It was cold outside, the morning of our departure – colder than it had any right to be for the time of year. I’d risen later than I’d intended, the result of yet another frustratingly sleepless night, and by the time I walked out of the front gates I expected to see Kest, Brasti and Morn waiting impatiently for me. Instead, I found Aline standing alone in a pale grey robe far too thin to protect her from the wind.
She whistled into the empty air, then fell silent as the sound floated off into the distance. She stared down the main road and after a moment she whistled again and once more stood quietly, as if waiting for a reply.
‘You’d make a terrible bird,’ I said, and when she didn’t reply, I tried a sterner tone. ‘You shouldn’t be outside alone.’
She motioned absently off to her right and now I spotted the three guards standing a discreet distance away, doing their best to blend into the gardens while still keeping an eye on her.
Aline started whistling again and at last I realised this wasn’t an idle tune; it was more like an urgent call. A summoning.
I bridged the distance between us to take a position next to her. ‘What are you—?’
‘I come out here every morning and call her,’ Aline said, ‘but she never comes.’
‘Call who?’
She didn’t answer at first, until I leaned over and saw the deep sadness in her eyes and the set of her mouth. ‘Monster,’ she whispered.
I hadn’t thought about the Fey horse in almost a year. She went on, ‘We aren’t that far away from . . . from where I made her go away.’ Aline turned to me at last. ‘I said horrible things to her, Falcio. I threw rocks at her and called her . . . but I had to make her go. She wouldn’t . . . she was causing problems with the other horses – she just wouldn’t fit in. All she wanted to do was fight, to charge into battle . . .’
I was about to say that I knew that feeling, but somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut. Was that what I was now: a mad beast who just wanted to kill his enemies, who had no place in this new world? I wanted to say something reassuring, to myself as much as Aline, but what came out was, ‘Maybe she doesn’t come because she can’t. Maybe she’s . . .’ I paused in my headlong rush to a bad ending.
‘Dead?’ Aline shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think anything can kill her. The Tailor says that Monster is all gristle and iron on the inside. I just wish I could see her one more time – to apologise. All she ever did was try to protect me, and I . . .’
‘And she did, sweetheart. No doubt Monster’s off somewhere raising seven hells against the world.’ I took a chance and reached an arm around Aline’s shoulders.
She surprised me by turning and grabbing onto me, her face sinking into my chest. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you arrived, Falcio. I’m sorry Pastien was so foul to Valiana – I should have—’
‘Wait now, sweetheart,’ I said, holding her close. ‘The weight of the world will be on your shoulders soon enough.’
She pulled away and took my hand. ‘I have something for us,’ she said, and pointed to a small table set a little ways inside the gate with two chairs, set for tea, with a flagon of wine besides.
As we sat there, she poured tea for herself and wine for me, and I had a momentary stab of panic. There had been times in the past when Aline had reverted to a child’s innocence – but then she set the wine in front of me and I remembered something.
‘You know, your father did this sometimes,’ I said.
‘Did what?’
‘Tried to get the other guy drunk while he stayed sober.’
Aline blew on her tea before bringing the cup to her lips. ‘Did he? From the stories I’ve been told by those eager to tell them, my father was usually the one who was drunk.’
That made me smile. ‘He certainly liked to give off that impression.’ The wine in the glass decanter looked to be a pleasant claret and I started to reach for the goblet, then thought better of my choice and picked up the teapot to fill the second cup instead. ‘In truth, he was rather fond of drinking himself into a stupor, but those who claim to have seen him do so are usually lying.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because your father knew he had to stay sharp, keep his mind clear. He never knew who his enemies were, other than the fact that almost everyone was his enemy in one way or another. Even the most innocuous of conversations could end up being used against him. He could rarely afford to let down his guard in the company of others.’
Aline seemed to consider that. ‘But he did so with you.’
I nodded. ‘With me, and Kest, sometimes with Brasti and a few of the others.’
‘So he only felt safe with the Greatcoats?’
I was about to agree, but something about that struck me as wrong – or at least, incomplete. ‘It’s more that . . .’
‘He saw you as friends?’
The sentiment still wasn’t quite right. ‘King Paelis was trying to do something big, trying to . . . change the way the country saw itself. The Greatcoats were part of that, but I think the real reason he felt comfortable in our presence was because we were the only people who shared some small part of that vision – we saw the world in the same way.’
‘What about Grandmother?’
‘The Tailor? She . . .’ I searched for the right words. Even when the Tailor isn’t in the room, if you say the wrong thing, you’re likely to get a sudden slap across the back of the head. ‘She supported the King’s dream, to be sure – I think in many ways she understood how to make it come to life better than he did . . . but she never took any pleasure from it.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not making sense.’
‘No, that makes perfect sense,’ Aline said. ‘My father could talk about his plans, his vision for the country, and feel as if you and the others shared in the excitement it brought him.’
‘Exactly. I suppose you could say that King Paelis liked to drink around us because somehow our presence made him feel a bit like celebrating.’
She gave me a small smile. ‘Then there’s at least something I have in common with my father.’
I smiled back. ‘You have at least one other thing in common with him.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You both think that a little wine and pleasant conversation will somehow make me less prone to wanting to tear the walls down once I hear what you actually sat me down to say.’
She hardened a little. ‘The walls have already been torn down, Falcio. You’ll have to find some other way to express your displeasure.’ The words were spoken lightly, almost as a jest, but there was an edge there I recognised as a warning not to overstep: a third tendency she shared with her father.
From my chair, I bent at the waist and gave a small bow. ‘I await your command, your Majesty.’
‘Don’t do that, Falcio.’