The Wizard's Heir (9 page)

“What?” he teased. “Are you afraid of the villagers?”

Something passed over her face. Rage? Fear? He wasn’t sure, but he immediately apologized. “I’m sorry.” He put his other hand over hers and squeezed it tightly. “Can you trust me?”

Tybolt was so tired of the hesitation, the wariness. He would give anything to see trust in her eyes. Eventually, Auriella nodded and they headed towards the other tavern in town. It was actually a house with an open door policy and a constant flood of friends and neighbors. Whatever water they could find flowed freely, and they drank and laughed as if they were throwing back the strongest of ales, just because they needed to.

Tybolt stopped. “One second, I need to check on something.” He darted across the street and peaked in the window of Dain’s home. A candle flickered on the table, illuminating the little boy from the market. Dain’s son was still looking over the spread Tybolt had sent home. He ran a finger over the rough, dark skin of a beet, and he took a bite out of the raw potato he held in the other hand.

Auriella came up beside him and gasped softly. “Who did he steal all that food from?”

“Me,” Tybolt said mildly. “Although I don’t think it’s called stealing when someone hands you the bag and tells you to take it home.” He peered to the side, looking for Dain. And there he was. Sitting in a chair, his head back and his mouth hanging open in a drunken stupor. “I just needed to make sure the boy’s father made it home.”

“Why?” she asked as they crossed the street.

“Because.” He swallowed, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “Little boys need their fathers.”

“And food.”

He paused and looked back at her. “And food,” he agreed.

“Do you spend all your money on them?”

“Have you ever noticed how thin they are?” he asked as they walked.

“I try not to.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She looked away. When she spoke again her voice was small, so unlike the Auriella he knew. “I don’t want to care.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s it?” She jogged to catch up then turned around, walking backwards so she could look into his eyes. “No judgmental comments? No snide remarks?”

“No. That explains a lot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s hard to love anything when you refuse to feel.” Tybolt stopped and pointed at the house to the side of them. “We’re here, but you can’t go in there looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“A Hunter.”

Tybolt saw Mace down the street, leaning against the outside of his house and smoking who knows what. “I have just the thing. Wait here.” He jogged away, coming up next to Mace. “What’s in that one?” he asked, pointing to the crudely wrapped paper cigar.

Mace shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Interesting choice. Look, I need your hat.”

Mace sneered at him over a cloud of smoke. “I’m not givin' you my hat. Just because you’re a Hunter, with your big muscles and your super speed.” Mace flung his arm in the air dramatically. “You think you can just have everything you want.” Tybolt had to bite his lip to keep from laughing “I don’t bow down to Hunters, Tybolt, not even you. I like you, but you can’t just—”

Tybolt finally cracked up “Those
big muscles,
” he mocked. “What
are
you smoking?”

Mace tucked the cigar between his lips and sucked in deeply, blowing it into Tybolt’s face. Tybolt tried not to cough at the sickly sweet smell that burned his nostrils. It smelled like Mace had rolled it with straight Leandry flowers. Not even the pigs would eat those things.

Tybolt pulled a coin from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers.

Mace’s theatrics mellowed and his eyes fixed on the coin. “Now that’s a different story,” he said. “Sold.”

“I thought so.” Tybolt flicked the coin up, and Mace snatched it from the air.

He passed over the hat. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Pleasure is mine,” Tybolt said. “But do me a favor—make sure you don’t roll any Libane leaves into those cigars of yours.”

Mace snorted and took another long drag. “Libane. I’m not stupid. Those things will kill you.”

Tybolt just chuckled and shook his head. “That they will. Have a good night.” When he got back to where he’d left Auriella, he handed her the hat. “Turn your cloak inside out and tuck your hair up.”

Auriella took the hat like it may bite, holding it at arm’s length. “This is disgusting.”

“Just put it on.”

She grumbled but pulled it over her head and tucked her long dark hair inside. “I better not get lice,” she said as she flipped her cloak around.

“Now
that
I cannot guarantee.” He threw the door open and pulled her in behind him before she could yank the hat from her head. Music spilled out into the night. Tybolt put his arm over her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “They’re not used to Hunters in here besides me. Act natural.”

Cries of “Tybolt!” rang out.

A woman sauntered up. She’d probably been very attractive at one point in her life, but her rail thinness did not enhance her features. Her cheeks were hollow with deep lines that ran from the side of her nose to her jaw. Her eyes were large and would’ve been beautiful with full cheeks, but now they stood out in an unnatural way.

She smiled and nudged Tybolt. “My daughter will be heartbroken when I tell her you brought a lady friend.”

“We’ll just have to find your daughter another Hunter.”

“None so fine as you, My Lord.”

Tybolt felt Auriella shaking with laughter. He led her through the crowd to one of the few tables in the corner. It was occupied by a man and a woman whose hands were everywhere except on the table. Tybolt cleared his throat. The man looked up, ready to yell at whoever had interrupted his rumble, but upon seeing Tybolt he grinned. “Well, look who it is.”

“Eldon,” Tybolt said. “Farah.”

Farah gave a sly wave with her fingers.

“I was wondering if we might borrow your table for…well, eating.”

“What are you implying, Lord Tybolt?” Eldon said.

“That your activities might best be finished somewhere more comfortable.”

