Trevn

After breaking his fast, Trevn left his chambers with his wax tablet and rune sketch. Cadoc, his new shield, was waiting outside. The man was shorter and younger than most guards, but his muscular arms and near dozen braids bound in a warrior’s tail were warning enough. And while Trevn loathed having a shield, he did like the way his hunting horn insignia looked on Cadoc’s tabard. It was the first time anyone had worn the mark. Trevn himself was not allowed to wear it until his ageday.

“Your Highness,” Cadoc said in his slow, measured voice. “How are you this morning?”

“Slightly bitter to see you as always.” Trevn started down the hall to the main staircase, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to make Cadoc run today. So far he had been unable to lose the man.

“Trevn!”

He turned. Hinck was sprinting toward them. Trevn had only seen his backman move this fast when he was trying to keep up on the roofs.

Hinck reached him and dragged him by the arm several paces away from Cadoc. He stuffed a scrap of parchment into Trevn’s hand. No, it was paper. In Armania, correspondence on such a medium was as rare as the trees it came from.

“From Miss Mielle.” Hinck raised his eyebrows.

“For me?”

“She certainly wouldn’t write to me, now would she?”

Thinking of Miss Mielle made Trevn’s mouth go dry. Why would she write? Demanding his solution to the orphans’ plight, no doubt. “Did you read it?”

Hinck bowed low, sweeping his arm dramatically to the side. “I am but a humble backman.”

He had read it. “What does it say?”

Hinck straightened. “Read it yourself, fool. It is one sentence long.”

Trevn glanced at Cadoc, who was watching them, then unfolded the paper and read.

Sâr Trevn,

Would you be so kind as to meet me in the queen’s garden in the quarter hour before first sleep?

With reverence and gratitude,

Mielle Allard

She wanted to meet. Why? He had never before received a note from a girl—a woman. Miss Mielle was of age. “How did you get this?”

“A maid from Fairsight Manor handed it to me when I was leaving the practice field this morning. I told her correspondence should go through Beal, but she said this was unofficial and asked me to pass it to you.”

Unofficial. “What does that mean?”

Hinck shrugged. “Who cares? A pretty woman wants to meet you in the garden. Go and thank Mikreh.”

“You think her pretty?”

“More of a lioness, like Cetheria in human form. Give her a sword and I’d kneel for fear she’d cut off my head.”

“It would be your arm,” Trevn said, “she’s quite clumsy. You think I should go?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Forgotten my disaster with Shessy Wallington already?”

“Miss Mielle isn’t Shessy, Trev. But if you don’t trust her, don’t go.”

Trevn nodded and shoved the paper underneath the lid of his wax tablet.

“What are you going to do?” Hinck asked.

“I guess we’ll both find out later. Father Tomek will be waiting.” He walked toward the stairwell, feeling somehow more alive. Cadoc shadowed him, which somewhat dampened the thrill of having a pretty woman ask to meet him.

She was pretty, he decided. Not only for the reasons Hinck said. Trevn had enjoyed talking to her. She was smarter than any girl he knew. Liked to climb. Hated rules and injustice. And when she smiled, it somehow pinned him to his chair.

What could she want from him? The mere thought that she might be looking to take advantage of his position made him queasy. He actually slowed a little to catch his breath.

Surely she wasn’t like Shessy.

He wavered back and forth all the way to the classroom. Father Tomek had yet to arrive. Trevn sat at his desk and pulled out Miss Mielle’s note. Read it again, wondering.

Father Tomek strolled into the room and up to his desk. “Good morning, Sâr Trevn.”

Trevn shoved the note under his tablet and traded it for one of the rune sketches he had copied late last night.

“Father, did you hear what happened to the Honored Lady Lebetta?”

“Who?”

“Wilek’s concubine. They found her in the courtyard last night, eaten by drice.” He carried his drawing to his tutor’s desk. “She drew this in her own blood. Do you know what it means?”

“Gracious me, what a terrible thing.” Father Tomek took the drawing and frowned as he studied it. “Mantic runes?”

“We think so, but Wilek cannot find anyone to translate them.”

“Yes, well, that’s unsurprising. I might be able to help, but I’ll need to consult some old scrolls. May I borrow this?”

“You may keep it. I have another copy.”

“How wise. You’d make an excellent scribe if you didn’t have to be a priest.”

“Won’t I make an excellent priest too?”

Tomek twisted his lips. “That remains to be seen. Now take your seat. Today’s discussion is on the Mythos of The Hand, which is . . . ?”

