a strand. I just reacted.”
�
��Exactly.” Mor moved to an open space between the trees and beckoned me to follow. “It’s a good sign. You’re beginning to fuse back together.”
“Was I broken apart?”
“Yes, actually.” He touched a finger to his temple. “The story peddler lived here, building stories as she’d been taught with the aim of selling them. The weaver lives here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “When you’ve rejoined the head and heart, the art will happen without you needing to think about it.”
Fear tweaked my stomach. “But I can control it, right? I mean, all my heart isn’t going to pour out into the air without me wanting it to, is it?”
“Eventually. We’ve all had a couple slips we wish hadn’t happened.” He took a step away from me. “Now I want you to close your eyes. I want you to think about what Karlith always says. Art has a way of revealing truth. Don’t think too hard—you already know how to think a story. I want you to feel this one.”
I obeyed. I tried to wipe away all the practiced words of the crowned stories, at least for the moment. My fingers tingled. Strands poured from them, I knew. But I didn’t dare open my eyes to see what they were.
Another moment ticked by. I exhaled. It had crystalized. I could feel it the way you sense the presence of someone nearby before you turn around and see him.
I opened my eyes. A clear glass heart hovered in the air between me and Mor. Painted-wings fluttered inside the hollow heart.
I stared at it. “They’re moving. My crystallized story is moving.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Another good sign—you’re making stories that can do things.”
“But . . . what is it?”
“You tell me.”
I studied the heart. A symbol was etched in the glass—a round, twisted knot, just like the charm I wore on a cord around my neck. “It’s mine,” I realized aloud. “It’s my heart. Look.” I pointed. “There’s a painted-wing made of leather that’s like Father’s journal. And that sunset-pink one? Mother’s curtains in my room are that exact color.”
A sparkling-blue painted-wing with gold circles on its wings caught my eye. Gold circles that looked a lot like gold hoop earrings. Best not to explain that one.
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