Eldon burst out laughing. “Right you are.” He stood and offered a mocking bow to Tybolt. “My Lord.” He then held out his hand for Farah and bowed deep. “My Lady.” Farah giggled and took his hand.

Tybolt pulled out a chair for Auriella. “Those two can’t keep their hands off each other.”

Auriella sat and looked around the room from underneath her cap. “Do they come here every night?”

“Who? Eldon?”

“All of them.”

“Not every night, but most. They need someplace where they can pretend that everything is all right. This is where they come to laugh and spend time with friends.” He sobered. “They amaze me, truth be told. It doesn’t matter what they’re going through—they can still laugh.”

The fiddler started back up again, and the room erupted into a riot of singing and dancing. Tybolt kept time with his foot and watched Auriella from the corner of his eye.

Auriella struggled within herself. She wanted to look away, to put on the blinders she’d worn for so many years, but Tybolt seemed to have disarmed her.

What she remembered of living amongst these people was cruelty and hate, but this room and these faces…it looked nothing like she remembered. They were laughing and dancing, but above all she saw what Tybolt wanted her to.

She’d heard his comments time and again about how the people were starving. She’d never looked at them closely enough to really see it. She’d always kept her eyes above them. But now, this close, she could see arms that looked like the limbs of a marionette—tendons and joints too defined, large and out of place. Collarbones jutted out, spines were carved piece by piece on the backs of the ladies—like children’s blocks carefully stacked. The men’s clothes hung, hiding what was left of them, but speaking loudly as to the men they used to be.

And despite her best efforts, her heart ached for the people who’d been the cause of all her pain. Then suddenly she marveled at what she was really seeing and wondered how they had mastered something while having nothing—something she’d never been able to accomplish while having everything. “How are they so happy?” she asked.

“I think they’ve learned that grasping happiness wherever they can helps to ease their misery.”

The clock tolled six times. Tybolt rolled over in his bed, pulling his pillow over his head and grumbling.

“Lord Tybolt!” A frantic voice came through the door.

Tybolt rolled back over, grabbed his pillow, and threw it at the door.

“Are you ill? Lord Tybolt?” Malachi waited a moment for an answer. When none came, he said, “Lord Tybolt, dinner is in an hour, sir.”

“Spawn of Aja!” Tybolt had been out all night with Auriella, but he hadn’t expected to sleep all day. “Come in, Malachi.”

The door creaked open and Malachi looked at him, quite perplexed. “Lord Tybolt, you’re still in bed.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“I have your shoes,” he said, stepping in. “Polished to a shine.”

“Thank you.”

Malachi set the shoes down and stood hesitantly in the door.

Tybolt sat up. “Was there something else?”

“It’s just that…I thought you should know. The queen is failing.”

His stomach dropped into his toes, and Tybolt was grateful to be sitting.

This queen had only lasted a few months. The queens were always Hunters, and they never survived long. No one knew why, or at least no one would admit any speculations. The cause of death was never the same—sickness, a fall, an allergic reaction. All that mattered to Tybolt was that if this queen was near death, King Rowan would be on the hunt for a new wife. The last time the king had been in the process of choosing a wife, Auriella had been on the list.

That was what had Auriella thinking in a tree last night. She’d already heard the news.

“Thank you, Malachi.”

“Of course.” He bowed himself out of the room.

He tried to force his fears from his mind. Maybe the king’s eyes had found another beauty since the last wedding. Maybe Auriella wasn’t an option anymore.

He pulled the newly tailored outfit from the wardrobe—a pair of black dress pants with a stripe of black silk running down the side. His white shirt had been so heavily starched it probably would’ve stood up without him in it. The dress jacket was made of the finest material, and the lapels had been trimmed in blue silk.

He dressed and used the wash basin to scrub his face and wet down his hair before sweeping it back into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck. Tybolt pulled his green cloak over his shoulders and clasped the broach, a red enameled skull.

Outside the castle walls the villagers buzzed with excitement as they waited for the parade to begin. King Rowan sent out food for the villagers every year before the parade. It was the only day of the year that everyone ate well. The sound of well-fed children giggling made him smile despite his mood.

Hunters streamed towards the main castle ballroom dressed in their finery. Tybolt headed towards the east entrance and the stairs that led up to the great picture window where he’d told Auriella to meet him. A female Hunter named Tilly stepped in front of him, pulling him up short. She was wearing a stunning shade of blue silk, and her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders. “Tybolt,” she said.

“Tilly.”

“Would you do me the honor of escorting me tonight?” Tilly smiled coyly and held out her arm as if sure of his answer.

“I’m sorry, but I’m already escorting someone.”

Tilly’s eyes narrowed. “Are you still chasing after the ice princess?”

“Why, Tilly, I don’t recall chasing you.”

“Neither do I,” she snapped. “Which is a shame, because Auriella is no longer available, and when you come crawling back, looking for someone to—”

“What are you talking about?”

Tilly smirked. “Wait until you see her dress.” She turned and walked off.

Tybolt’s blood turned to frozen crystals in his veins. He forced his feet forward and pulled open the doors. With every step, Tilly’s words pounded through his head—
wait until you see her dress
—but he didn’t want to see. He hesitated, staring at the pattern of stars and sunbursts on the piece of carpet that ran up the main staircase.