“Are you... Did you hear me?” she asked. “Say something.”
He slowly drew back his hand. “Please explain why you intend to leave me when you’ve only just returned.” He hated the tone of his voice almost as much as he hated what she’d said.
“I came here to beg my former lover to help exonerate my brother. I have done so. I clearly have no official place at the table, and I’m distracting you. I could see it today. Why would it get easier? It won’t. I know what I have to do.”
I cannot let her go. I am selfish—there, I’ve said it. I can’t let her go. And I won’t. “I don’t like this. I need you here. Let’s think this through before you make up... You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”
She looked miserable but determined. “It’s the right thing to do. It will help us later.”
This is your realm, your palace, your bed, a strange little voice in his head piped up, so then why don’t you stop her? “Well, there’s another way. I’m the prince. It’s right there in my name.” He kept his tone light. “I mean, even though I’ll never take it, I’m still heir to the Seat. That counts for something. I could simply refuse your request. I could keep you locked up here with me.”
Her eyes flared in a way he recognized, although he wasn’t often on the receiving end of such a look. “You think so? First, kidnapping is how we met, in case you forgot. I’m wondering if you really want to try again. Second, think of the last door that I got in a fight with.” She held up her hand, missing a pinky finger. “The door lost. And third, keeping me here would be detaining a member of the diplomatic mission, which is probably an act of war. If you—”
“Whoa! Scraah! Wait. Stop. I was actually thinking of keeping you locked up as a more of a sex-having kind of situation. And what I said? One hundred percent joke. Maybe I should stop making jokes. I’m starting to think I’m not very good at it.” Had it been a joke? It must have been.
“Let’s table the ‘tying me up during sex’ for the time being.”
He looked at her curiously. “I didn’t say ‘tying’—”
“We can revisit it when this is over because you’ve had worse ideas.”
Rhuun wasn’t sure what he’d actually suggested, but if she thought it was a good idea, it probably was. He idly wondered if Ilaan might know something about it, and then he remembered how broken it was between them.
But she was still talking. “Actually, kidnapping me again is probably your very worst idea.”
“I am forced to agree, although there are plenty to choose from.”
“But you must promise me you won’t stop telling jokes.”
“They often seem to upset you. I’m having second thoughts.”
Lelet smiled, but looked sad. “There will be a day, very soon, where all I will be able to do is remember your jokes. So promise me.”
He leaned back, feeling at once the familiar pain back in his heart, the place where she belonged. He was awed by her resolve, her strength. “You mean to do this. You mean to leave me.”
“Please don’t say it like that.” She looked near tears.
It was his fault, but he couldn’t stop his traitorous mouth. “Like what? Like you’ll go back to him, and for the thousandth time, I won’t be able to protect you.” There, good work, mouth. That’ll calm her down.
She looked up at him, the tears on her lashes catching the dim, filtered light and sparkling like water, like the river. “It’s not your job,” she said. “To protect me. Don’t you know that by now? I mean, you can want to, and I suppose it’s right that you should. But Eriis has put me in your path to do the protecting. That’s what I’m for. That’s on me.”
“Then what is my job?” he asked.
“To love me. To trust me. And to tell me jokes.”
Chapter Seven
Eriis
Aelle opened the door with her scarf in her hand and said, “Shall we go?” She didn’t invite Olly in because she knew once her door shut it would not reopen until morning and she wanted to show him off.
“I have to remind myself I can’t take your hand,” he said as they headed for the Quarter. “I don’t want to make these good people faint.”
And it was true; all eyes were on her tall and strange-looking companion. “Hideous, perhaps even worse than the prince himself” That was what they were thinking and saying to each other. And “That girl certainly has a type. What would her father say? Rest him now.” But eyes would also be on the gift he’d brought her, as promised. A strand of yellow and white stones—diamont and citrus, he’d said. He hadn’t come out and explained it, but she knew from her time on Mistra these stones had been dug up, cut, polished, and strung together—not transformed from a handful of sand. They were special, luxurious. There was a correlation between the gift and how much he valued her. But such things were not discussed, only understood. She could appreciate that.
