by Katharine
I sigh and cross my arms. ‘Aron, do you have an actual reason to speak to me, or do you just wish to insult me? Because if it’s the latter, I really don’t have the time.’ He’s still smirking at me. ‘I’m sorry I forgot to go riding with you, but don’t you think you’ve punished me enough? If you were trying to hurt me, you’ve succeeded.’ I begin to walk away. But Aron calls after me.
‘Cousin –’
‘What?’
‘Come riding with me this afternoon.’
‘So you can spend an hour telling me what my life will be like when I’m married to Patrus, and how he’s going to –’ I break off; even thinking about Patrus sickens me. ‘I don’t think so. Besides, I have work to do. Verginie of Lancorphys wishes to consult me over another petition for the extension of representation to the flightless. May I go now?’
‘Just … listen to me, for a moment.’ Aron looks down at the empty sleeve of his tunic and starts tugging at a loose thread. ‘I thought … I thought you were like me. I thought that, whatever you claimed, there finally was someone else at court who couldn’t fly, someone who would understand how I felt. And then, when I saw you with Siegfried that morning …’ He swallows and takes a breath. ‘It made me angry – too angry to think clearly. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.’
I bite my lip. Part of me wants to tell him the truth: I am just like you. My recovery is a lie: I still can’t transform, and I’ve ended up giving Siegfried more power over me than I ever imagined. But I don’t. ‘I do understand, Aron.’ He doesn’t look up, so I touch his hand. ‘What time do you want to go?’
‘The eighth hour?’ He grins suddenly, and for once I can see the boy in him, the person he might have become were it not for his dreadful father, and the way his future and his dreams have been ripped away from him. ‘As long as Rookwood’s thunderstorms haven’t shown up.’
Despite Aron’s apology, I’m not especially looking forward to our ride. But my cousin is on his best behaviour. He doesn’t mention Patrus, or Siegfried, and saves most of his sarcasm for the queen, whom he accuses – on the basis of nothing more than his dislike, as far as I can tell – of somehow contributing to his father’s illness. When I say that I feel sorry for her, that she may have had little choice in accepting his father’s proposal, he scoffs and waves my words away. But he retains his good humour and invites me to dine with him and his sister.
Apart from the handful of times I’ve eaten with Letya, it’s the most relaxed supper I’ve had since our arrival at the Citadel. Aron seems to be making an effort to be less caustic and not to spend all his time finding fault with people. With her brother there, Odette doesn’t mention Siegfried, or the wedding, and she’s surprisingly witty. Away from my uncle and the oppressive formality of courtly banquets, both my cousins are more relaxed, more normal, than I’ve ever seen them.
As the days pass, and my uncle makes no appearance – although his physician makes frequent predictions that His Majesty will resume his duties the next day, or at the latest, the day after – we settle into a routine. On the days I eat supper with Letya, I ride with Aron. And on the days I ride with Letya, I have supper with my cousins. The only person I don’t see much of is Lucien. Released from the requirement to escort me to formal court events, he seems – from what Letya tells me – to spend most of his time alone. One afternoon, after a letter for him has been included among my correspondence by mistake, I decide to use it as an excuse and go to hunt him down.
Despite Letya’s gift for picking up gossip, I’m a little surprised to find that he is indeed in his room when I knock. He opens the door and his eyes widen.
‘Your Grace. What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. I have a letter for you, that’s all.’ I hand him the envelope and he stands there, staring at it, as if there might be some invisible message that will become clear if he glares at it for long enough. ‘It was delivered to me by mistake.’
‘Oh. I see.’
Now he’s staring at me, and I notice that his eyes are red-rimmed, as if he’s very tired; or he’s been crying.
‘May I come in?’
Wordlessly he opens the door wider and moves aside.
His room is a mess. Smaller than mine, it serves as both bedroom and sitting room. The bed is made – a servant would have taken care of that – but there are papers scattered across the floor, piles of novels and notebooks, loose scrolls everywhere. I glance around, trying to find somewhere I can sit.
