The First Binding, page 86
I understood then the nature of what else the game could come to mask. For all the maneuvering it allowed the gentry and nobility, it could just as easily allow princes to move around in anonymity and set in motion darker things. Exposing secrets, selling them, or clearing a path to the throne.
It seemed I’d need another mask if I wanted to move more carefully among the Etaynian upper class. Despite morning fog filling my skull, I steadied my breathing and reached for the folds. First, something familiar.
I envisioned my clothes. Not as they were now, rumpled, carrying particulates and dust from over the day. No, I saw them as they were in the minds of those that shaped each piece, better than new. I saw the dream of them.
Two folds. Then four. All one needed in honesty to affect something as simple as clothing, and my cloak and cowl refused to hold to any dirt and debris. “Whent. Ern.” My Athir and will took to the task of reshaping reality within my sphere of influence. An easy enough belief to hold.
I looked down to find my clothing had been set back the way it had been. If only I could do that for how I feel. The mild binding left me comfortable enough to try my hand at a better one.
I took a breath, wondering if I was really up to the task. That alone should have been the answer.
An old voice went through my head. “There are no ifs when dealing with the bindings. Belief must be absolute.”
I needed a mask and searched my room for the necessary materials. A heavy trunk rested by my bedside, offering me something sturdy with which to make the bulk of the disguise. Several candelabra sat upon a mantelpiece, and the face of the hearth was a smooth black stone that would do nicely. I reached out to brush the wood of the chest, letting my touch take in its details.
Soft, supple, and strong. All of which I could use and want for. I saw myself pulling, piece by piece and through my thoughts, to reshape a portion of its mass into the mask I sought.
Half a dozen folds filled my mind. “Whent. Ern.”
Nothing happened.
“Whent. Ern.”
The wood remained the same.
“Work, damn you. I believe. I do.” My hand smacked against the trunk and I knew the words I’d spoken weren’t true. Most of my time in Etaynia had been spent under the guise I’d spent years cultivating and convincing myself of. For one brief moment I’d let myself become my old self—all to rescue Eloine from the clergos. And I’d forgotten him just as fast, until she’d asked me to tell my story.
Even still, the Ari who could work bindings beyond showmanship and little tricks hadn’t come back. So even shaping a mask, with the materials at hand, remained outside of my ability.
Fine legend I am. Cleaning my clothes and manipulating firelight for stories. Is that the breadth of what I can do now? I placed more weight on my staff than usual as I headed toward the door, deciding that maybe I’d worn enough masks of late.
The porter at my door turned to me as I stepped outside.
He reminded me of someone’s portly uncle stuffed into finer clothes than he could afford. Balding, thick mustachioed, and carrying a baby’s fat in his cheeks and jowls. “Would the good gentleman care for breakfast? I can have it brought to your room.”
I thought on that. The more I walked around the palace, the better chance I had at learning what I wanted, but it also meant that much more exposure to the other guests. More chances for them to rope me further into their game.
“That would be appreciated.” I noted he’d called me a gentleman, meaning at the very least he saw me as among the gentry, even if not a noble. “Do you know how many of the efantes are residing here right now?”
The porter’s eyes went wide, but it might have been a moment’s shock. He recovered with his next breath. “Yes. Though, some of the younger members of the family are not in Del Soliel at all. Only those in the election are here.” He’d said it as if it should have been obvious.
So the game is more than what I thought. There were more ways to become king than simply murdering the other princes. Winning the election had to be the other angle the efantes were working.
“How long will it take for breakfast to be brought to me?” I made sure to voice the question with simple curiosity and not the impatience of a lord.
“Half mark of the hour. But it will be hot and fresh.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure me.
I grunted and shut the door behind me. “I’ll be back before then. If anyone asks for me, tell them I’ve taken to wandering the castle. My legs could use the stretching.”
“And if they’ve sent a summons, sir?”
“Then they’ll have to wait till I’m back … if I choose to respond at all.” I didn’t bother to pay attention to his reaction as I left.
My exploring led me to some of the lower halls that served no other function than boasting lengthy corridors to waste your time. If they did anything, I couldn’t see it. Perhaps they were spaces to fit all the royal family’s extra paintings?
One side of the walls were all of glass that let in the gray morning light. Something else hung in the sky and let me know the cause of the dimness. The moon, still lingering from the previous night. She sat there, cold and distant, no longer shining bright. Pale. Almost a shadow in white.
I bit off a curse that worked its way into my throat when I saw another figure approaching from the other end of the corridor.
They wore a coat the color of summer clouds and pants as dark as winter night skies. A longsword hung at their hip, and the ease with which their hand rested on the pommel let me know they were comfortable with the weapon.
A guard? They didn’t have the look of a lord or great nobility. No mask hid their face either.
As they neared, I took in their features.
You would be hard-pressed to choose between calling them handsome or beautiful, and in truth would be better served using a term that contained both meanings. A chisel had been taken to them, providing their smooth stone face all the hard and sharp lines it needed to be striking and inviting. Skin closer to cream over tea than the well-tanned faces I’d seen more often. Their hair was near the length of mine, but tied at the back and held up by a clip if I had to guess.