Aelle decided she liked gifts.
Dinner was delightful. She enjoyed watching Olly try to maintain his face while working his way through an Eriisai meal. She wondered if he’d packed human food—a sandwich, a pie—that he might eat later. He managed to hold his questions until they were finished and back at her home. He’d learned enough from her time with him in Mistra to understand that in public one did not ask difficult questions, just as one did not complain about the food.
Once her door was closed and they were alone, he did indeed have a lot of questions, and most of them were difficult. She was ready and even looking forward to having someone to talk to about all the scheming going on around her, but there were priorities. First they had some lovely joining—no flame. she remembered! —and then she let him enjoy looking at her wearing nothing but the pretty stones around her neck.
Finally, they were both ready to talk, and she had a lot of explaining to do, about the Zaal, about the queen, about monsters from the desert.
“And he hates the humans, you see. The Zaal. He hasn’t forgotten the Weapon. Well, none of us have, obviously.” She lounged on her bed, and he lay half on it, half on a pile of cushions on the floor. He was almost as tall as Rhuun, and neither of them fit on her furniture.
Olly looked shamefaced. “I wish I’d been there. I would have tried—”
“I know,” she said. “And that is why you are here with me right now. I know your goodness and that you aren’t the only decent human person. Even Lelet,” she said with some reluctance. “She’s brave, certainly, even if she doesn’t check the drop before she opens her wings.”
Olly opened his mouth—probably to helpfully remind her humans didn’t have wings then realized it was only an expression. She smiled. Even the best men were so, so helpful. “Anyway, the Zaal has apparently spent the last twenty years dreaming of revenge. No, not dreaming. Planning. The queen herself told me the story. I don’t know how or where he found those creatures in the desert, but she said he intends to turn them loose on Mistra. We cannot let that happen.”
“But,” said Olly, “when we wedge The Door open to move goods, that’s when the Zaal moves? Then why agree to it at all?”
“Because,” Aelle replied, “we know, and he doesn’t know we know. Olly, it is beyond important you don’t show that face—the one you are wearing right now—when your meetings resume tomorrow morning. This is between us. I am trusting you.”
“But...but...” he stammered, “how are you so calm? We have to get home and warn—”
She laughed and kissed him. She liked it when he got emotional. “Remember at the party, when Rhuun said he’d seen his mother and she gave her regrets for not attending?”
“I can’t believe you’re laughing about this. Okay, yes, I remember that. What about it?”
She sat up and then got to her feet. He watched, confused as she took her robe from a hook, slid it on, and tied the sash around her waist. It wouldn’t do for him to observe the queen unclothed. Then she composed herself, found the places she needed to go, to press, to adjust, to change.
> Aelle was gratified at his completely dumbfounded expression. “This is what Rhuun saw. I can fool him into thinking he saw his own mother. I can fool the rest of the court into thinking Hellne is still here on Eriis.”
His demeanor changed. “For what purpose is she on Mistra? I assume that’s where she is?”
“Not quite, not yet. She has traveled outside the city to a place where she can prepare for what is to come, and then she’ll go to Mistra. To your home, in fact. She’s going to see Brother Blue. They’re going to fight some monsters.”
Chapter Eight
Eriis
Brother Maron would hardly be glad to see Lelet, until he found out why she’d asked for a meeting. Then, she was certain he’d be delighted.
Moth had been Moth. His usual attempts at humor barely masked his despair. She was grateful he finally understood; if he’d pressed the issue, she wasn’t sure she could hold firm, even though she was sure she was right. One day, she kept telling herself. One day it’ll be all jokes and no tears. Then she’d sat down with Scilla, who’d gone incandescent with rage. It had taken all of her will not to tell Scilla the truth: yes, she loved Moth more than she could say; no, she didn’t want to go back to Mistra at all, much less back to Auri’s duplicitous embrace; yes, Yuenne was out there somewhere but Thayree was still missing. She pushed that away. She kept to her script and gently reminded Scilla she’d gotten what she came for and that at least Rane might come out of this a free man. Maybe.
