You’ve helped enough, Lady. Don’t come near me again.
For the next ten days, it was the same. Cas slept in the barracks with his men. In the morning, while the others trained in a field just outside the city, he opened his trunks and dressed in clothing fine enough to be received at court. Black from head to boot. Best not to provoke anyone by wearing Palmerin red. From the dingy waterfront, he rode his horse to the palace gates and presented a note to be delivered to the high steward.
Lord Cassiapeus of Palmerin, who is honored to have been of some small service to the royal family on the prince’s naming day, humbly begs an audience with his sovereign and lord, Rayan.
Cas signed the note and sealed it with his father’s ring.
He waited all day, outside, for ten days. Standing apart from the others who also desired an audience with the king. Merchants and diplomats, officials from all over Oliveras and beyond. They were admitted. Cas was not. At dusk he was ordered to leave by guards who knew who he was and could no longer meet his eyes.
Once, Cas saw Lord Amador. The king’s high councilor rode up on his horse, grim and humorless. He stopped just inside the gates and stared across at Cas. It took everything in Cas to stand tall and wipe his expression clean of all but contempt. Lord Amador would not see his desperation. That was the one thing Cas could control. Finally, looking vaguely disappointed and without speaking to anyone, the high councilor turned his horse around and went away.
Each morning before he presented his note, Cas scanned the assortment of heads that had been left, piked and rotting, high on the city walls. He did not see his brother. He did not see his queen.
And this was the one thing that kept him from utter despair. There was no denouncement of the queen. He listened as others came and went. They spoke of her often. She was there in the palace, going about a queen’s normal business. Accepting homage, for herself and for the prince. Sitting by the king’s side each night as the welcoming feasts went on.
Cas slept poorly, and not only because of a thin mattress crawling with ticks. He no longer dreamt of rocks and drowning. He dreamt of Lena. He dreamt of Ventillas kneeling before a cheering crowd, an axe at his neck.
On the eleventh day, Cas did not make it to the palace gates. He had left his horse behind to be exercised by one of the soldiers. No sense in both of them standing about in idle misery. As he strode down a busy city street, only one removed from the palace, a cloaked figure stepped from an alley. Just long enough to show Cas he was there. Cas followed him, wending his way around piles of trash and swarming flies. Bittor drew back his hood, and they proceeded to glare at each other in mutual antagonism.
Bittor said, “You’re an idiot, do you know that?”
Instantly riled, Cas opened his mouth . . . and snapped it shut. It was the truth. Bittor, more than most, had the right to tell him so.
Bittor threw his hands up. “Nothing to say? What a surprise.”
Cas forced the words past his lips. “I am sorry.”
Bittor sputtered. “That’s all? Sorry? You nearly decapitated me with that stupid mace!” He pointed an accusing finger at the weapon strapped to Cas’ back. “A mace, Cas! A spiked one!”
Cas, after a moment, said, “I am very sorry.”
Bittor looked disgusted. “The king isn’t receiving your notes.”
Cas was silenced. “Who is?”
“Who do you think?”
High Councilor Amador. Cas ground his teeth.
“Lord Amador doesn’t like you,” Bittor said. “Lord Ventillas is, was, too high up in the king’s confidences. And you were not far behind.”
“Where is my brother? Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t, but he’s well enough. I know one of his guards. They have him in one of the old tower rooms. He’s not allowed to send or receive messages. The king is still deciding what to do with him.”
Cas sagged against the wall in relief. He would admit it to himself and no one else: he was shocked his brother’s head was not on the city wall. “And the queen?”
Bittor did not answer right away. He looked troubled. “In front of others, they are the same. I think he doesn’t know what to do with her, either.”
The weight of it all settled between them, for that was King Rayan’s dilemma. To denounce his queen was also to denounce his son. The treaty would mean nothing. War would come once again to their kingdom.
“What about Lady . . . Princess Jehan?”
“There’s no sign of her. As usual. She’s like an eel, that one.”
Cas’ next words were difficult. Swallowing his pride felt like swallowing knives. “Can you get me past Lord Amador?”
“No,” Bittor said, and Cas looked away. “He’s under the impression that we are friends, and I am being watched.” Bittor peered past him to the street. “Hence the secret alley meeting. But you know someone who can help you.”
Cas, understanding, shook his head. He could not ask Lena to help him. Not after the way they had parted.
“Do what you like,” Bittor said. “I don’t know if she’d help you anyway. She went back for you. Was frightened for you. And you left her behind, all alone, to ride home in the dark.”
There was something in Bittor’s voice. Past the anger. Cas had seen Lena ride up to her house. But he had not seen her. A chill stole over him. “Was she hurt?”
Bittor flicked up his hood. “See for yourself. Or not.” He stalked off, leaving Cas in the filthy alley. Cas stepped into the street and waited until Bittor was out of sight.
Her grandfather’s house. The house with the green door. Cas ran the entire way.
Cas was gasping for breath by the time he arrived at Lena’s. The serving girl who opened the door gave him a wary look as he gripped the door frame with both hands. He could barely state his business. But his name was enough for entry into the solar while she went to find her lady.
Cas paced in circles around the chairs and tables. He would never forgive himself. Bittor had said she had been hurt. A dozen possibilities sprang to mind. Filled with self-loathing, he clutched his head in his hands as he considered each one.
“Are you well, Lord Cassia?”
The serving girl stood in the doorway. He had no idea how long she had watched him pacing and grabbing at his hair. Her expression said she had not just arrived.
He dropped his hands. “Perfectly.”
The skepticism remained, but she informed him that Lady Analena would see him in the library.