Don’t be morbid, he thought. His parents were both in good health. But people lived and died. That was the nature of the world. Or at least, that was how it should be.
The memories rose like bile in his throat. The pain, the blood, the fear, and finally the quiet and the dark. The surrender of letting go, and being dragged back, the force of it like falling, a terrible, jarring pain when he hit the ground. Only he wasn’t falling down. He was falling up. Surging back to the surface of himself, and—
“Prince Rhy.”
He blinked and saw his guard, Tolners, standing in the doorway, tall and stiff and official.
Rhy’s fingers ached as he pried them from the icy railing. He opened his mouth to speak, and tasted blood. He must have bitten his tongue. Sorry, Kell, he thought. It was such a peculiar thing, to know your pain was tethered to someone else’s, that every time you hurt, they felt it, and every time they hurt, it was because of you. These days, Rhy always seemed to be the source of Kell’s suffering, while Kell himself walked around as if the world were suddenly made of glass, all because of Rhy. It wasn’t even in the end, wasn’t balanced, wasn’t fair. Rhy held Kell’s pain in his hands, while Kell held Rhy’s life in his.
“Are you all right?” pressed the guard. “You look pale.”
Rhy took up a glass of tea—now cold—and rinsed the metallic taste from his mouth, setting the cup aside with shaking fingers.
“Tell me, Tolners,” he said, feigning lightness. “Am I in so much danger that I need not one but two men guarding my life?” Rhy gestured to the first guard, who still stood pressed against the cold stone exterior. “Or have you come to relieve poor Vis before he faints on us?”
Tolners looked to Vis, and jerked his head. The other guard gratefully ducked back through the patio doors and into the safety of the room. Tolners didn’t take up a spot along the wall, but stood before Rhy at attention. He was dressed, as he always was, in full armor, his red cape billowing behind him in the cold wind, gold helmet tucked under his arm. He looked more like a statue than a man, and in that moment—as in many moments—Rhy missed his old guards, Gen and Parrish. Missed their humor and their casual banter and the way he could make them forget that he was a prince. And sometimes, the way they could make him forget, too.
Don’t be contrary, thought Rhy. You cannot be the symbol of power and an ordinary man at the same time. You have to choose. Choose right.
The balcony suddenly felt crowded. Rhy freed the blueprints from the table and retreated into the warmth of his chambers. He dumped the papers on a sofa, and he was crossing to the sideboard for a stronger drink when he noticed the letter sitting on the table. How long had it been there?
Rhy’s gaze flicked to his guards. Vis was standing by the dark wood doors, busying himself with a loose thread on his cape. Tolners was still on the balcony, looking down at the tournament construction with a faint crease between his brows.
Rhy took up the paper and unfolded it. The message scrawled in small black script wasn’t in English or Arnesian, but Kas-Avnes, a rare border dialect Rhy had been taught several years before.
He’d always had a way with languages, as long as they belonged to men and not magic.
Rhy smiled at the sight of the dialect. As clever as using code, and far less noticeable.
The note read:
Prince Rhy,
I disapprove wholeheartedly, and maintain the hope, however thin, that you will both regain your senses. In the event that you do not, I’ve made the necessary arrangements—may they not come to haunt me. We will discuss the cost of your endeavors this afternoon. Maybe the steams will prove clarifying. Regardless of your decision, I expect a substantial donation will be made to the London Sanctuary when this is over.
Your servant, elder, and Aven Essen,
Tieren Serense
Rhy smiled and set the note aside as bells chimed through the city, ringing out from the sanctuary itself across the river.
Maybe the steams will prove clarifying.
Rhy clapped his hands, startling the guards.
“Gentlemen,” he said, taking up a robe. “I think I’m in the mood for a bath.”
II
The world beneath the water was warm and still.
Rhy stayed under as long as he could, until his head swam, and his pulse thudded, and his chest began to ache, and then, and only then, he surfaced, filling his lungs with air.