“I’m proud of you,” Lelet had repeated. “You’re doing something amazing. You’re here. Explore the city and be here. Don’t waste your time being angry about me. We can go back to screaming at each other at home, and May will scowl at us, and Stelle will put a little gin in May’s teacup.”
Scilla laughed despite herself and ultimately hugged her sister hard and let her go. “I’ll see you in a week. No, ten days. No, nine days. The calendars are starting to line back up, did you know that?”
Thus distracted by science, Scilla headed off to prepare for the next session without Lelet in tow.
Now Lelet was exhausted.
With only one chore left, she asked if she might speak to Maron privately. They sat together in a quiet courtyard tucked behind a huge black stone pillar just off of one of the endless palace hallways. It was open to the low, gray sky, as were many of the rooms, but it was out of the wind. A fine dust fell.
“It turns out you were correct,” she said, adjusting the veil she’d thrown over her hair. She wouldn’t miss that part.
“About?” He had no veil—no one had told him or offered one—but had a serviette stolen from last night’s dinner with which he wiped his head. His thinning hair was damp with sweat. She wondered what he’d looked like as a young, non-scowling man.
“You suggested I find something else to do. I have done so. Scilla agrees. I am to go back to Mistra. I’m done here.” The first thing she’d do would be to have a swim in Auri’s little pond in the garden. Day or night, she would simply throw her grimy dress and shoes on the grass and splash until the dust of Eriis was washed away. He’d have a fit. She smiled to herself.
Maron was shocked speechless for a moment and stared at her in a way no Eriisai ever would. “You’d leave your demon’s side?”
“I know it’s tempting to take every occasion to insult me, but perhaps you’ll remember you’re here at the good graces of the prince and watch your mouth.” She was tired of watching her own.
He sneered. “His Grace will let you go? Just like that?”
She took a sip of water. “I was going to give you a polite answer, which was something to do with how our relationship is none of your concern, but instead, I have to know. What did I do to you? Why do you speak to me like I am your enemy?”
Maron bristled and puffed. “You know what you did.”
“I don’t,” she replied. She was just so tired. “Why don’t you tell me.”
“To my brother. To Blue. He was my friend, already the finest teacher the Guardhouse ever had when I was a novice. He guided me, taught me—we were friends. And you came along and stole his wits. You did that. To him. So forgive me if you don’t care for my tone.”
“I am sorry about Blue’s health. But he’s a very old man, surely you can’t blame me—”
“I can. I do. He spent his life guarding The Door, and then you came crashing in and forced him to help you open it. That was his price—although you wouldn’t know that. You don’t know anything about magic. You only know what you want. A charm that powerful, the price was paid in his wits. If he’d just left magic alone, who knows how much life was left in him? He could have taught a class or two, had dinner with his friends, told his stories of the old days. No more, though. You with your carelessness, with your demons, with...” He gestured wildly, and the napkin fell to the floor. “With all this, you stole his wits.”
She remembered the day she’d stood over Blue’s desk, clutching a dead man’s knife and a leather satchel, raving about reopening The Door and saving Moth from the mage’s knives. She hadn’t known a thing about the price of magic back then. Brother Blue had looked at her that day much as Maron was looking at her now, with condescension and contempt. “If you feel that way, why are you here?”
It took a moment to answer. “It was his wish,” he said. “Perhaps his last wish. Even if I don’t understand it, I have no choice but to respect it. And he can’t rise from his bed, so I owe him that much. I still don’t know what changed. It was once he got caught up with you, those two little demons you brought with you, he changed. His heart changed. And by the time the big one—excuse me, His Grace—showed up, he was as good as gone. Opening The Door rescued your demon and destroyed his wits. I hope he was worth it.”