‘Oh – let me move those.’ He grabs a stack of books from a chair, searches for a clear space to set them down, and settles for adding them to another pile. The whole edifice totters precariously.
‘Lucien, please tell me all this work isn’t because you’re my clerk. Surely you should have an assistant, or –’
‘No. It’s not to do with Atratys. I mean, some of it is, but –’ he gestures to a painting of a handsome, square-built house propped up on the fireplace – ‘a lot of it is to do with Hatchlands. My mother’s health isn’t good, and my younger brother is busy with his studies. Someone has to take care of the business of the estate.’
Guilt makes me squirm. Why did Lord Lancelin order Lucien to come to court with me in such circumstances? ‘Your father … he can’t be aware of how much is falling on you.’
Lucien’s face hardens. ‘My father is concerned only with Merl, and the administration of the dominion. It is his priority. It always has been.’ There’s a bitterness in his voice; the same bitterness I noticed when I overheard Lord Lancelin and him arguing in the library, all those weeks ago.
‘It’s my fault.’ I look down at my hands, at the Protector’s ring glinting accusingly on my index finger; the heavy gold band flares at the top into a square, deeply incised with the coat of arms of the House of Cygnus Atratys. ‘When my father died, I didn’t want to take over. I didn’t want to have to spend my time judging disputes and negotiating treaties. I’m sorry, Lucien. When we get back I’ll try harder, I’ll –’
‘It isn’t you, my lady. From what I’ve learned, my father’s allegiance was fixed long before you were born. Before either of us was born. When he and your father were both young men …’ He shrugs and nudges a scroll with the toe of his boot. ‘I suppose he shouldn’t have married, but he did. He loves my mother, but never as well as he loved your father.’
All those years when I was growing up, and Lord Lancelin was living at Merl instead of at his own home … I had no idea. Did my father know how Lancelin felt? Did he care? ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, because I can’t think of anything else to say. Until I hear Lucien’s stomach rumble. ‘Come to supper this evening with me and Aron and Odette. We’ve been eating together in Aron’s apartment.’
‘No. Aron doesn’t like me. It wouldn’t be comfortable. And besides, I haven’t been invited.’
‘I’m inviting you.’
‘But the meal isn’t being served in your rooms.’ His jaw is clenched; I can tell he’s going to be stubborn.
‘Very well. Then I’m going to get you an invitation.’
He shakes his head. ‘Your Grace …’
I point a finger at him. ‘I absolutely forbid you to disappear.’
I send Letya to check the stables first (the grooms don’t take kindly to nobles turning up unannounced and spooking the horses). She returns with the information that Aron came in from a ride about an hour ago – he should be somewhere in the palace. I wander from room to room and through the gardens, and eventually find him in the sanctuary. I’m a little surprised; today isn’t an Ember Day, and Aron has never struck me as particularly religious. He’s standing in the large empty space that is the core of the sanctuary, staring up at the image on the ceiling: the Creator, in the form of the Firebird, flying out of the centre of a star.
‘Beautiful, is it not?’ He gestures up at the glittering mosaic that makes up the picture. ‘“And thus was the world in fire born, and thus will it end in flame.”’
I rec
ognise his words as a quotation from one of the Litanies, though I can’t remember which one. ‘It is beautiful. Though I’m not sure I want to end in flame.’ The shadow of the nameless man burned to death by Patrus shifts restlessly in the back of my mind, mingling with the fire and smoke of my father’s Last Flight. ‘I have a favour to ask, cousin.’
He raises his eyebrows, waiting.
‘Might I bring Lucien to dine with us this evening?’
A look of disgust flashes across Aron’s face. ‘Is that it? I thought you were going to ask me something exciting.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, would I kill Patrus for you? That would be a definite yes, by the way. I may not be able to fly, but my sword arm is strong. Easily strong enough to slice through his flaccid flesh.’
‘Well … I’ll bear that in mind. But what about Lucien? I know you don’t like him –’
‘Wrong, cousin. I loathe him.’
There’s so much resentment in his voice I am temporarily silenced.
Aron rolls his eyes. ‘I suppose you may bring him. If you must.’