“The basis for most religions in the Five Realms.” Trevn grabbed a sheet of velum from the cabinet where he’d left it to dry yesterday and returned to his desk.

“Why is the hand a sacred symbol?”

“Because the hand of Arman created the world, so the hand is revered. Plus, a hand has five fingers, which is why many believe the number five is providential.”

“Very good. Which is the oldest religion in the Five Realms?”

“Armanite,” Trevn said. “Most believe that Arman created the world and rules as father over it. Armanites believe Arman is the only god.”

“How does that differ from the Rôb and Sheresh faiths?”

“Rôb believes in multiple gods. Most followers choose five to follow devotedly. Sheresh believes that man is above all—that even the gods serve man.”

“How is Kabar different from Rôb?”

“Kabarans worship black spirits, often in conjunction with evenroot powder. They believe mantics are demigods set apart to rule lesser men.”

“Which religion does not believe Arman is father and creator?”

“Kabarans do not believe in Arman at all. The Sheresh believe he was a mantic.”

“What do you think of that belief? Arman as a mantic?”

Trevn shrugged one shoulder. “Why would a god need black spirits for power?”

“Indeed.” Tomek walked to the shelves on the far wall. Trevn spied the corner of the note sticking out and admired one curve of the loopy handwriting. He pulled it out and read it again.

“Which religion is supreme in each of the Five Realms, generally speaking?” Father Tomek asked. “My sâr, are you listening?”

“Huh?” Trevn’s eyes jerked up, and he shoved the note onto his lap, his face hot. Father Tomek watched him from across the room, clay tablet in hand. Which religion where, he had asked. “Um . . . Armania is Rôb, the realm of Sarikar is Armanite, the Sheresh dominate Rurekau, and Magonia and Tenma follow Kabar, though they have different methods of worship.”

Father Tomek carried the tablet to his desk. “So far you have studied the Root Prophecies for Sheresh and Kabar. Each faith has its own version of the Root Prophecy. I’d like you to compare them. This tablet includes the prophecy for Rôb. Listen carefully as I read.”

Father Tomek began, and Trevn glanced to the note in his lap, reading it again. If something was wrong with her family, she would have asked Kal or Lady Zeroah for help. Her servant had told Hinck it was unofficial. Maybe she just wanted to see Trevn again, to ask about the orphans. He wanted her to want to see him again.

His stomach tingled at the thought of meeting her. He would have to go alone—lose Cadoc somehow. The castle roof would be best. Lots of privacy. But she had already suggested the queen’s garden.

“Sâr Trevn?”

Good thing the note hadn’t gone to Beal. His onesent would have shown it to Mother. Beal was too old and stuffy for Trevn’s tastes. Trevn used Hinck for the work of backman and onesent, especially when he wanted to hide something from his mother.

A hand on his shoulder. “Your Highness.”

Trevn jumped and stuffed the note between his knees. “Yes?”

Father Tomek was standing over him, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding the clay tablet. “How late did you stay up last night?”

Trevn swallowed. Father Tomek thought him tired from what had happened to Lady Lebetta. Perhaps he could work this to his advantage. “I went to the deadhouse with Wilek. Uhley had to burn Lady Lebetta’s body because of the drice. But I was asleep before the dawn prayer bells.”

“Have you copied your pages?”

Trevn winced. “Not yet. I slept late.”

“If I let you skip lessons this day, will you promise to give me your full attention tomorrow?”

Trevn straightened. “Yes!”

The old man smiled. “Copy your pages and you may go.”

Trevn scrambled out of his chair to the cabinet that held the holy scrolls. He gathered his things and brought them back to his desk. He had to concentrate to keep his hand from shaking as he transcribed. He hoped Father Tomek wouldn’t make him redo them.

When he finished, he returned the holy scrolls to the cabinet and laid out his five pages of vellum on the shelf above to dry overnight.

“All done?” Father Tomek asked.

“I am.”

“Go, then. Get some rest. But tomorrow morning I expect your full attention.”

Back at his quarters Trevn again assured a concerned Cadoc that all was fine. “I’m just tired. Stayed up too late. Father Tomek is letting me sleep it off. After that, I think I’ll work on my maps. You’ll wait out here. Inform Beal I’ll take my midday meal in my chambers.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Trevn shut the door and grinned. This would be the ideal way to spend his time until he could meet Mielle.

He quickly spread his Armania maps on the floor of his chambers, studying the coastlines and cracks. He subscribed to Pollon’s teachings on the cracks. Pollon had taught that if the earth had split once before, it would again. Cape Waldemar had extended off the northern side of the Echo Crack, and Trevn was certain the cape’s demise was partly related to its location.

