As soon as I was through the antechamber, I heard a flurry of activity behind me and allowed myself a small smile. News of my arrival would spread like wildfire now, which only gave me a further advantage in the impending conversation with the Chief Vizier. It may have been years since I’d graced these halls, but I was still the Prince of Iluul, even if only in name.
And names, I’d found, held power.
The walk from the antechamber to the palace gardens was much quicker than I remembered. Though, regrettably, I’d spent little time in the gardens. It was more of my mother’s peaceful space, one that was too full of quiet beauty for an overly emotional teenager.
We moved uninhibited through the stone archway that connected the breezeway to the gardens, the two guards bowing as we passed. The humidity and warmth of the air washed over me like a wave as soon as I moved out of the protective shade of the breezeway. Instantly, I began to sweat underneath the heavy layers of clothing, my tunic stuck to my back, and my hair became increasingly damp underneath the weight of the kavuk I wore. Despite the immediate discomfort, I refused to show any sign of weakness, anything that could be used against me by the many eyes that were undoubtedly watching my progress through the garden.
Instead of focusing on the warmth of the sun against my skin or the sudden dampness of my clothing, I found distraction in the thousands of flowers planted in the garden, most by my mother’s hand. Vines of all varieties grew thickly on the tall stone walls that encased the gardens, creating a private oasis for both the pasha and his family.
Memories from my childhood sparked to life as I cast my gaze about. There, nearest the far western corner of the garden where an olive tree bloomed, was where my mother taught me to read. That bush of bright white roses was my mother’s favorite, and I remember clipping them as a boy no older than four, the sharp thorns leaving scrapes and cuts along my fingers and arms as I hacked at the stems, desperate to create a bouquet for my mother. She’d smiled and sniffed them when I brought them to her, careful of the thorns as she took them gently from my bloodied hand. I’d spent the next few minutes in her rooms as she carefully cleaned my cuts, bandaging the worst of them.
I smiled wide as we passed a small square, completely overgrown now, that often served as our family spot for breakfast. The longer I walked through the garden, the clearer it became that this was not as well-kept as I originally thought. Yes, the flowers and shrubbery were thick, but there was a wildness to it that bespoke of neglect. The flowers were so thick in some spots, theirblooms reaching across the walkways to twine together, that they nearly obstructed the pathway. I let the delicate flowers brush my kaftan, and the sweet scents of roses and lilies, tulips and oleander, permeated the space and hung heavy in the humid air.
“Not much farther now,” Pip murmured as she wiped the sweat off her brow. She, like me, was clearly more accustomed to the lighter, cooler air in the north.
It was clear she was leading me into the middle of the garden where shrubs nearly fifteen feet tall, their branches unruly and untamed, surrounded what I knew to be a second square large enough for a small table and chairs.
This place needs a heavy dose of Earth Magic, I thought, the power within me rustling in response to my assessment.Perhaps on our way out, we’ll help.
My magic purred contentedly at the thought.
Pip and I wound our way through the short maze of box shrubs, originally planted in such a way that the meal was completely shrouded from prying eyes; a sense of privacy in an otherwise relatively open space.
Pip paused as we reached the entrance to the square, my position behind her and diagonal to one of the bushes blocking my view nearly completely. I could see half of a small table and an empty cushion, presumably for me.
“Chief Vizier, the Prince of Iluul is here,” Pip said demurely as she bobbed a small curtsey. Turning abruptly to face me, she regarded me with those doe eyes that held more understanding than should be possible. It was if she saw more, knew more than she ever alluded to.
“This is where I leave you, Torin d’Eshu,” she murmured, placing a small hand on my shoulder. “May Fate guide and keep you.”
She squeezed once before fleeing the confines of the bushes.
I watched her go, my gaze lingering at the edges of the maze for a moment, before I straightened to my full height and surreptitiously adjusted my kaftan, brushing any loose petals off the fabric.
“Are you ever going to join me, Prince of Iluul?” The low, almost annoyed drawl was not that of the previous Chief Vizier, but nor was it unfamiliar.
With a deep breath, I stepped around the final bush to see the Chief Vizier lounging on a second cushion, a variety of platters holding an array of breakfast fare spread across the low table, while two small espresso cups marked each place setting. A carafe of coffee perched at the end of the table, the spout steamed slightly, emitting the telltale scent of Iluulian dark roast coffee.
“Hello, Hosmunt,” I said.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Torin
“Twenty years, Torin, and that’s all you have to say to me?” Hosmunt said, deep frustration lacing every word.
I shrugged as I took tentative steps into the small courtyard. The smells of the breakfast mingled with the acidity of the coffee and sweetness of the shrubs, creating a heady aroma that was almost too overwhelming. With a casual flick of my wrist, a light stream of air sped from my fingers to swirl about the space, creating a breeze that both cooled while dissipating the scents.
“I figured it was a good place to start,” I said as I sat heavily on the open cushion.
Hosmunt stared at the use of my magic, his brow furrowed in thought as he took another large bite of pastry.
“Didn’t know you were such a fan of these,” I quipped while brandishing one of the baked goods in his direction. He rolled his eyes, and my lips quirked in a small smile at the familiar gesture. Hosmunt was nearly a decade my senior but was still the youngest vizier in modern Iluulian history. Despite the age gap, he’d donned the mantle of ‘older brother’ while I settled into my role as prince.
Hosmunt’s expression instantly hardened as if he’d forgotten the years that separated us and the reason for my visit. With a sigh, he dropped the half-eaten pastry onto his small plate with a clang before brushing his hands free from lingering crumbs. His deep-brown eyes studied me intently, cataloging everything from the scars on my skin to the emerald kaftan.
His roving gaze only intensified the unease roiling in my gut, and Ifound my appetite suddenly vacant. Not wanting to show any sign of weakness, however, I slowly reached for a small piece of flatbread and a square of hard cheese.
The silence between us stretched impossibly, only broken by the sounds of my chewing and the occasional bird that chirped from a tree somewhere in the garden.