She looked up. “You don’t know, do you?”
“I know what a great man he was and what he is now. There’s nothing left of him.” He looked for his cloth, and not finding it, swiped his hand over his pate, which had gone quite pink.
“There is, though. There’s something left of him. Something wondrous.”
“Don’t play with me, girl. If you have something to say—”
“Brother Blue is Prince Rhuun’s father. He spent his wits to save his son.”
Maron didn’t speak. His mouth opened and shut.
“Haven’t you wondered why Rhuun looks like us, not like the rest of his people?” Calling him by his real name felt strange in her mouth. “Or why he spent so much time with Blue while he was on Mistra? He was desperate to know his father. But as you know, it was too late.”
He was silent for a long moment. “I ignored the talk. It was all so long ago. There’s always talk from jealous mouths. They said he got too close to a pretty girl, here in this hell of sand. And it got him in trouble. But that was long before my day, and nothing ever came of it.”
“The pretty girl was the future queen. And something did come of it. Blue never knew he had a son. He may still not really know. And Rhuun never knew who his father was. The queen refused to tell him. All Rhuun wanted was to know where he came from, and time and age and magic have stolen that from both of them.”
“Poor Blue. A son. No wonder he...” He cleared his throat, and Lelet poured him some fresh water. “He seems a bright young man, your prince.”
She unwound the veil from around her neck and handed it to Maron. “He’s not my prince, not anymore. I have a young man on Mistra—a human man, and I am anxious to get back to him. I came here to ask Rhuun to help my brother, and he will.”
Maron regarded her, now less pink and less blustery. “As far as your brother, I set the charm on that dead girl’s body myself, so she’ll be intact.”
Lelet flinched at the indelicate word but said nothing.
“If your...if the prince is to investigate, there’ll be plenty of eyes on him, starting at the top of the Fifty Families. This is a ‘curiosity.’ It is unexpected. Simply appearing at the Guardhouse, without being invited or vetted by the Prime C
ouncil or even the Mayors? He hasn’t come through regular channels. The Primes know nothing about this. You’re a Fifty’s girl, you know how that plays.”
“Poorly,” she agreed, sorry she’d made an ally so late in the day. “Mistra does not like new things. But I think Mistra will find the prince entertaining. Maybe even useful.” She paused. “Gold,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
She reached down and lifted a palmful of sand. “There’s gold in every rock. Gold opens doors. It’ll open Mistra to Rhuun. Remember the gold.”
He snatched up his own handful of sand, holding it up to the light. Then he put it in his pocket. “Am I free to mention this in session?”
“I don’t know why not. I suppose you can tell them I told you, if they wonder how you knew.” She wondered if Moth would be angry, if it was some sort of secret. He’d certainly be angry about her next idea. “You ought to make a spectacle of the prince, when you get him back. He’ll hate it, but he presents well. Make sure all the Families get a good look at him. It’ll separate him from the idea of ‘murder’ in people’s minds. After all, Mistra does like pretty things, and he’s beautiful.” Her heart felt like a tooth on a crumpled ball of foil, but she continued. “Can you do that?”
Maron frowned, thinking. “I can talk to a few people. And we should bring young Olly in on this, the Sechelles having such a low number. They’re a powerful family. His name is well regarded. Fitting, really. An exotic, an ambassador from a forgotten and possibly rich country, people will turn out for that. And it appears someone taught him manners, which is refreshing. And he is currently unenspoused, am I led to understand? That opens an avenue of possibility.”
She stared at him blankly. Then she understood. “Oh. I. Oh. Um, yes.”
Maron threaded the scarf through his fingers. “I am old, and my eyes are dim. But I am not blind, and I see how you and that young man look at each other. I seem to have been wrong about things—a good many things. But I’d wager a dozen bottles of better than decent Northern wine you’re not telling me everything.”
The River King Page 4