‘Thank you. He seems so sad at the moment. I think his mother is unwell, and –’
‘Spare me the pathetic details. I’ve said yes, haven’t I?’
I execute a deep curtsy, which makes him smile. ‘Until this evening then, Your Highness.’ I return to the main door, but as I leave the sanctuary I glance back; Aron is staring up at the ceiling again.
Lucien has been tidying up while I’ve been gone; the books and papers are still there, but they’ve been heaped up in one corner of the room.
‘Good news, my lord: you’re now officially invited to supper.’ He doesn’t look very pleased. ‘You may escort me to the prince’s apartments at the twelfth hour.’
He bows his head. ‘Of course, Your Grace. My only desire is to serve.’
I bite back the sarcastic comment that rises to my lips. Still, during the intervening hours, I can’t help worrying that forcing Lucien and my cousin together might just end in disaster. Letya and I spend the afternoon together, but eventually she gets fed up with my pacing and tells me I should do something useful. Remembering my promise to Lucien, I turn to the piles of correspondence sitting on my desk. Answering letters, or making notes on those that require further consideration, forces me to concentrate. The twelfth hour comes more quickly than I expected.
Our meal doesn’t start well. Aron is at his caustic worst and Lucien takes refuge in being wooden and monosyllabic. The burden of making civil conversation falls on Odette and me, and initially we struggle. Having discussed the weather, the king’s illness and the reports of a possible war between Frianland and Celonia, two of our nearest neighbours, silence threatens. Desperate, I’m about to launch into the latest news I’ve received from Lord Lancelin – the development of a new steel pen nib by an ironmaster in Atratys – when Odette turns to Lucien.
‘Do you remember that time when you and Aron stole Dark Guard uniforms and commandeered a barrel of ice wine?’
Lucien draws back – flushes – laughs. ‘I could hardly forget. It was only four years ago.’
‘Five,’ Aron comments. ‘We were both fourteen.’
‘That’s right.’ Lucien stares out of the window, frowning. ‘But what were we going to do with the wine? Did we actually have a plan?’
‘We were going to get Siegfried’s father drunk, and then get him to say something indiscreet, and then dress as guards and pretend to arrest him for treason.’
Aron and Lucien were once friends? My surprise is quickly followed by curiosity. But I don’t want to derail the conversation. ‘And you thought that would be amusing?’ I ask, glancing at Odette.
She shrugs.
‘He deserved it,’ Lucien replies. ‘Aurik of Olorys is one of the most unpleasant men I’ve ever met. There were always rumours about his behaviour.’ He leans closer to Aron. ‘Do you remember?’
‘Indeed. That family has long had a reputation for violence. Supposedly they used to cut out the tongues of their flightless servants so that they couldn’t repeat anything they heard. Though that’s just hearsay of course.’
I think about Gytha and her unbroken silence, and shiver.
‘Well –’ Odette raises an eyebrow at her brother – ‘I feel sorry for Siegfried. Can you imagine, growing up with such a father? It’s amazing he’s turned out so well.’
Aron and Lucien glance at each other, but Lucien merely says, ‘It’s hard to blame Siegfried for taking control and putting a stop to Aurik’s court visits as soon as he came of age.’
‘Doesn’t Siegfried’s father suffer from gout?’ I look from Aron to Lucien. ‘I thought that was why he isn’t here.’
‘My dear cousin –’ Odette spears another moon-clam from the dish in front of her – ‘he always has gout. It’s the longest attack of gout in history. He hasn’t been seen at court for three years.’
‘I actually wonder whether Siegfried’s killed him,’ Aron says.
Odette kicks his ankle. ‘Leave my betrothed alone and tell us what happened to the barrel of wine. Did you get Aurik drunk in the end?’
‘No.’ Lucien looks at Aron and smiles. ‘We decided to try it ourselves beforehand. We tried a little, then a little more –’
‘We got completely inebriated and passed out. I think. My memory is a bit hazy.’ Aron rubs his hand over his face. ‘Didn’t you vomit into your Dark Guard helmet?’
