They traveled down stairwells and passageways festooned with cobwebs. The torchlight picked up the occasional snakeskin left on the ground, dry and papery, its owner long vanished. “I hate snakes,” King Rayan muttered. He navigated the corridors like a man who had spent his boyhood at Palmerin Keep, serving as page to Cas’ father. Cas was not surprised the king knew every way in and out of a keep that sheltered his family.
Cas knew the passageways too, was well aware he and King Rayan were headed outside the city walls, beyond the eastern gates. He could hear the sound of rushing water. After a time, they came to a door. Cas knelt and lifted a particular stone paver. A key rested in the dirt; one needed the key to get out. The door opened into a chamber housing the aqueduct’s distribution basin. From here, water would be piped throughout the city. To the fountains, the public baths, the keep itself. The door they exited was positioned directly behind the basin so that anyone entering from the aqueduct’s main entrance would see only the basin, two stories tall, the door carefully hidden behind it.
They left the aqueduct and stepped into the night. It was a good thing they had brought a torch. Heavy clouds had rolled in, and the moon was no longer visible. At their backs lay Palmerin’s outer walls. Before them was a graveyard that had not been there three years ago.
“They were buried as one,” King Rayan said quietly. “It had to be done quickly. There were hundreds. But later, Ventillas made sure they had their own gravestones. He would not have them forgotten.”
Cas could not forget them if he wanted. He could see them. Not hundreds, but fifty or so spirits drifting among the stones. A woman laughed, on and on, there was no end to it. The sound had Cas taking a step back.
“Cassia?”
King Rayan had gone ahead and was looking back at him now, clearly wondering why Cas had not followed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Cas hustled to keep pace. They pulled up their hoods, protection against the bitter wind. “Where did the trees come from?”
Flame trees, fully grown, surrounded much of the graveyard. Even in the dark, he could see their leaves were a brilliant orange. As bright as sunset. The trees had not been planted three years ago. They should not have grown so tall, so fast.
“It’s the strangest thing,” King Rayan said. “We planted them six months ago. From seed. The next day, they looked like this. No saplings. No one knows how.”
When they entered the graveyard, Cas was careful to keep his expression blank, though it was hard to pretend. This was not like Izaro or Cook’s little boy. A solitary spirit here and there. There were too many present and not one was a stranger. He knew their names, their faces.
“Ventillas is just there.” King Rayan pointed.
Cas saw a headstone, five feet tall, and then he saw his brother. His heart turned cold.
Ventillas lay face-down in the dirt in a posture of deep mourning. His legs were straight and his arms stretched over his head, bare fingertips brushing the gravestone.
Cas rushed to his brother’s side and dropped to his knees. “Ventillas.” Cas shook him, gently at first, then harder. Ventillas did not stir. Cas leaned down and sniffed, dismayed at the smell of smoke and mandrake. Cas rolled him over. He brushed the dirt and grass from his brother’s face. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. Then he held the torch close to the grave marker, to better see the name inscribed.
This is the grave of Kemen
Son, Brother, Soldier
Honored friend to Palmerin
Cas sucked in a breath. Ventillas and Kemen. They had been friends for years, rarely apart. Neither had married. Neither had ever shown an inclination to. And now King Rayan stood here, watching his commander drugged and weeping over the grave of another man. Cas had always known. But the king? His expression told Cas nothing.
A very real fear settled in his heart. “Your Grace—”
“Give me the torch,” King Rayan said. “You carry him. I’ve knocked him about already. He won’t wake up.” For emphasis, he reached down and gave Ventillas several brisk pats on the cheek. Ventillas grunted but did not open his eyes. “You see?”
“Yes.” Cas handed off the torch, flickering wildly in the wind. “How did you know he was here?”
King Rayan shrugged. “I like to go on walks sometimes. It helps me think. I saw him leave through the gates.”
That brought Cas’ head around. “You go walking . . . alone?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell my sister.”
One of the spirits, a woman, reached out to touch Cas’ hand. She used to sell beads in the market, he remembered. Bracelets, necklaces, charms. Coral beads for luck. He forced himself not to flinch as her hand brushed his. It did not feel like the touch of another person; it only left him nauseated. He hoisted his brother over his shoulder. Ventillas’ head and arms hung limp behind him. Cas staggered. It was like carrying a dead ox.
“Will you make it?” King Rayan asked.
“Yes.”
Silently, Cas and the king retraced their steps past the spirits and out of the graveyard.
“Cassia.”
Unthinking, Cas turned.
Kemen stood just beyond the graveyard beneath a flame tree, leaves rustling in the wind. Dressed in red, in the uniform of a Palmerin captain. He smiled at Cas’ dismay. “You hide it well, but I saw when she touched you. Your eye started to twitch.”
“What is it?” King Rayan scanned the graveyard. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
“I thought I saw something.” Cas shifted his brother, held him a little tighter. “A mistake.”
Kemen said, “Don’t let Ventillas come again. Please, Cassia. He’s here almost every night. It is not good for him.” He took a step back. “You don’t have to answer. Go.”
Cas went. But when King Rayan was busy unlocking the door to the aqueduct chamber, Cas turned around. Kemen was a silhouette, barely visible in the distance. Cas raised a hand. In farewell. And to show he understood.
It was a long slog carrying his brother through passageways and up staircases. At last they reached Cas’ chamber. Gasping, he dumped Ventillas onto the bed. A single firefly globe lit the room. King Rayan was making sure the secret entrance was well concealed. Satisfied, he came into the bedchamber. “I’ll leave you to the rest of it, then. Good night.”
Cas said nothing. He did not know what to say.
King Rayan tugged off his borrowed gloves and dropped them on the bed. “What do you think of me? That I would turn on your brother because . . .” He made a vague gesture that could mean anything. “I am not Lord Amador. I would lose half my army if I were so particular. And I would lose my good friend.”
Cas sat on the bed by his brother’s boots. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know it.” King Rayan spotted a carafe and two cups on the bedside table. This time it was he who poured the wine and handed a glass to Cas. Settling in a chair, he said, “You’re not a boy any longer, Cassia. I won’t treat you like one.” A pause. “Analena calls you Cas. Is that your preference?”
“Yes.”
King Rayan nodded. “Ventillas has offered his resignation as high commander of Oliveras.”