“The Storyteller?” Their voice fit their face, leaving me clueless as to whether they were a man or woman.
I nodded. “And you are?”
“An arm when I need to be. A hand otherwise. Sometimes more.” One of their hands tightened against the sword for the space of a heartbeat. But I’d caught the action, and that was enough.
“Ah, and what are you right now?”
“Curious,” they said.
“I’ve been told I have that effect on men and women.”
They gave me a flat smile—colorless, with no meaning for me to find in it.
A puzzle then.
“I’ve heard you’re a wondrous performer, not least for the magics you can conjure.”
I gave them a slight bow, spreading my arms wide as I did. “That’s the word, and I’ve done my fair share in making sure that’s the sort that’s spread.”
“I’m sure. But I’m wondering why the efantes would let such a one as you enter Del Soliel at all? They can have any performers they want here. So why you? Why a foreigner?”
Ah. A good question. “I almost thought to ask the same thing when I was let in, but then decided some things are better off left unquestioned. You should consider that option.”
Another empty smile. “It’s my job to ask. To know.”
I didn’t want to linger and waste any more time, so I tried to shoulder past the person and get on with my morning.
They stepped in front of me.
I gripped my staff tighter and they noticed it, but I spoke before they decided to do anything. “Then go ask one of the princes. I’m sure they have the answer you’re looking for.”
More movement at the end of the hall drew my attention.
A figure, cut along the same lines as the other princes in height and general build. He wore clothing of a similar vein that had the same embroidery along his chest. A man in black from head to toe. Even his mask was a knotted wood of the same color, which covered his face from above his lips to his hairline.
The stranger in front of me turned and stepped out of the way, bowing.
That confirmed part of my theory. “Who’s the little lord?”
They hissed and shot me a withering glare. “Watch your tongue in front of a prince.”
And that settled it.
The prince joined us, passing a short look over me before settling his gaze on the armed stranger. “Hm. Clergos? No. Not any of the guard, especially the ones I know. And I’ve made it my business to know them all, especially after Eniyo passed. You’re new.” The prince reached out, touching the stranger’s flank with two fingers and sliding them down until he reached their hips. Further still, he moved his fingers and stroked the side of their leg.
“I am, my prince.”
“And who are you exactly? Did one of my brothers take you on then? What purpose, I wonder?” A lascivious grin took his face and he pinched the stranger.
They didn’t squirm under it. “I’m Vanye, my prince. And I was brought on by Prince Efraine.”
“To do what?” The prince’s grip shifted to Vanye’s rear.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the prince’s forwardness. Few things, if any, were likely withheld from him, including people. Though, I still expected him to behave a bit better than that in public.
“To serve, Prince Arturo,” said Vanye.
“I haven’t decided, Vanye, if I find you pretty, or gorgeous. Would you help me get to the bottom of that … and other things?”
I had expected Vanye to rebuff the prince’s advances. Barring that, I prepared myself to intervene.
“Most people find me both, before and after taking the time to ponder the differences between those terms.” Vanye returned the prince’s lustful look.
All of my thoughts and plans vanished with that, and I stood dumbfounded that the man’s advances had worked.
“Then let’s you and I work to sate my curiosity.” Prince Arturo ran a hand up to Vanye’s chest where he lingered, caressing the area. “Like if I were to remove your coat, what would I find?”
“A heart that bleeds for the kingdom,” said Vanye.
Prince Arturo blinked, clearly at a loss over the answer. He recovered his senses and moved his hand lower, stopping just shy of Vanye’s waistline. “And were I to venture further south? What would I find below?”
The curve of Vanye’s mouth spoke more of sex and wickedness than anything the prince could have managed, and one look at it sent his color rising full in face. “Justice. A long night. Little mercy. And very much an entertaining time.”
The prince laughed, then remembered I was standing there. “Oh. The Storyteller.” All of the passion and excitement vanished from his voice.
A fair reaction, I suppose.
“I remember getting word you’d asked to pay us a visit. Good. A neutral party is most welcome during the game and election. I wonder whose favor you’ll try to curry while here, and who’s already done so with you?” He reached into one of his pockets and pulled free two pins. “I invite you, Storyteller.”
I nearly groaned but remembered myself. I said nothing as I accepted a golden sun brooch and the white flower he’d offered alongside it. Mild relief welled in me as I realized he sought nothing more than a simple meeting.
“And for you, Vanye.” The prince passed them a red flower. “Tonight?”
“I’m relieved by afternoon.”
“All the better.” The prince extended his hand toward me all while keeping his attention on Vanye.
We traded grips and some of the heat left me as I held on. His skin felt like he’d spent time standing naked in snow. I let go and watched as the prince stepped away from us.
“I’ll see the both of you around. For now, I’m off to play and talk. I have an election to conclude and a throne to take.”
I arched a brow. “You sound confident, Prince Arturo.”
