Cas would have fallen over if he had not already been sitting. “What?”
“I’ve refused it, of course.” King Rayan’s expression was grim. “But, and I tell you this in confidence, I worry. He is flailing. He has gone off, for days at a time, sometimes a week. Without telling anyone where or why.”
This was not the brother he knew. “Not even Captain Lorenz?”
“Not even him. Your brother’s men try to cover for him. But it’s getting harder and harder for everyone to pretend.” King Rayan set his glass aside. “I do not begrudge the man time to himself. We have invaded his home after all. But it is not only that. His judgment in some matters has been . . . unsound. And when I yell at him about it, his only answer is to offer me his resignation.”
“How many times has he offered?”
“Four.” A single word, heavy with frustration. King Rayan rose. “He is my brother too. I love him as one. And he has offered my family sanctuary. This is a debt that can never be repaid. But Ventillas and Amador and I are responsible for the safety and governance of this kingdom. I must consider this, too.”
Cas was quiet. “What would you have me do?”
“Nothing, Cas. Not just yet. I only wanted you to know.” King Rayan looked down at Ventillas, adding very quietly, “We grieve in different ways. We do the best we can.”
After King Rayan had gone, Cas removed his brother’s cloak and set it aside. He tugged off a boot. Ventillas finally woke as Cas struggled to pull the other free. He propped himself on his elbows and looked blearily down the length of the bed.
“What are you doing?”
Cas held up the boot. “What does it look like?”
Ventillas glanced around the chamber. Awareness flickered. Abruptly, he sat up, then clutched his head with a groan. Cas poured water into a cup and handed it to Ventillas, who finished it in one great gulp.
“How am I here?”
“I carried you.”
Ventillas’ expression was one of utter mortification. “Through the keep?”
“I took the passageways, don’t worry. No one saw.”
Ventillas closed his eyes in relief. When he opened them again, he asked, “How did you know where I was?”
Cas made the king’s story his own. “I went for a walk. I saw you leave through the gates.”
“Oh.”
Cas sat in the chair by the bed. “I’m sorry about Kemen. So sorry, Brother. I didn’t even realize . . .”
Ventillas brushed aside the apology. “You haven’t been home long enough to realize.” He handed Cas the cup. “Sometimes even I forget. For an hour, or two, I forget everything. And other times . . .”
“It is like yesterday,” Cas finished.
“Yes.” Ventillas fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Some time passed before he said, “Sorne is gone.”
From Kemen to Sorne. It took Cas a moment. “What?”
“She left a note with Cook. Some merchants were leaving the city, headed south. She went with them.”
“Did . . . What else did she say?”
Ventillas turned his head toward Cas. “That she was sorry about Faro. She thought leaving was best for everyone. She hoped you would not think too badly of her, forever.”
Guilt was a burden, heavier than carrying his brother across half the city. “Ventillas. This is her home.”
“And it was her decision to leave it. She has been well provided for, Cassia. Sometimes starting over is best.” Ventillas closed his eyes and within moments, his breathing evened out. He’d fallen asleep.
The gold coin, the queen. Those questions would have to wait. Cas set about undressing his brother and putting him to bed, as though Ventillas were the child and he the adult, their roles reversed, another odd thing in this strange new world.
16
Abril had not been seen in days. This Lena and Cas learned when they arrived at her inn the following morning.
“The painter?” the innkeeper said after greeting Cas with surprised delight. A spare man with a welcoming smile and a large mole on his cheek, he had known Cas since he was a boy. His was a comfortable establishment, a crackling fire in the hearth, sprigs of rosemary strewn about the rushes. The tables were empty. Most guests would be in their chambers still, preparing for the day. “Why, I have not seen her since yesterday . . . no, the night before that. That’s right.”
“Two days ago?” Lena pushed back the hood of her green cloak. Her nose and cheeks were red with cold. Beside her, Cas blew warm air into his hands and eyed the fire with longing. They had ridden here through a morning fog, the frost seeping into their bones.
“Yes, Lady. She has these terrible headaches,” the innkeeper explained. “The kind that knocks you flat. Her sister has been fetching her meals.”
“I didn’t know she had a sister.” Lena’s expression wavered between concern and resignation. She said to Cas, “Well, that is the end of it. I can hardly bother someone who’s ill. I’ll check on them at least. Abril might need a doctor.”
Cas did not envy her this day. After meeting with Abril, Lena would show her grandfather’s inventory to the king and queen. It had been too early to speak to them before Cas and Lena had left for the inn. The innkeeper waylaid a passing servant, a girl of about fourteen who turned out to be his daughter. Lena followed her up the stairs. Cas hung his cloak on a hook by the fire and sat at the counter across from the innkeeper, prepared for a wait. To his relief, there were no prying questions. Nothing about his imprisonment or Faro in the dungeon. The innkeeper poured Cas a black tea, the leaves of which he had just acquired from the southern islands. The first sip cleared the cobwebs right out of Cas’ head, like a brisk sweep of a broom.
“Well? What is your opinion?” The innkeeper leaned across the counter, expectant.
Cas held up both hands, palms down, to show him. The second sip had left them trembling.
The innkeeper sighed his disappointment. “The brew is too strong. I thought it might be different, seeing as you’re bigger than most, but no.”
“You could weaken it,” Cas suggested.
“That is weaker” was the innkeeper’s rueful response. He poured cider into a fresh cup and slid it before Cas. “And my foolish son bought eight crates’ worth. Such a waste.” He set a platter of fried bunubunus beside the cup. “Have one, or three! It’s apple. My dear wife made them fresh this morning . . .” As Cas reached for a pastry, the innkeeper looked past him, words trailing off in consternation.
A man Cas knew came stomping in from the back kitchen. The city inspector, Gaspar, who had returned his mare to the stables. No small daughter on his shoulders this time. He wore a blue cloak and held a burlap sack that bulged. There must have been a hole in the bottom, because what looked to be a rat’s tail hung straight down from it, unmoving. Scurrying about his boots were two cats. Not lynx. These were regular black cats of regular size. Rat catchers.