III
He found them in the courtyard, taking a late tea under the cloudless night and the fall canopy of trees.
The king and queen were sitting at a table, while Rhy was stretched on a sofa, rambling on again about his birthday and the slew of festivities intended to surround it.
“It’s called a birthday,” chided King Maxim—a towering man with broad shoulders and bright eyes and a black beard—without looking up from a stack of papers he was reading. “Not a birthdays and certainly not a birthweek.”
“Twenty years!” countered Rhy, waving his empty teacup. “Twenty! A few days of celebration hardly seems excessive.” His amber eyes glittered mischievously. “And besides, half of them are for the people, anyway. Who am I to deny them?”
“And the other half?” asked Queen Emira, her long dark hair threaded with gold ribbon and gathered in a heavy braid behind her.
Rhy flashed his winning smile. “You’re the one determined to find me a match, Mother.”
“Yes,” she said, absently straightening the teaware, “but I’d rather not turn the palace into a brothel to do it.”
“Not a brothel!” said Rhy, running his fingers through his rich black hair and upsetting the circle of gold that rested there. “Merely an efficient way of assessing the many necessary attributes of—Ah, Kell! Kell will support my thinking.”
“I think it’s a horrible idea,” said Kell, striding toward them.
“Traitor!” said Rhy with mock affront.
“But,” he added, approaching the table, “he’ll do it anyway. You might as well throw the party here at the palace, where we can all keep him out of trouble. Or at least minimize it.”
Rhy beamed. “Sound logic, sound logic,” he said, mimicking his father’s deep voice.
The king set aside the paper he was holding and considered Kell. “How was your trip?”
“Longer than I would have liked,” said Kell, sorting through his coats and pockets until he found the Prince Regent’s letter.
“We were beginning to worry,” said Queen Emira.
“The king was not well and the prince was worse,” said Kell, offering the note. King Maxim took it and set it aside, unread.
“Sit,” urged the queen. “You look pale.”
“Are you well?” asked the king.
“Quite, sir,” said Kell, sinking gratefully into a chair at the table. “Only tired.” The queen reached out and brought her hand to Kell’s cheek. Her complexion was darker than his—the royal family bore a rich tan that, when paired with their honey eyes and black hair, made them look like polished wood. With fair skin and reddish hair, Kell felt perpetually out of place. The queen brushed a handful of copper strands off his forehead. She always went looking for the truth in his right eye, as if it were a scrying board, something to be gazed into, seen past. But what she saw, she never shared. Kell took her hand and kissed it. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.” She gave him a weary look, and he corrected himself. “Mother.”
A servant appeared bearing tea, sweet and laced with mint, and Kell took a long drink and let his family talk, his mind wandering in the comfort of their noise.
When he could barely keep his eyes open, he excused himself. Rhy pushed up from the sofa with him. Kell wasn’t surprised. He had felt the prince’s gaze on him since he’d first taken his seat. Now, as the two bid their parents good night, Rhy trailed Kell into the hall, fiddling with the circle of gold nested in his black curls.
“What did I miss?” asked Kell.
“Not much,” said Rhy. “Holland paid a visit. He only just left.”
Kell frowned. Red London and White kept in much closer contact than Red and Grey, but their communication still held a kind of routine. Holland was off schedule by nearly a week.
“What have you come back with tonight?” asked Rhy.
“A headache,” said Kell, rubbing his eyes.
“You know what I mean,” countered the prince. “What did you bring through that door?”
“Nothing but a few lins.” Kell spread his arms wide. “Search me if you like,” he added with a smirk. Rhy had never been able to figure out Kell’s coat and its many sides, and Kell was already turning back down the hall, considering the matter done, when Rhy surprised him by reaching not for his pockets but for his shoulders, and pushing him back against the wall. Hard. A nearby painting of the king and queen shuddered, but did not fall. The guards dotting the hall looked up but did not move from their posts.
Kell was a year older than Rhy but built like an afternoon shadow, tall and slim, while Rhy was built like a statue, and nearly as strong.
“Do not lie,” warned Rhy. “Not to me.”
Kell’s mouth became a hard line. Rhy had caught him, two years before. Not caught in the act, of course, but snagged him in another, more devious way. Trust. The two had been drinking on one of the palace’s many balconies one summer night, the glow of the Isle beneath them and the stretch of sky above, and the truth had stumbled out. Kell had told his brother about the deals he struck in Grey London, and in White, and even on occasion in Red, about the various things he’d smuggled, and Rhy had stared at him, and listened, and when he spoke, it wasn’t to lecture Kell on all the ways it was wrong, or illegal. It was to ask why.
“I don’t know,” said Kell, and it had been the truth.
Rhy had sat up, eyes bleary from drink. “Have we not provided?” he’d asked, visibly upset. “Is there anything you want for?”
“No,” Kell had answered, and that had been a truth and a lie at the same time.
“Are you not loved?” whispered Rhy. “Are you not welcomed as family?”
“But I’m not family, Rhy,” Kell had said. “I’m not truly a Maresh, for all that the king and queen have offered me that name. I feel more like a possession than a prince.”
At that, Rhy had punched him in the face.
For a week after, Kell had two black eyes instead of one, and he’d never spoken like that again, but the damage was done. He’d hoped Rhy would prove too drunk to remember the conversation, but he’d remembered everything. He hadn’t told the king or queen, and Kell supposed he owed Rhy that, but now, every time he traveled, he had to endure Rhy’s questioning and with it, the reminder that what he was doing was foolish and wrong.
Rhy let go of Kell’s shoulders. “Why do you insist on keeping up these pursuits?”
“They amuse me,” said Kell, brushing himself off.
Rhy shook his head. “Look, I’ve turned a blind eye to your childish rebellion for quite a while now, but those doors were shut for a reason,” he warned. “Transference is treason.”
“They’re only trinkets,” said Kell, continuing down the hall. “There’s no real danger in it.”
“There’s plenty,” said Rhy, matching his stride. “Like the danger that awaits you if our parents ever learn—”
“Would you tell them?” asked Kell.
Rhy sighed. Kell watched him try to answer several ways before he finally said, “There is nothing I would not give you.”
Kell’s chest ached. “I know.”
“You are my brother. My closest friend.”
“I know.”
“Then put an end to this foolishness, before I do.”
Kell managed a small, tired smile. “Careful, Rhy,” he said. “You’re beginning to sound like a king.”
Rhy’s mouth quirked. “One day I will be. And I need you there beside me.”
Kell smiled back. “Believe me. There’s no place I’d rather be.” It was the truth.