Kian headed down to the kitchen as soon as the light of the gate had faded. For once, he didn’t have to worry about running into Malik.
Patra was at the work table, shaping dough into loaves that would be served at lunch and dinner. She glanced up at him and stopped what she was doing. “Kian, whatever’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Wytch Master Taretha came for the prince,” he said softly.
“Ai, she didn’t get here until after you’d taken the tray up, or I’d have warned you.”
“Where was she taking him? Lessons, I know, but… why not do it here?”
“Do you really need to ask that question?” she murmured. “Have you not seen the north wing?”
Kian shook his head, frowning as he tried to decide if he was being particularly stupid today or if he was missing some vital piece of information. Surely Master Taretha could contain Ambris; she’d taken on the responsibility of teaching him, after all. Except… Kian was fairly sure that Master Taretha wasn’t a dragon shifter. There were certain patterns he saw in the mythe-shadows of both Ilya and Garrik, patterns he’d seen echoed in Ambris’s mythe-shadow, but not in Master Taretha’s.
“I wonder why Master Ilya hasn’t been called in to teach him,” Kian mused. “He’s a dragon shifter himself, and he’s the one who taught Garrik… I mean, Wytch King Garrik. I thought the Wytch Council had him teaching all the difficult students… the ones who have dangerous Wytch powers they can’t control.”
Patra shook her head as she turned another lump of risen dough out of its bowl and punched it down. “I’ve no idea why they haven’t called in anyone else. Master Taretha doesn’t share her business with the likes of me.”
“I should send a message to Master Ilya,” Kian said. “I know he’d come. He could teach Ambris — I mean, His Highness — in short order. What’s the best way to get word to him?”
The housekeeper had stopped what she was doing and was staring at him in alarm. “It’s… it’s not that easy, Kian.”
“What do you mean? People come and go between here and Mir, don’t they?”
“No one from the palace comes here unless they’re going to stay,” she said flatly. “And no one leaves except Master Taretha and Malik, or sometimes Jorin, if Malik’s busy. Every few weeks they take an empty wagon through one of her gates, and they bring it back loaded with the supplies we need. I’ve no idea where they go, but no one else is allowed out. The only way you’ll get a message to anyone is to have one of them carry it for you, and I promise you, that will bring you far more trouble than you want.”
“But… but Master Ilya could teach him, I’m certain of it. Prince Ambris has been trapped here for five years… Surely Master Taretha would see the sense in letting someone else try.”
Patra crossed her arms. “If you’re dead set on it, you can ask her. But all you’re likely to get out of it is a beating from Malik.”
That was hardly what he wanted to hear, but Kian reined in his frustration and said only, “Thank you, Patra.”
Back in Ambris’s room, he stood by the window, watching the empty, ironwork gate. He couldn’t get that last look Ambris had given him out of his head. Those golden eyes had fixed on him in a mute plea, as if Ambris truly believed that Kian had the power to help him.
He should have done something. Should have stopped them… but how? Kian had watched Malik spar with his guardsmen, and while Kian might have size and strength on his side, Malik was fast and mean, and Kian was well aware that he didn’t have the training to beat him.
And Wytch Master Taretha… If the woman could build a mythe-gate, the Dragon Mother only knew what else she could do. Kian was no match for a full Wytch Master, especially one powerful enough to have earned the rank of Council Speaker.
He stared out the window, stomach twisting in knots while he waited. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before light flared in the arch of the gate, and the glowing mist filled it once more. When the mist cleared, Malik strode into the courtyard carrying Ambris. The prince lay limp in the captain’s arms, his face pale and streaked with blood.
Kian dropped the curtain and moved to the fire to add another log. He considered going to his own room to gather supplies, but decided he’d best wait until he knew for certain what he might need.
It seemed like an eternity before he heard slow, heavy steps coming up the stairs. Kian opened the door and Malik pushed past him, still carrying the prince.
Ambris’s eyes were closed. He’d been wrapped in his cloak, and his face was streaked with blood, tears, and sweat. Malik dumped him on the bed.
“Careful!” Kian protested. “What happened?”
“You’re here to heal His Highness, not ask questions.” Malik’s voice was a low, threatening growl. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up and get on with it.”
The captain left the room without a backward glance, and after his steps had faded, Kian locked the door and turned his attention to the prince, who was moaning weakly. Ambris’s mythe-shadow shivered with the colors of pain, and flared in the hot, jagged bursts that indicated injury.
Kian carefully unwrapped the cloak to assess the damage. Ambris was a mess, and was bleeding profusely. Most of his wounds were deep, jagged tears, but when Kian turned him over, he also found bloody lash marks marring the prince’s pale skin. Above the whip marks, over Ambris’s shoulder blades, were two gaping rents, the sort that might have been made by something piercing through the flesh from the inside.