Beal arrived at midday with a tray of food. His onesent was a middle-aged man, thin, with sunken cheeks and ashen skin. His voice wheezed, likely from overuse of the evergold smoking pipe he kept in his pocket at all times. He set the tray on Trevn’s table. “Your meal, sir.”

Trevn didn’t bother to look up. “Return to help me dress for dinner. I’ll remain in my chambers until then.”

“So long indoors?” Beal rasped. “Are you ill?”

“Tired. Did no one tell you I was up until dawn with my brother Wilek? His concubine was murdered.”

“I heard that much, Your Highness, but was unaware you were present.”

“I accompanied my brother to the deadhouse. Now leave me, and don’t concern yourself or my mother. A few hours’ sleep will be just the thing.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The moment the door closed, Trevn approached the candle clock on his wall. He pushed the time pin into the wax at half an hour before first sleep. That would give him plenty of time to reach the queen’s garden.

He went back to his maps until the clatter of the pin told him it was time to go.

Trevn tied the strings of his sandals together and hung them around his neck. Then he slipped out to his balcony and scrambled up the stone carvings of vines that ran up the wall. They were cool under his hands and feet since his window was in shadow until long after midday. When he reached the roof, he moved quickly over the hot stone that the sun had baked all morning, hoisted himself over the crenellation, and jogged to the roof garden. There he took a bench and put on his sandals. A shame that Miss Mielle hadn’t suggested this garden. Easier to get to and much more private.

Trevn hurried to the servants’ stairs, which was the quickest route to the ground floor. He circled down and only upset three maids.

He realized then that word might reach his mother that he had been on the servants’ stairs again. She would know he had tricked Cadoc, lied to Beal, and taken advantage of Father Tomek’s generosity.

It could not be helped. If she found out, he would deal with it, but he wasn’t going back now. He would be careful of the time, returning before the evening prayer bells tolled and Beal came to dress him for dinner.

Trevn slipped outside onto the courtyard’s wide gravel lawn of white marble. It ran around the perimeter, surrounding an open colonnade of red granite on one end and the vast cactus garden on the other.

It was eerie to be here after last night. Lady Lebetta had been murdered on the far end of the garden. Did Miss Mielle know this? The courtyard and colonnade seemed deserted. Queen Brelenah had temporarily moved her court indoors to honor her son’s loss.

The gravel crunched underfoot as Trevn followed the maze of pebble paths that wound through clusters of cacti, prickly trees, tiny flowers, shrubs, and palms. He turned down a path that curved under a grove of trees and found Mielle waiting on a bench by the summer flory, which had not yet bloomed. She saw him coming and stood. She was wearing a red-and-yellow dress that bared her ankles and the brown sandals she wore. Her feet were dusty. As was her skirt.

“Did you walk here?” he asked, pointing.

She glanced down. “Oh, no. I went in there,” she said, pointing at a grove of ironwood—five trees that had been gifts to the garden from Queen Brelenah’s brother, King Jorger of Sarikar. “I wanted to see how high I could climb.”

“You climbed an ironwood tree?” They were quite prickly.

“Two of them. First I went up that one with the low branch. But it’s thin at the top, and I couldn’t get very high. So I climbed the one in back. Oh, I forgot.” She curtsied.

Trevn fought back a smile. He didn’t want to let down his guard until he knew she could be trusted, but her mere presence winded him more than his run had. He swallowed, suddenly nervous, though he couldn’t imagine why. “Why have you asked me here, Miss Mielle? Is something wrong?”

She sighed. “Nothing is wrong. Do you really want to know?”

He had asked, hadn’t he? “Of course. I will help, if I can,” he added, knowing better than to give a promise he could not keep.

“I need information.” She smiled, all innocence and charm.

He should have guessed. Miss Mielle was like every other female, looking to further her position at court, a place Trevn was still too young to even attend. He took a steadying breath to keep from yelling. “I am sorry to disappoint, Miss Mielle, but I cannot be bought or bribed or seduced in any way.”

Her brow pinched. “Seduced?”

“You want something from the king, or you simply want to get close to me to gain power or influence at court. Well, it won’t happen.”

She gasped. “I want nothing of the sort! I thought you were kind. I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.”

Her reaction puzzled him. She wanted information from him, yet she was acting like he had wronged her. “I do not understand. What information do you seek?” He steeled himself against the coming request, confused, yet hopeful that she might yet redeem herself.

