‘I would beg a word with you in private, my lord,’ Leilani says, levelling me with an intent stare from beneath a silver mantle.
They’re hypnotic, her eyes. I force myself to look away. Hypnotic yes, but dangerous as the Riverian Strega Pools. Stare too long into those swirling depths, and you’re like to get dragged under.
The others make room as I stride towards Leilani and her liegemaid, who’s standing vigil in the furthest corner of the pavilion, eyes fixed on the stone floor. They make too much room, shuffling as far from the Princess as they can within the pavilion’s narrow confines.
Leilani lifts her chin, stares them down.
A flash of unexpected pity surges, and I offer her my arm. Hyperion warned me against physical contact, judging that’s how Leilani read his thoughts in the Bindery and leveraged his secrets against him. But I know only too well how the courtiers’ thinly veiled contempt stings.
Leilani hesitates. I roll back my shoulders to counteract the shrinking sensation I always feel under her probing gaze. Does she really consider me so unworthy? Eventually, she takes my arm, and I lead her to a grassy knoll where we won’t be overhead, trying to ignore the shiver of pleasure rippling through me at the light pressure of her fingers at my elbow.
‘I assume you’re not here to grant me your favour, Princess?’ I ask, gaze flitting to the liegemaid who’s loitering several paces behind us and apparently engrossed by the frost. I wonder if Elvi’s ever guessed the true reason I stepped in and forced those schoolyard knaves to recant their taunts about her at the Asteum – how little it had to do with defending Leilani’s honour, how much with defending my own? I wonder if this is why she hasn’t been able to look me straight in the eye since.
‘You know why I’m here,’ Leilani says, dropping my arm now there’s no one to see us.
My ribs tighten. ‘I’ve already told you I won’t do it.’
‘But—’
‘The court’s riled enough as it is. What would happen if the Forestfolk make her worse? There’d be uproar. It would hurt you, your father – the Throne.’
She hangs her head. ‘But you’ve seen her. Don’t you care?’
‘Of course I care.’
‘Then—’
I step towards her. There’s a gentle perfume to her skin, like crushed violets. ‘You know how things stand in the North – we can’t afford to lose the support of the court too. Besides, Xylian methods are primitive; the Queen’s already been treated by the finest healers in the realm. Her case is…’ Leilani winces and I don’t finish the thought. I don’t need to; she knows how hopeless things are. She knows it all too well.
‘In the Rotunda, you said—’
I clear my throat. ‘I never actually said a thing.’
‘But you gave me to understand. You… you promised.’
If I tarry a moment longer, she’ll convince me. Leilani has a way of getting inside my head, of shaming me into action, even when I know those actions imprudent. It must be the brandmagic. ‘This conversation is over,’ I say, turning back to the pavilion. ‘See you tomorrow at the Armoury, Princess. Noon. Don’t be late.’
*
IHOVERONthe Armoury steps, searching the streets of the Southern Quarter one last time for any glimpse of that confounded crimson cape. I hoped Arcuri might be on time for this training session, at least. The plan is not only to distribute climbing equipment, but also to run weapon drills. I assumed he’d relish the chance to show off. But he’s probably lying drunk in some whore’s arms; the grooms were full of his wild carousing into the small hours as I set off on my ride this morning.
Within the Armoury, murmurs swell. The Outrealmers grow restless. Leilani is pacing towards me, her harried tread ricocheting from the flagstones, echoing off the barrel-vaulted crystal ceiling. She’s like a frostfang with a bone. Won’t let this drop. But I’ve no wish to till old ground again. I can’t speak to Hyperion on her behalf, not about this, so I avoid meeting her gaze and turn my attention back to the streets. But opposite the Armoury, my father’s marble effigy looms over me, his stony glare as wearing as my betrothed’s. What would he make of his son orchestrating this assembly? Consorting with the enemy that killed him?
‘Astrophel,’ Leilani says, close at my elbow. Her maddening floral scent sticks in my throat.
‘We should begin. He’s not coming.’
I try to move away but she digs her nails into my arm. ‘I only need a minute of your precious time.’
‘Later,’ I grind out, pulling the heavy doors closed with a satisfying clank.
I pace to the centre of the Armoury where Talfryn Orrin, palace silversmith, stands wreathed by the Outrealmers, baskets of climbing equipment ranged at his feet waiting to be demonstrated and fitted. His flossy cloud of white hair, quite apart from his skill at the anvil, recommended him for this task. His status as an air-refugee may restrict him to menial labour in the service of the court, but he’s well-versed in the peaklore we’ll need on this ill-starred quest. Leilani still won’t tell me where we’re headed, only that we’re to travel north. That means climbing. Defending ourselves from the predators that prowl the higher passes. And while I think this a fool’s errand, for the loyalty I bear my King, I’ll see we’re properly readied.
Leilani and I settle into our seats. At a nod from me, Talfryn begins his sermon about what to expect at altitude, how best to approach the terrain and cope with the thinning air, what we can do to mitigate the risk of mountain-sickness. Precious little as it happens, but he doesn’t know about the tincture Izarius has prepared for us using the starstone. Then he demonstrates how to use the climbing axes and ice-shoes he’s forged for us. I make a show of listening, but I memorised the finer points of climbing technique during my time at the Asteum, and the silversmith’s staccato rhythms, like Elvi’s, grate at that raw place deep buried inside me, recalling too closely my mother’s voice.
I can scarcely picture her face anymore, but I’ll never forget her voice.
Leilani keeps staring up at me from beneath her lace-edged mantle. Her looks are speaking. The image of my father’s marble visage looms again in my mind, his favourite motto ringing in my ears, almost as if those graven lips moved to speak it:a member of The Nine always keeps their word. But I can’t entreat Hyperion to allow reprobates to interfere with the Queen. I was a fool to ever entertain such a notion. Leilani caught me in a moment of weakness, pressed at the soft spot she knows I bear her mother. And Stars save me, but there was something in the way she bit her lip, the anguish in her eyes, that made me see her again as that child by the fountain.