Kian’s heart stuttered in his chest as he realized what it was he was looking at. These were the kinds of wounds he’d seen on Garrik the first time he’d shifted. Garrik had eventually learned to control the shift, but Kian would never forget the way his bones had twisted and warped, changing from human to dragon, tearing through his skin as they grew.
But why hadn’t Ambris healed properly?
A controlled shift tore the body apart, but simultaneously healed the damage. And even if it hadn’t been controlled, Ambris should have healed when he made the shift back to human form, but for some reason, he hadn’t.
Ambris moaned and reached out for him, jolting Kian back to the moment. There was far too much damage to heal quickly, and the prince was in pain. Kian laid a gentle hand across Ambris’s brow and nudged him into a deep sleep. Then he dropped to his knees at the prince’s bedside and meshed his awareness with Ambris’s wounded mythe-shadow.
Combing out the tangled threads and repairing the torn ones was difficult, delicate work. By the time Kian had finished, twilight was darkening the room. The fire had burned out, and the air was icy cold. Kian’s body was stiff from the hours he’d spent kneeling beside the prince. He got heavily to his feet and stretched, shivering.
All that was left was to wash the dried blood from the prince’s skin. Much as he’d like to let it wait until morning, it was important to Kian to finish the job properly, leaving Ambris with no reminders of what he’d endured today.
He managed to relight the fire and heated some water, but he was too exhausted to even think about food or drink, and too concerned about his charge to leave him. After washing the prince’s slack limbs and carefully drying him, Kian pulled a spare blanket from the chest of drawers and settled himself on the floor beside Ambris’s bed.
He’d barely put his head down before sleep took hold of him, dragging him into a nightmare world where Malik forced him to watch Ambris shift and bleed, but wouldn’t allow him near enough to help the prince.
* * *
Ambris slept deeply, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t dream. When he woke, he felt refreshed, though his throat was parched, and his stomach growled to let him know it was empty.
The events of yesterday came back to him in a rush, and he stretched his limbs carefully, taking stock. He’d been healed, and when he pulled an arm out from under the covers and pushed up the sleeve of his nightshirt to look at himself, there was no sign that he’d ever been injured. Kian must have taken the trouble to bathe him after the healing. Cyrith had never bothered cleaning him afterward; healing Ambris’s wounds had always left the old man too exhausted to do much of anything for the following few days.
Ambris sat up in bed and looked around. The breakfast tray waited on the table, and a cup of water sat on his nightstand. He reached for it and drank it down, only then noticing the blanket-draped figure on the floor at his bedside.
Kian was curled on his side, fast asleep, his head pillowed on his arm. It couldn’t have been very comfortable, lying on the cold, bare floor all night. Ambris slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Kian. He dressed quickly, put a log on the fire, and went to fetch another blanket from the chest of drawers. Kian stirred as he covered him, sleepy eyes slowly opening and focusing on Ambris.
For a moment, Ambris froze as those kind, dark eyes captivated him. Then he remembered the incident the other day, when he’d lost control of himself while Kian had been working the kinks out of his back. His face heated, and he looked away.
“Are you worried about the other night?” Kian asked, and when Ambris didn’t answer, he continued, “Don’t worry about it. I knew you weren’t really asleep, but I promise you, there’s nothing about you that disgusts me.”
“How did you…?”
“You can’t play tricks like that on a healer, you know.”
Kian sat up, and Ambris risked a glance in his direction. The healer didn’t look upset. In fact, a small smile played about the corners of his generous mouth.
“Why did you sleep here?” Ambris asked in an attempt to change the subject.
“I was worried about you.”
“But you healed me. What was there to worry about?”
Kian cocked his head. “I feared you might be disoriented when you woke, or perhaps get trapped in another nightmare. I wanted to make sure I was here for you.”
“I…” Ambris wasn’t sure what to say to that. It had been a long time since anyone had shown such regard for his feelings. He finally settled for, “Thank you.”
“It was no trouble.” Kian got to his feet and stretched, then bent to pick up the blanket he’d slept under, folding it neatly as he spoke. “After yesterday, I’m surprised you didn’t have nightmares.”
Clearly an invitation to talk. A question without a question.
Of course Kian would want to know how Ambris had sustained the horrific injuries he’d healed. Ambris didn’t want to talk about it, though. Didn’t want to admit that it was his own fault he was trapped here. If he could just learn to control himself, none of this would be necessary.
Kian finished folding the blankets and put them away. When he turned to face Ambris, his expression was serious. “Ambris… is Malik hurting you?”
Ambris clenched his jaw and moved to the table to inspect the breakfast tray. Instead of the cold, congealed porridge he expected, