Cas could not remember the last time he had washed in hot water. The bath nearly scalded him, but he did not care. Delighted, he scrubbed his skin until all traces of the lake’s grime had gone. He dressed in his brother’s trousers and found that the length was fine, but they were loose, riding low on his hips. He left the shirt and jacket where Master Jacomel had placed them. There was no one here to see the scars, puckered and hideous, that marred his chest and back.
A rumble reminded him of how much time had passed since his last meal. It had been this morning, before he had buried Izaro and killed the lynx and discovered his horse thief up in a tree. He sat on a rug by the fire and made quick work of the food. There was enough here for three. Goose with pears and duck with turnips. A mushroom soup. Bread and wine and fresh goat’s cheese drizzled with honey. He ate every morsel, licking his fingers and barely restraining himself from licking the plates. Nothing was wasted. He had learned to eat what he could, when he could. Who was to say when his next meal would come? There were no certainties in life except that life was uncertain. And reminding himself of this, he changed his mind. Deliberately and with great pleasure, he lifted each plate, each bowl, and licked them clean.
Master Jacomel kept his word. No one came to the door.
The hour was not late. Early evening, yet weariness had him yawning widely and eyeing the darkened bedchamber. When was the last time he had slept in a real bed? A few minutes to rest. That was all he needed before he faced his brother and his king and told a story no one would be pleased to hear.
He crossed the chamber. Shirtless. Barefoot. He spread his arms wide and fell face-first onto the bed. A short rest only, he said to himself as darkness took over.
A few minutes.
No more.
When Cas woke, night had fallen completely. A glass ball had been placed on the windowsill. The fireflies within cut through the gloom of the bedchamber. His brother sat in a chair by the bedside, watching him, his expression unreadable.
Bleary-eyed, Cas propped himself on an elbow. He was famished. Odd. He had just eaten. “The prince. Is he—?”
“He eats, he sleeps, he wets himself. He is well,” Ventillas said.
That was good news. “Did you find the archer?”
“Not a trace. Whoever he is, he’s gone.”
There was something wrong with his brother’s face. Cas looked closer. An ugly bruise purpled beneath Ventillas’ right eye. It had not been there earlier. “Who hit you?”
“You did.”
“What?” Cas sat up. Flattened pillows littered the enormous bed. Blankets lay tossed and rumpled. The fur coverlet had been kicked to the floor. Every inch of the bed had been slept in. His side, his brother’s. Ventillas had slumbered beside him and Cas had no recollection of it. “I didn’t . . . What hour is it?”
“You came home yesterday,” Ventillas said as Cas gaped at him in astonishment. “You’ve slept the night and day away, Brother. Though I would not call what I saw sleep.” In the room lit by fireflies, Ventillas’ gaze dropped to the scars on Cas’ chest.
Ventillas was no stranger to injuries. He knew the damage caused by whiplash.
Within Cas rose a familiar, bone-deep humiliation. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though he was not certain what he apologized for. Allowing himself to be captured? Losing his brother’s men?
“Don’t.” Violence simmered just beneath the surface of his brother’s calm. A pitcher and cup sat on a nearby table. Ventillas rose, poured water into the cup, and thrust it at Cas. “It’s just the two of us here, Cassia. I want to know where you’ve been. Don’t leave anything out.”
First, Cas drank every drop of water. And then he told Ventillas everything. From the day he was captured three years ago by Brisan soldiers to the day he walked free. Well. Almost everything. He did not mention the ghosts.
A knock came at the door.
“Leave us,” Ventillas snapped.
The door was opened by the only person who dared. Master Jacomel was there with a summons from below. The king would like a word.
6
We were beginning to worry, Cassia.”
King Rayan addressed Cas from the high table in a chair normally reserved for the lord of the keep. A giant lynx slept at his feet. Everyone else had fallen silent the moment Cas appeared. The household and its guests, hundreds gathered for supper around long wooden trestles. An eerie quiet among so many.
Standing beside Cas, Ventillas murmured, “You’re among friends here. Keep your head high.” The bruise on his brother’s face appeared more ominous in the fully lit hall. There were firefly globes on every surface and torches on the walls. His brother strode off to take his place beside the king.
Who waited for Ventillas to be seated before continuing with a smile. “But our good doctor has assured us there was nothing wrong with you that rest wouldn’t cure.”
Startled, Cas found the silver-robed physician at a table, the same man he had seen tending the queen in Ventillas’ chambers. Had he examined Cas while he slept? But of course the royal family would want to make sure he suffered from nothing more than exhaustion. He had held the prince after all, and shared a carriage with the queen. His face warmed. What else had happened as he slept? Who else had come through his bedchamber, poking and prodding? He strongly suspected Master Jacomel. Cas had been given a different set of Ventillas’ clothing for supper, black wool with silver threading, only these fit perfectly. He pictured the steward leaning over him with his measuring strings, muttering widths and lengths to a nearby tailor. How could he have slept through it all?
Cas approached the high table, walking across a floor strewn with dried hyssop and mountain savory. He stopped twenty feet away. There was Sorne to his right, sitting beside Faro, Ventillas’ private secretary. Sorne wore a wreath of pomegranate flowers in her hair and smiled brightly at Cas, then frowned at something Faro whispered in her ear. Cas looked away. It helped to focus on the king and queen, and Ventillas. It made it easier to pretend he wasn’t being watched by all the rest. He bowed, then said, “Forgive me, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to sleep the days away.”
“One could say you’ve earned your rest.” These words from Queen Jehan, who wore a dress of forest velvet, the cuffs trimmed with black fur. Gracious, he was forced to admit, given his rudeness yesterday. Cas bowed a second time, murmuring, “Your Grace.”
King Rayan sent a smile her way. “My queen reminds me that however dark today may feel with an assassin in the wind, there is much to be grateful for.” He rose, waited past the scrape of chairs and benches as everyone followed suit. “Our son is out of harm’s way, and a boy . . . a man we had thought lost to us has returned.” He raised his cup. “We are in your debt, Lord Cassiapeus of Palmerin. Welcome home.”
Welcome home, Lord Cassiapeus. Welcome home. The words echoed throughout the chamber. Cas desperately wished he could flee and suspected Ventillas knew it. His brother’s smile was strained. He alone knew where Cas had spent these last years.
Where.