‘I think we both did.’ Lucien laughs again. ‘And then as punishment your tutor made us put them on –’
Odette jumps up and pulls the bell to summon a servant. ‘That’s enough: you’re making me feel quite unwell. And I want some dessert.’
I knew that Lucien had been at court for several years as a teenager, but I hadn’t thought about the fact that he must have grown up with Aron and Odette. I wonder again what happened between the two boys to break their friendship. Neither of them mentions it. And when I ask Odette the next day, she claims ignorance.
As my uncle’s illness drags on, the four of us relax around each other. I almost forget about the king. Siegfried is still absent from court, leaving me waiting for news of my mother’s murderers; I feel as if the moment of revenge, the moment I’ve dreamed of for so long, is nearly at hand. But I cannot see what lies beyond it. So I try not to think about Olorys, or about Siegfried. Unfortunately, it’s getting harder to ignore Patrus. I learn from Lucien that he has tried to see the king, to get permission to marry me in the palace sanctuary without further delay. But the queen refuses to allow him in, so I don’t attach much importance to his behaviour; it seems irritating, rather than dangerous.
One evening I’m up late: there’s a star shower due to begin, and the sky is clear, so I’m planning to take my telescope – my mother’s telescope – up to the top of one of the towers. A delight in astronomy was one of the earliest gifts my mother gave me. I clearly remember standing at the top of the highest tower at Merl as she pointed out her favourite constellations: the huntress, the cygnets, the diadem. And tonight, Lucien has said he might join me. There’s a knock at my door and I assume it’s him.
‘Come in.’ I’m carefully assembling the brass stand of the telescope, so I don’t look up. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come, Lucien. Even from the window the display is –’
‘Good evening, Aderyn.’
‘Patrus … What are you doing here?’
‘Come to … to persuade you. Obviously.’ The only thing that’s obvious is that he’s drunk. He’s wearing a robe and carrying the wooden rod that he had in his hand at Deaufleur. ‘It’s time to …’ He pauses, swaying slightly, and blinks at the telescope that is sitting on the table between us. ‘What is this?’
‘A telescope.’
‘Telescope. You know what this is?’ He points at the wooden rod.
‘It’s a stick. Please leave my apartment.’
‘No. It’s a rod of –’ he belches – ‘correction. For flightless servants. An
d disobedient wives.’
I remember his determination to inflict suffering at Deaufleur, and his dead wives, and Aron’s insinuations, and a horrible suspicion crawls into my brain. I back away from him.
‘I am not your wife, and I never will be. You’re a monster. Now get out.’
But he doesn’t move. Instead he raises the rod and sweeps the telescope, stand and all, onto the floor. Glass shatters, and scatters across the floor.
‘What have you done? That was my mother’s telescope, you –’
Patrus raises the rod again. ‘My telescope. Just like you’re mine, and Atratys is mine. Now get changed. We’ll fly …’ he pauses, shakes his head, ‘we’ll fly from here. Get married in my castle tomorrow.’
He’s even drunker than I thought, if he believes he can force me to transform. I glance at the bell pull on the other side of the room, and back at Patrus’s swaying from. Surely, surely I must be able to get there before him …
I dart out from behind the table, flinging myself forward –
Pain flares in my shoulders and my hands as he knocks the breath out of me, knocks me to the ground onto the broken glass. Patrus’s arm is raised for another blow, so I kick him in the groin as hard as I can and he drops the rod, bellowing, but as I try to get up he grabs at me, knocking me forward onto my knees, grabs again and I feel his nails scrape my skin as the back of my dress gives way. In front of me is a table, Letya’s knitting lying on the surface. I glance behind me, and Patrus is reaching for the rod again, so I lunge for the knitting needles, snatch them up, swing my arm up and back as hard as I can as my assailant stumbles –
Patrus screams. Falls. The door to my apartment slams open.
‘Aderyn!’ Lucien runs to the bell pull and yanks it violently. Then he is next to me, his hands on my shoulders. ‘Aderyn, look at me. Are you hurt?’