‘Yes,’ Marith said simply. ‘It is.’ He picked up a stone, weighed it in his hand and sent it skimming across the water. He got up and dusted sand from his coat. ‘We should go back.’
They walked up into the village and reclaimed the horse. It seemed quite contented, cropping grass in the shadow of an apple tree. Marith searched in his pockets and offered it a few raisins. ‘Stroke her nose,’ he suggested. Thalia raised her hand tentatively, touched the soft velvety muzzle. The horse snorted and flicked its eyes, then went back to munching grass. Marith swung up and lifted her up gently in front of him.
They rode back inland, through beech woods brilliant with dried leaves. Something else Thalia had never seen. Something else that delighted and astonished her. ‘Trees made of fire,’ she said, ‘or gold, like a storybook.’ Marith reached up and pulled a handful of leaves from the tree, shook them into her hair.
The ground was heavy and soft with moss. Squirrels chased in the trees; once they disturbed a herd of pale tawny deer, one white stag among them with great antlers twining like the branches of a tree. Marith caught his breath at the stag: struck by its beauty, Thalia thought, as she was. He made a little hissing noise, sharp in his teeth, and the stag started up and was gone in a flash. He breathed out slowly, and spurred the horse on.
It was full dark when they arrived back at the keep. It confused Thalia how early the night came here. It must be so very late, she kept thinking. As the dusk fell, she had thought drowsily that she had lost track of time and days, on the ship, in the never-ending dark. Perhaps she should have been killing a man, tonight. Now it was night, and the stars shone down. The great red star of the Dragon’s Mouth was clear, but in a different place in the sky, so she had to search for it. The Maiden and the Tree had vanished, other stars she did not know shone in their place. Only the Fire Star she recognized. She would have to ask him the others’ names. But not tonight: it seemed so late and the sea air had made her so sleepy; Marith too yawned.
They came into the great main court of Malth Salene, riding under the vast gatehouse of whalebone and bleached white wood, and three men in the deep red livery of the Altrersyr stepped out to meet them.
Marith drew the horse up hard, his hand going to his belt. No sword, but a long knife. His fingers itched on the hilt as he drew it. The horse moved uncertainly under him, sensing his tension. Not a warhorse, not trained to fight, but he could feel it was ready to kick and lash out if he bid it to. Its ears flicked, maddened.
‘My Lord Prince!’ Aris’s voice, ringing out loudly, full of fear. Marith turned his head in irritation, the horse skittering sideways. Thalia’s body was rigid. ‘My Lord Prince, these men are … are sent by the king. No harm, I swear. But My Lord Relast – My Lord Relast would see you, urgently, if he might.’
I’ll bet he would, Marith thought wearily. His eyes burned again, the skin around them crawling. He rubbed violently at his face.
‘Here, then.’ He gestured to Aris to help Thalia dismount, pushed the horse’s reins into the hands of a waiting groom. ‘Take Lady Thalia to my quarters. See she has food, wine, a bath drawn, anything else she might desire. Place a guard at the door.’ Thalia’s face was pained, as servants bustled her away. Dried beech leaves still caught in her hair. I’m sorry, he thought. We had one day, at least, you and I. One day. He walked with Aris into the keep, the three men behind them. ‘Water, to wash my face. And a drink of something.’ And then we’ll see.
Lord Relast was waiting in his study, seated by the fire. He rose as Marith entered. Lord Carlan Murade, the queen’s brother, was seated at Deneth’s left. He did not.
‘Deneth. Carlan.’ Marith nodded to them, ignoring the insult. He took a proffered cup of wine from another wide-eyed servant, gulped it down then pushed the cup into the man’s hands and ordered him to bring him something stronger. He still had leaves and sand in his hair himself. Felt half a fool.
Deneth Relast coughed. ‘My Lord Prince,’ he said calmly. Marith sat at his right, trying not to glower at Carlan. There was another bustle at the door, whispered voices. A servant hurried in with a bottle, then the doors closed and the three men were alone.
‘So,’ Carlan Murade said carefully after a moment. He watched as Marith poured himself a large cup of brandy, drained it and refilled it. ‘Being dead for several months doesn’t seem to have led to any noticeable change in habits, I see.’
Deneth Relast snorted at that. Marith tried to smile.
Carlan rearranged the material of his coat with a fussy motion. Cleared his throat. ‘Now we are all finally assembled, I suppose we’d best get this over with. So, then: My Lord Relast, I am sent by our King and Master, Illyn Altrersyr, Lord of the White Isles and of Illyr and of Immier and of the Wastes and of the Bitter Sea, the heir to Amrath and Serelethe, the Dragon Kin, the Demon Born.’ ‘My good brother’ implicit in his smug face, his fur collar, the way he gestured with his hands. ‘As we both know, the king’s older son is tragically and grievously dead. Buried. Mourned. This … imposter, this pretender, this false prince, is to be killed. Immediately. I am commanded to bring his head back with me to Malth Elelane, where it will be set before the gates as a warning to all other traitors. Obey me in this now and the king will be … merciful. He does appreciate that your recent grief may have affected your judgement somewhat. Being a father himself, who has himself so recently seen the death of one of his own sons. Your elder daughter’s head in a bag beside the imposter’s, the corpse’s weight in gold and jewels, an oath of fealty delivered at his feet. Nothing more than would be expected.’
Deneth rolled his eyes and poured himself a drink. He refilled Marith’s cup too, while he was at it. Marith gulped it down gratefully. A very good cellar, the Relasts kept.
‘My father can go hang himself,’ Marith said after a moment. ‘I’ll do it myself, otherwise, after I’ve ripped the crown from his head.’
‘Your father should have had you strangled the night he married my sister,’ Carlan snapped back. ‘I told him so at the time.’
Marith refilled his cup again. I’m more than them, he thought desperately. More than them. The knives in his head, blunt, rusty, cutting him raw. I’ll skin you alive. Take out your guts and make you watch me do it. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to see Thalia’s face garlanded in beech leaves, the light and the warmth, her eyes like the summer sky. Shadows crawled around him, drowning it out.
I’ll never be happy, he thought suddenly. Tobias was right. I was right.