“Anything about your brother Sâr Wilek.”

She was after Wilek? This was somehow worse than using him to get a favor from the king. “Why not ask Lady Zeroah to gain favor with him?”

“I don’t want a favor! I simply wish to help Lady Zeroah. She wants nothing more in life than to please her future husband, but he is so distant. We had high hopes for dinner last night, but now the lady is melancholy. I can barely get a word from her.”

His anger fell away. She wanted to help Wilek and Lady Zeroah.

Miss Mielle went on. “With this horror over his concubine’s death, my lady is at a loss for how she can ever bring him comfort, and I cannot stand to see her so distressed. You were so kind at dinner, I hoped you might help. Forgive me for wasting your time.” She moved to walk past him, but he stepped in her way.

“I’d be happy to help,” Trevn said, suddenly eager to please this woman he had been so certain wanted to use him. “But I . . . I know little about . . . such things.”

Miss Mielle offered up that wide and glowing smile. “I’m not asking for tips on romance, Your Highness.”

A small relief. “What, then? I know nothing of grief either.”

“He is your brother.”

“Half brother. I spent the last ten years in Sarikar. I barely know him.”

“But Lady Zeroah said you and he are friends. Understanding his interests and dreams will help her know him better.”

“He has never once told me his dreams,” Trevn said.

“Must you make everything so difficult?” Miss Mielle set her hands on her hips. “What’s his favorite color?”

Trevn shrugged. “Men don’t talk of favorite colors.”

“Well, does he like to dance?”

“I know not. I told you I am not permitted to attend balls until I reach my majority.”

“Does he like music? What’s his favorite instrument?”

Trevn knew that much. “He owns a lyre. I heard him playing it once in this very garden. He plays poorly, though.”

Miss Mielle’s eyes lit up. “Indeed! That is precisely the kind of information I needed.” She darted forward and pressed her lips against his cheek.

His cheek.

His stomach leapt. Trevn wanted to leap too, but he kept his expression passive, as if the kiss held very little interest for him.

Her dark brown eyes searched his. “Anything else?”

Trevn tried to look like he didn’t desperately want another kiss, but quick words betrayed him. “He once remarked that pear crispels are delicious.”

For that, he received a kiss on his other cheek.

Trevn liked this game. Perhaps he could negotiate longer kisses for larger secrets. He would need to strategically plan a way to seek out the answers. For now, he threw out another useless fact. “He prefers boots to sandals.”

“Thank you,” Miss Mielle told him. This time she kissed him on the lips. She was exactly the same height as he was. Her face was so close that her eyes blurred into one. He could still feel the burn of her lips on his.

“He hates his mother’s little dogs,” Trevn whispered, and this time he took his own kiss.

A man cleared his throat. Trevn and Miss Mielle sprang apart.

Rayim Veralla, captain of the Queen’s Guard, bowed, as was proper. “Your mother is looking for you, Your Highness. She is most concerned for your well-being.”

Sands! How did she even know he was gone? “I . . .” He swallowed. “Um . . . wanted a walk in the garden.” He had never before felt such heat in his face.

“I see that. I’m to escort you to your mother’s apartment immediately.”

The words sent fire up Trevn’s spine. He didn’t want to leave Miss Mielle, but no excuse to stay presented itself in his overwhelmed brain. So he bowed to her. “Miss Mielle, please forgive my mother’s rude interruption. I wish you a good midday.”

She curtsied deeply. “Thank you for your assistance, Sâr Trevn.”

Trevn studied her flawless skin, the curve of her throat, full lips, straight nose, bright eyes, thick braids of hair, the—

“Shall we, Your Highness?” Captain Veralla said.

“Yes, of course.” Dazed, Trevn followed the captain but kept his focus on Miss Mielle until he walked into a rosebush and thorns stabbed his legs. “Ahh!”

Captain Veralla spun around, hand on the hilt of his sword. Then smirked. “Best to face forward when walking, my sâr.”

“Good idea.” But Trevn risked one last glance back to Miss Mielle. She was giggling. Yes, very funny. Yet he smiled despite his embarrassment.

Captain Veralla held open the garden doors for Trevn. He met the man’s gaze as he passed through. “Are you going to tell her?” Trevn asked.

“Tell who what, Your Highness?”

“Tell my mother what I . . . what you saw.”

The captain continued to the grand staircase. Trevn walked alongside him. “I’ll tell her I found you in the queen’s garden. Should she ask whether or not you were alone, I won’t lie. But I doubt she’ll ask me. You, however, should be prepared to answer for yourself. She’s very protective of you.”