He shrugged with such a lack of care that I wondered if he’d ever had a single worry in his life. “I’m the eldest with Eniyo gone, the best looking”—he smiled—“as far as that can be taken into account. I’m well-liked, and I have the respect of the army. I’ve traveled far, studied the world. Who better? My younger brothers haven’t set foot beyond our borders.”
I took stock of that. “And how far would you say you’ve traveled, Prince?”
He rolled his shoulders again. “You know, I never kept count of the miles as they passed along the Golden Road. It was an adventure, nothing more.”
Sure.
“Vanye.” Prince Arturo gave them a little bow and began walking away, but not before his eyes lingered on me longer than they had before.
I knew that sort of stare and the quiet irritation it contained. My questions had bothered the prince. I didn’t know why, yet, but I took it as a sign I was on the right track.
My fingers rubbed against the pearl flower as I plotted when to take my meeting with him. I’d have him alone soon enough to get whatever answers I wanted.
I hoped.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
INTERMISSION—TRANSLATIONS
True to the porter’s words, breakfast arrived to my rooms hot and fresh. I’d been served a platter containing thin strips of ham, treated with a measure of salt and honey. Several small fish the size of my thumb had been cooked until a light char dulled the shine from their silver skin. They were meatier than I expected from their size, but I found it difficult to work around the thin bones clinging to every bit of their flesh. The true pleasure came from the figs and olives—fresh, and another thing Etaynia was known for.
Finishing my meal, I fished out the white flower Prince Arturo had given me. Was it too early by their customs to call on him for the meeting? The quicker I could question him, the better.
I recalled what the other prince had mentioned as well, a favor to be owed, and all for offering me help with translating the book I’d found.
Two roads to possible answers and I hadn’t a clue which to pursue.
A pair of gentle knocks at the door pulled me from my thoughts and I gritted my teeth. It seemed the game had reached full swing and no soul within the palace would get rest until every possible flower had been given away and claimed.
I went to the door, wearing my best scowl. One of my hands went up on instinct and snatched my hood up to hide most of my face. I had no mood or patience for the nobility right that moment.
I opened the door and felt the words I’d been readying die away.
She’d changed her outfit to fit the company within Del Soliel. A dress of soft velvet black sequined with shimmering white like stars. It clung to her at the chest, waist, and hips. Dark, flowing, and completely complementary to her. Her hair, however, refused the traditions of Etaynia and she’d let it loose and wild, securing it partly with red bands left just as free to hang in places. A mask of whirling petals spread from her nose to cover her cheeks and around her eyes. The piece made me think of countless roses fashioned from silver and all strung together. Through it, the green of her eyes looked deeper than before—holding a better brilliance under the metallic color.
“When I asked you to look for me, Ari, I didn’t mean so soon.” Eloine smiled and moved closer.
I barred the way more out of thoughtless action than by any intent. “What are you doing here?”
She canted her head at an angle as if caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean? I’m here to help you with your translation, as requested by Prince Artenyo. He’s found me a suitable expert in tongues.”
One of my hands went tight against the doorframe, an action that did not go unnoticed by Eloine. She reached out and folded her fingers over mine, pulling my grip from where I’d fixed it. “None of that now. I thought you’d tempered that bit of your fire.”
I gently eased my hand out of hers and stepped farther back into my room, motioning for her to come in. “I didn’t realize you were courting a prince.” The words lacked any inflection and I gave thanks I could manage that much control in the moment.
“You’re pouting under that hood, and if you’re not, you’re certainly acting like you are. It’s not courting so much as spending time with him. Apparently I’m entertaining—a panacea for all the difficulties that plague a prince.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of which I’m certain there are so many. How terrible a life.” The flatness of my voice could have lulled a frenzied alley cat into a deep sleep. “Imagine the wealth of a kingdom sitting in your hands to spend on whatever whims and desires you have.”
“Stop it.” Her heart wasn’t in it as she chided me. “You know well enough money doesn’t keep one from knowing pain.”
It was true, but I also knew that having it in ample sums could certainly spare you many other problems.
“So, you’re a shoulder for him then? Someone to lean and cry on?”
She shrugged. “At times. Sometimes something else. The nature of that is between us.” Eloine’s voice didn’t carry an edge, but I could tell she wanted me to drop the matter, so I did.
“Am I permitted to ask about the nature between us, then?”
“You are.” Her mouth quirked to one side, clearly amused, but she hadn’t answered the question within the one I’d asked.
“And?”
“For now, we’re a translator and a storyteller. At other times, we’re something else—something more.”
I frowned. “And after we’re done with our work?” I’d moved over and tapped the book the prince had left to me. “Then what?”
“Then we’ll see.” Her smile broadened. “But for now, the book.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You enjoy being difficult, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. And I could say the same to you, and I have a feeling I’d get the same answer back.”
I muttered something under my breath that was better left unheard.
Eloine came to my side and took one of my arms at the elbow, leading me to the bed. “Sit with me.”
