Thorn (29 page)

Eventually, I sit back against the wall, listening to the ragged whisper of my breath slowly calm. The voices of the diners float up to me, but if I do not concentrate I cannot quite make them out. I heave myself to my feet and pour myself a cup of water at the table, drinking it slowly. I wet my hands and scrub my face, wipe away the traces of my tears. I slide into the waiting chair, staring at the cold remains of my dinner.

I cannot tell how long I sit, how many minutes or hours creep by. At some point the diners rise and make their exit, and in their wake come servants, dishes clinking as they are piled and carried away. It is as if I listen to a ghost, a memory of people and actions, from my dark chamber.

The sound of the servants clearing off below has nearly died away when I hear another faint noise: boots in the outer hallway. The lock clicks and Matsin pushes open the door, his face half-lit by the lamp he carries. I rise and follow him back down the secret hall.

“Why do you think the prince asked you to bring me here?” I ask Matsin as we leave the storage room.

He pauses, his gaze on the corridor ahead, and then he turns his head slowly to study me. “He asked me once what Lady Valka was like, if she could ever make a goose girl. I told him it would take a lady who dances through the kitchen with the scullery maids and hugs her hostler in farewell to accept such a fall with dignity and grace. Lady Valka was not such a woman.”

“You,” I begin to say and cut myself off before the chain around my neck tightens. I should not be shocked. Hadn’t the Menaiyan quads attached to me had a fortnight to know my character before we ever started traveling? Of course they would have seen a difference. I had only assumed that they would not consider what it meant.

“Yes,” Matsin says, his voice quiet. “So I beg you will speak with our prince, and meet with him.”

“I come as he bids me.”

Matsin’s lips form a grim line. “I wish it were more than that.”

I shrug, glancing down the hall. “Perhaps it is best this way.”

Matsin begins to walk again, taking my hint, but as we reach our destination, yet another carved door in a hall that looks only vaguely familiar, he says. “I do not believe that, my lady. Neither must you.”

Kestrin rises from his seat as we enter, a fire crackling cheerfully in the grate. It is the same small sitting room where I wrote a letter to my mother, dictated by the prince. I drop into a curtsy, sense Matsin’s quick bow. With a quiet step he departs.

Kestrin sketches me a bow. “My lady.”

“Your Highness.”

“I hope you have enjoyed your evening.”

“It has been most interesting.”

“As always,” he says, smiling. “Will you join me?”

“As always,” I echo, taking the seat opposite him. He sits, his eyes lingering on my face. I watch the fire and find myself wondering wryly what I will do when the weather is too warm for fires: what will I have to look at then?

I turn towards Kestrin. “Tell me, Your Highness, what you hope to gain from this little game of yours.”

He meets my gaze. “I wish you to know my betrothed as I do.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Would I lie to you?”

I shrug. “It is not treason for a prince to lie to his vassals.”

“Do you consider yourself my vassal then?” he asks, his tone ironic.

“A step below, Your Highness; I have made no oath of allegiance.”

“None at all?”

I tilt my head, evading the question. “I do not believe you, Your Highness, because I already know the princess, and you know that I do.”

“Perhaps I thought to remind you.”

“To what end?”

He shrugs, opening his palms towards me. “Lady,” he says, then stops. “Lady, what can I offer you?”

I look directly into his forest-shadow eyes. “Apple cakes.”

He stares. I stand up and cross to the door.

“Lady, wait,” he calls after me, rising.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

“
Wait
.” His voice reverberates with authority. I turn back to him, aware that I am a servant again, that I must obey his orders, even that my clothes are appallingly shabby next to his.

His features stiffen and he looks away. “Do what you will.”

I hesitate, watching the fall of shadows on his face.

“Get out then,” he snarls, starting towards me. “Flee back to your geese and forget I called you here.”

I watch as he advances on me, watch the familiar mask slide into place over his features, the way his eyes seem almost black. He stops a bare hand span before me. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get away from the court? Then run away, Thorn. I won’t stop you anymore.”

“If I truly wanted that, Your Highness, I should have left Tarinon by now.”

He takes a heavy breath and lets it out slowly. “You told me once that you could not find a way to leave, nor a place to go.”

“I have found a way since,” I tell him, thinking of Red Hawk. He waits. I smile tiredly. “I still do not have a place to go. I suppose it could be arranged, but you understand as well as I that I cannot leave quite yet.”

“You are waiting.”

“Aren’t we all?”

He shakes his head in frustration. “What did you mean by ‘apple cakes’?”

“Her Highness intends to win the love of the common folk with apple cakes; you would offer me similar items of little worth to yourself in order to win my loyalty, wouldn’t you?” He regards me silently and I flush, realizing that I wear the cloak he gave me.

“It is your friendship I seek,” he says.

“You do not seek it as a friend; you seek it as a prince seeks the loyalty of a subject. The trouble is this: I will not sell my loyalty or my friendship.”

“I see.” He steps back, his eyes holding mine. “Then how is your friendship to be won?”

“I can hardly explain it to you, Your Highness. Suffice it to say that, while I might find experiences like tonight’s highly educational, I neither respect nor admire anyone the more for it.” I unclasp the cloak’s brooch, swinging it off my shoulders.

“You have now seen two very different dinners. Surely, in comparing them, you see how—company matters.”

“I never doubted it. I appreciate the illustration, but it was hardly necessary.”

“Then what is necessary, lady? What do you suggest I do?”

I wince. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“I offer you my protection,” he begins.

“Your protection has failed me once already.”

His eyes flash, and for a moment I fear that his anger will ride him as it did when I challenged his motives one time before. Instead, the flash sparks into humor and he laughs. “I believe I have failed you more than once, lady. I am grateful for your kind accounting.”

I walk back to the armchair, aware of his gaze following me. I fold my cloak over its back, then lean against it, staring at my hands.

“Suppose I returned, Your Highness. What would that accomplish?”

“There would be the small matter of justice to be carried out,” he says softly, as if afraid his voice might banish my words. Justice. Against Valka, of course. But that isn’t really what I want.

“I have seen enough here already to think little of my case for justice. There are other greater injustices that deserve your attention first. Is there no other reason?”

“You cannot be serious. We discuss treason—”

“Is that all?” I repeat sharply. He crosses the distance to the armchairs, leaning against the other one so that he can watch my face. I meet his gaze.

“A traitor once is a traitor always, lady.”

“And a man warned is a man prepared, Your Highness.”

“You have not considered the implications.”

“I have. I believe you have greater concerns than the woman you are to marry. Tell me what would be accomplished by my return, beyond a traitor’s punishment. ”

“You would be well placed to see to more than apple cakes if that is your interest. You may address whatever injustices concern you.” I think that Kestrin’s smile is that of a predator, of a hound scenting blood. How quickly he has understood me.

“An interesting proposition, Your Highness, but I doubt such a future.”

“Why?”

“Because I doubt the surety of your future, and that of your family’s.” He lowers his face, turning away slightly, his features icing over. “Also, you are offering me apple cakes once more. You would tempt me with an offer of justice for your people rather than striving to such ends yourself.”

“You speak well, lady. I perceive quite clearly why you prefer your work to the court.”

“Then help me to understand why I should return. I see only lies, artifice and ultimate failure here.”

“There is very little else to speak of.” Kestrin leans against the back of the armchair, resting his elbows on its back. A few strands of hair have slipped free of their tie, falling like a tracery of shadows over his brow. He looks weary, tired past bearing. The firelight casts a waning warmth on his features that makes me think of the last flush of life on the face of a dying man.

“Isn’t there?” I ask, almost pleading.

“If you are not tempted by power, wealth, rank or an offer of flawed protection, or by a personal concern for justice to be carried out for yourself,” he looks up and catches my gaze, “then what else is there?

I open my mouth and close it again. I can hear Falada’s voice, see his dark eyes somber and penetrating,
At some point you must take responsibility for your life.
I know the answer, looking at Kestrin, but I cannot speak the words. As Falada once demanded of me, I know I cannot leave Valka as my successor; that, having been born to power, it is my responsibility to see it handled well by myself, by those who come after me.

“What is it?” Kestrin murmurs, his gaze razor sharp.

I shake my head. “You are right; such things do not tempt me.”

He smiles wryly. “I will never look at apple cakes the same again, my lady.”

I push my face into a semblance of a smile. “See that you don’t. And if you can think of winning loyalty without the use of apple cakes …”

“I do not think I know how. I have been too long at court.”

“Perhaps you should come to work with the geese,” I suggest flippantly. “They may be temporarily won by treats, but their regard is as easily lost. It is a good lesson for us all.”

“Perhaps I will visit you.”

“I will look forward to watching their reception of you,” I reply. “It is late now, Your Highness, and I must get to work at dawn. If I have your leave?” I walk to do the door.

“Your cloak, Lady.” Kestrin gestures to where it hangs over the chair back.

I shake my head. “It is not mine; I should not have accepted it in the first place.”

He grimaces. “It is not an apple cake, if that is what you mean.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You were cold; I saw you twice while out riding, and I could see the way the wind cut you.” He lifts the cloak from the chair and brings it to me. “Take this, lady. If you do not want it for yourself, then do what you will with it. Only do not return it to me.”

I accept the cloak hesitantly, holding it awkwardly, unsure whether I should put it on again or not. “As you wish,” I say.

“Hardly.” He steps past me and opens the door, “Go in peace, my lady.”

“And you, Your Highness.”

The next morning dawns with a soft exhalation of warmth. The air outside brings heady whiffs of green with it, and around the corners of the goose barn tiny purple flowers poke their heads above the earth. The geese honk excitedly, scrambling over each other in the rush to leave their winter prison, the ganders barely bothering to peck at me in their excitement.

I am amazed at how quickly my morning’s work goes: even without Corbé’s help, I am done within the hour. Without the geese underfoot, scronking and obstinately standing their ground, I suppose it should not have surprised me at all. Finished, I start for the goose pasture, pausing under Falada’s head at the gates. I call up to him softly. As faintly as a leaf dropping from a tree I hear the word
Princess
. But that is all.

Once settled in the pasture, I think of opening up my hair to air it out, but a glance towards Corbé stills the impulse. I can just make out his form, his legs stretched out before him, staff leaning against the tree. His face is turned towards me, but I cannot distinguish his expression. I keep my staff with me through the day.

Upon our return, I find a page waiting for me. He shifts from foot to foot, arms crossed and nose raised away from the stench of livestock. “Her Highness wishes to see you this evening,” he tells me as I shut the gate behind Corbé. “I’m to escort you up.”

The streets are still busy with end-of-day traffic, and it takes us some time to thread our way up the road. I am grateful for the solid
thunk
of my staff against the cobblestones. I doubt I will be able to command an escort home tonight. I sigh, glancing at the page. He walks with a little bounce, his hair brushing his shoulders with every step. He isn’t quite as uppity as he first tried to appear at the stables, I suspect.