Trevn’s heart was still racing from that last kiss. “She will be angry if she learns about Miss Mielle.”

They started up the stairs. “No mother likes to see her child grow up. Your majority has nearly arrived, but when your mother looks at you, she will always see the face of her babe.”

Trevn grimaced. “You know a lot about mothers.”

“That’s because I have one. And seven brothers before me. And five children of my own, including a girl who reached her majority this year. You, however, are your mother’s only son. She will guard you fiercely as long as she can.”

Trevn sighed. If his mother would have another son, perhaps that boy could be the priest and Trevn could be an explorer. But the king had cast her aside. Her only lover now was a bottle of wine.

“May I make a suggestion, Your Highness?”

“I suppose.”

“Next time, take Cadoc with you to meet your Miss Mielle. He will give you privacy and keep your secret. Your mother might have employed him, but you are his master. Once you are of age, he will answer to none but you and the rosâr.”

Really? Trevn hadn’t thought of Cadoc as an asset. “An excellent suggestion, Captain Veralla. Thank you.”

“Just you stay away from my daughter, though.”

Trevn had never even met Captain Veralla’s daughter, and by the look in the man’s eye, he never wanted to. “I will do so.”

Queen Thallah’s apartment was decorated in the Rurekan style. Everything was gold or yellow. The walls were covered in weapons that had supposedly belonged to her ancestors. There were three swords and a pike mounted in the sitting room alone.

In a corner of the room cowered Cadoc and Hinck, and Queen Thallah paced angrily before them like a fat sand cat, turning only as Trevn cleared his throat.

“Trevn!” Mother ran to him, embraced him in one of her smothering hugs. “It’s worry that kills, son of mine. Father Tomek gave you the afternoon off, but you hadn’t checked in with me. When Cadoc said he lost you, I nearly went to your father. Thank Mikreh that Captain Veralla begged a chance to seek you out. How humiliating would it have been to claim you missing to the rosâr with you here all along? Well? What have you to say for yourself? Where were you?”

“Walking in the queen’s garden.”

She leveled a glare at Captain Veralla. “That is where you found him?”

“Yes, Your Highness. As always, he left a trail of unhappy servants in his wake. I had only to follow the destruction to the garden, and there he was.”

Her angry eyes flashed back to Trevn. “Doing what in the garden?”

He could not mention Miss Mielle. To do so would bring her to his mother’s attention, and she would devise some way to keep them apart. “Studying the scene of the crime. Lady Lebetta was murdered last night, and her killer has yet to be—”

“Oh, Trevn!” His mother fell onto her sofa. “You don’t know what I suffer for your sake. The women here give me no respect. They all plot to use you against me.”

She had moved on to theatrics. The worst was over. “Mother, no one will use me against you.”

“You won’t mean to betray me, no, but youth and parchment take any impression. You run headlong into adventures without first considering the consequences.” She rolled to her feet and waddled to him, clutching his hands in her massive ones. “You are my joy. I simply worry about the future. I simply worry too much.” She hugged him close.

“As you said, Mother, it’s worry that kills.” He pulled away. “Trust me to take care of you.”

“I know you will.” She gazed at him so long he turned away, looked at the door. “Yes, go get dressed for dinner,” she said, patting his arm. “I will see you there.”

Trevn, Hinck, and Cadoc walked in silence to Trevn’s chambers. When they arrived, Trevn waved them all inside and closed the door.

“How did this happen?” he asked.

“It’s my fault,” Hinck said. “I came to meet you after your lessons, but Father Tomek said he let you go early. So I came here to see what you had decided to do about . . . you know. But you were already gone. And when I came out, Cadoc, well, he . . .”

“I could tell from the look on his face he hadn’t seen you. I entered your chambers, confirmed you had left, and informed your mother of the situation.”

Trevn looked from Cadoc to Hinck, mustering up his most disappointed frown. Captain Veralla was correct. They were his to command, and he needed them on his side. “I apologize, Cadoc. I’m not used to having a shield. But I am your master, not my mother. From now on, I will ask your help when I want to meet someone privately without my mother’s knowledge.”

“I appreciate that, Your Highness,” Cadoc said.

Hinck’s grin claimed his entire face. “So you met her? And there’ll be a next time?”

Trevn fell into his chair by the fireplace and smirked. “I hope so.” He would meet her tomorrow, if he could make his list by then. The more information he could gather about Wilek, the longer Miss Mielle’s lips would be on his.