“Done, though it will barely do.”
Elia opened her eyes as Aefa spoke, and she was surprised to find La Far watching her openly. The soldier nodded once. “Thank you,” she said to Aefa. “I’ll go to Morimaros and you take that blanket back, have the morning to yourself if you like.”
Aefa paused only long enough to gather up the quilt again and use the motion to hide a quick squeeze of Elia’s fingertips. Then she dashed off, glancing back over her shoulder to take in all of La Far from behind. When she noticed Elia notice her do it, she flushed bright pink. She dove into the dark arched stairway.
La Far offered his gloved hand to Elia, and she placed hers lightly atop it. The guard led her carefully to the steep stone steps and turned nearly sideways to support Elia as she came down after him. He did not require talk of her, for which she was grateful. The narrow tower stairs spiraled tightly, and it was dizzying despite the growing light coming through the archer slits. They’d been carved through to the outer wall with whimsy: not just plain thin rectangles but cut like simple flowers or candle flames. So many parts of the Lionis palace surprised her thus. Cornerstones carved with curling trees, tapestries of nothing but flowers instead of bold lines or rampant animals or hunting scenes. Windows of cut, colored glass and ceilings painted with clouds and tiny saints and winged lions.
Elia and La Far went from the tower into one of the vast hallways lit by tall candlesticks with as many silver branches as a tree. The floor was elegant lines of polished wood, lacking the coat of rushes atop soil or stone that was still used on Innis Lear. Such was the display of Aremore wealth and power, she supposed, though it all felt distant, impersonal. Formal, perhaps, was the word. In Lear she’d eaten meals at long tables with her father and sisters, with earls and retainers, with priests and apprentices, but also with the families of the retainers and castle servants. Elia knew the names of the dairy girls and the familial relations strung like a net between every person in her father’s households. This Aremore castle did smell only of roses and river wind. But Elia had loved the scent of pine boughs brought in to cover the winter floor, the cling of perfumed hair and candle fat of Innis Lear.
La Far took her past the Queen’s Library and into the luxurious corridors where the king kept his personal rooms and greeting hall, to his study and private dining room. They veered left, on an upper level of the main building. She’d never been inside it yet, though she’d seen the balcony from the central courtyard directly below.
“Sir,” La Far said as he opened the heavy door by shoving with his fist.
“Novanos, good,” Morimaros called from inside the study, and the soldier handed Elia in, remaining himself at the entrance.
Though the tall room immediately engulfed her with its rich red and orange colors, it was impossible for Elia not to see King Morimaros first.
He stood like a soldier at attention, hands clasped behind his back so his shoulders showed even wider. Here in his castle he rarely wore armor, but his orange leather coat was thick enough to serve as such if needed. As ever, Elia was struck by the hardness of him, from his boots to the dark hair sheared so close to his skull. In the past two weeks she’d become rather amazed at the control with which he made every gesture, from unbuckling his sword belt and looping it over the back of a chair to kneeling for a hug from his nephew Isarnos. Morimaros limited his speaking to the fewest possible words, and although he was unceasingly polite, he never hesitated to get physically close to her if he wished to tell Elia some quiet thing or point out a private joke.
This morning dawn light angled through the edges of the balcony windows onto the bright wooden floor. It streaked toward Morimaros like an eager friend, but he waited just outside the direct rays, avoiding the gilded light. “Elia,” he said, and nothing more. His dark blue eyes flicked along yesterday’s dress, but unless he owned a dozen identical orange leather coats, Morimaros wore the same thing every day and so wouldn’t judge her as harshly as others might.
She bowed her head, but before she could offer a word, Elia noticed the other man in the room.
It was her uncle, the Oak Earl.
“Kayo!” Elia cried.
“Starling,” he said, sweeping toward her.
Embracing, they remained silent for a long moment. Elia pressed her cheek hard against the rough leather knot-work on the shoulder of his coat. But the king watched, so Elia slipped her arms back to her sides and tilted her face up to Kayo’s. He did not let go of her shoulders.
It seemed he’d aged a decade. Was that new steel gray in his tight black curls? Reddish shadows pressed under his eyes, and he watched her with a pinched brow. Kayo managed a smile. “You look horrified, starling,” he said with wry humor in his voice.
She shook her head and touched her fingers beneath his weary eyes. “Banishment is not a mantle that suits you.”
“And so I shall shrug it off. I return to Innis Lear immediately.”
Shocked, Elia looked to Morimaros.
The king said, “He will not be talked out of it.”
“Uncle.” Elia took one of his hands from her shoulder and gripped it tight. “Your death rides on it. Stay here with me. I know you’re welcome.”
“You are,” Morimaros said, as if he’d said it before.
The Oak Earl shook his head, though Elia thought painfully, wistfully, that he no longer carried any such title. He was only Kayo. Like her.
“I want to go home. But I cannot. My sisters…” She paused, surprised by her own low vehemence. “They ordered me to stay away until they’re crowned.”
“I will do what I can, starling, rest assured of that.”
“Kayo, stay with me here in Lionis. My father promised to kill you. And though a month ago I’d have sworn he never would, I don’t know what goes on in his mind now. What if he would go through with it for his stupid, terrible pride?” She caught herself curling her fists against her stomach to hold in the growing ache, and forced her hands to smooth down the soft skirts of her gown.
“Innis Lear is my home, Elia, and I love Lear as my brother. No matter what he says as a king, I have never betrayed him in either guise. I won’t begin now, when he is lost in a storm of confusion.”
Elia said, “Uncle, I want you to be careful.”
“I have your sister Gaela’s help,” Kayo admitted, bitterness tainting what should have been a hopeful thing. “She’s promised to break any sentence on my head. More for her disdain toward Lear than for any belief in me, but at least I’ve yet allies.”
“Good. Gaela can protect you. She’s stronger than he is now.”
Kayo’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “We are as strong as the people who love us, Elia, and nobody loves Gaela Lear.”
It punched her, and she stepped back from him so her hip knocked into the king’s heavy table. “Regan does. I do,” she said. Her uncle’s mouth pulled in regret, but Elia shook her head, refusing any arguments. “Though I have little enough strength to offer.”