A warning. Cas understood. He said no more.
Curtains had been tied back from the windows. The screen allowed him to see without being seen. Cas watched the city pass them by. Crowds gathered to wave, flinging wreaths of flowers in their path. Too late, he remembered his horse, abandoned by the lake. He groaned inwardly. He had lost her twice in one day.
For the remainder of their brief journey, the queen and the nurse ignored him, speaking among themselves in Brisan. A language Cas understood as well as his own. The nurse, Faustina, said, “That poor girl. It should have been me carrying the boy. This wretched leg of mine.”
“I’m glad it was not you, dear heart,” Queen Jehan answered. “I could not bear to see you hurt.” Then, very, very quietly, “I will find who did this, and I will kill him.”
Faustina rolled the ruined dress into a ball. “I will help.”
Cas was quiet. He relived the moments before the younger nurse was struck by the arrow. He had not seen the archer clearly. A glimpse of a profile, an arm extended along bow and arrow. The distance across the lake was not inconsiderable. And yet he could not help thinking that the person in the window who had tried to murder the prince had not been a man, but a woman.
5
The door swung open the moment the carriage stopped, and a man appeared, white-faced and anxious.
“Your Grace, the child—?”
“Is not harmed,” Queen Jehan assured him, “but he is dreadfully chilled, master steward.”
“Not for long. Please, allow me.” He helped her down from the carriage, unaware of Cas, who watched him intently. Jacomel, master steward of Palmerin, was in his late middle years, with a soldier’s muscled build despite his long retirement, eyebrows as dark and heavy as his mustache, twirled at the tips. He was impeccably dressed in black. At his belt hung a ring of keys in all shapes and sizes. Growing up, Cas had never failed to be aware of his approach, preceded as it was by the clank and jingle of iron.
The old nurse followed the queen. Before she did, Faustina made sure she had Cas’ attention. She tapped the corner of her eye, then pointed at his, the message clear: she was watching him. Cas was careful to keep any trace of amusement from his expression. He knew something about self-preservation.
Cas sat alone in the carriage. It was quiet here. Outside there was chaos. Guards clamoring around the queen. Servants rushing about. The rough mewling of the household lynx. Through the door, he caught his first glimpse of Palmerin Keep, a sprawling structure with the same rose-colored walls that distinguished the city. Shallow steps led to doors studded with iron bolts. Directly above the doors was a splendid window, three times the height of a man and carved into a delicate, twelve-petaled rosetta.
Queen Jehan paused at the foot of the steps and turned to the steward. “We know the way by now, Master Jacomel. No escort is needed. There’s another who requires your attention.”
A brief, baffled silence. “Another, Your Grace? Forgive me, but who—?”
Queen Jehan directed her gaze at the carriage. Will you hide in there forever? her expression said to Cas. Get out now. Taking a deep breath, he stepped down, out of the shadows and into the light.
The steward’s questioning gaze fell on Cas. Recognition was instantaneous. Master Jacomel’s eyes widened, and widened some more. He clutched his heart as though the shock caused a physical pain. “Cassia?”
“Master Jac.” Cas could not help the catch in his voice. A dozen steps brought him to the steward, who took Cas’ face in both hands. Cas went rigid at his touch, until he realized the steward’s hands were trembling. He forced himself not to flinch, as he had with Lena, for this was a man who loved him.
“How are you here? Where have you been? My God, you’re a giant! We thought—!”
“I’ll tell you everything, I swear it, in exchange for a bath.” Cas covered the steward’s hands with his. “I’ve forgotten how cold the lake can be.”
“Lake?” For the first time, Master Jacomel realized Cas was soaking wet beneath his cloak. “You saved the prince. How—oh, never mind that now! Come with me!”
Queen Jehan had disappeared into the keep. Cas and Master Jacomel followed. Halfway up the steps, a pair of lynx watched their reunion with disinterest. They were nothing like the lynx that had chased Lena into the copse. These were sleek, beautiful, healthy cats. Big cats. As Cas passed one, he ran a hand through its fur. Standing on all fours, its back was level with his hip.
Cas did not make it far into the great hall. Members of the household staff converged on him, and everyone spoke at once. There were new faces, servants he did not recognize hovering at the back of the crowd. But most Cas had known all his life. He was happy to see them, he was. He smiled. The words he spoke did not sound foolish. He had practiced them. Outwardly, all was well. But inside? Here within he fought a crushing sense of claustrophobia, of the world closing in. It had always felt crowded in his cell. Even the air he had breathed belonged to others. Never his alone. Mercifully, Master Jacomel shooed everyone back to their posts, but not before ordering that a tub and hot water be brought up immediately, along with food.
The crowd reluctantly dispersed just as a man Cas’ own age approached. Of average height and weight with dark, close-cropped hair, he held a tray piled high with scrolls. Cas recognized Faro, his brother’s private secretary. Faro glanced up at the sound of keys, an affable smile on his face. Then he saw Cas.
As though he had walked straight into a wall, Faro stopped. His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, and he dropped the tray. It hit the stones with a horrendous clatter. The scrolls bounced in every direction, causing others in the great hall to laugh. Faro did not notice.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Master Jacomel said as they passed the secretary without stopping and headed up the staircase. “Help him,” he instructed a nearby chambermaid.
Over his shoulder, Cas offered, “It’s good to see you, Faro.”
The secretary found his voice. “And you, Lord Cassia! Welcome home! But where have you—?”
“The scrolls, Master Faro,” the steward reminded him. “Quickly now. You’ll see more of that, I’m afraid,” he warned Cas as they climbed the stairs. The keys jingled. “And who can blame them? What a day this has been. Terrible! Wonderful!”
Upstairs, more servants rushed in and out of Ventillas’ chambers. But when Cas glanced through the open doorway, he saw the queen sitting by a fire with the prince. A silver-robed man he thought might be a physician hovered over them.