It was secluded, easy to cordon off, and easy to guard. That served two equally important purposes. It provided Arlen with a sense of security, which Healer Lemil had said was crucial for his recovery, and it kept him out of sight of the rest of the court.
I passed a pair of guards as I entered the wing, another pair at the mouth of the corridor leading to the suite, and another pair who were guarding the door.
"Prince Alar." They bowed to me.
"I'm here to see my brother."
One of them turned around and knocked on the door.
Arlen's manservant opened it just enough to poke his head through, but the words he'd been prepared to say froze on his lips when he saw me.
"Prince Alar." He opened the door a fraction wider and bowed. "Prince Arlen is not receiving visitors."
"He will receive me, Balert." I motioned for him to step aside.
He hesitated for a brief moment, then bowed again. "Yes, Your Highness." He cleared the door for me to enter. "Prince Arlen is seated by the balcony door." He leaned closer to me. "He's having a relatively good day, Your Highness."
The sitting room had not been redecorated after our grandmother's passing, and it still held her faded silk-covered chairs, velvet sofas, and old portraits, but the thick rug that had covered the floor had been removed, and I understood why when I saw the wheeled chair.
Arlen sat in it with his back to me, facing the tall balcony doors, looking out at the walled garden below. It had been our grandmother's rose garden, and it was still well tended. A single guard stood on the far wall of the garden, watching the enclosed space and the rest of the palace gardens beyond it.
"The guard is there to make sure no one comes over the wall," Arlen said without turning, and without a word of greeting to the brother he hadn't seen for months.
He sounded like Arlen, his voice hadn't changed, but everything else about him had.
"Hello, Arlen. May I come in?"
I asked because it was the polite thing to do and I wanted to remind him how this conversation should sound, but he ignored me.
"Father indulges me," he said flatly. "Before they posted him, I had Balert move the wardrobe and the writing desk against the doors. That was the only way I could close my eyes at night."
I was surprised he was telling me all that. The old Arlen would have pretended that there was nothing wrong with him. The new Arlen seemed too defeated to care.
"Pathetic, I know."
I came around the chair so I could see him.
He was thinner, especially the legs, which used to be so strong, so muscular, and he wasn't even trying to hide them with a blanket as I'd seen other people in his situation do. His knees looked so bony under the thin fabric of his trousers.
I didn't know muscle atrophy could happen so quickly.
The face was Arlen's face, our father's face, unmarked, handsome, and older than it should be. He was only thirty-three, but he looked over forty now.
He looked up at me, and for one moment the old warmth was there, the eldest brother who had ruled over the rest of us but also showed us the secret passages under the palace and played hide-and-seek with us.
"Little brother," he said. "You've gotten golden."
"Golden?"
He waved a hand at my face. "You are tanned like a sheepherder, and your hair has golden streaks from spending too much time in the sun."
That was the old Arlen, and I didn't know whether to rejoice at this glimpse of him still present in that broken body or mourn what had become of him.
My throat tight, I pulled over one of our grandmother's fancy chairs and sat, putting myself level with him. "I guess I did spend a little too much time outdoors. Much healthier than the artificial lighting indoors, if you ask me. You should try it."
He studied me. "You look well."
"You just said that I looked like a sheepherder."
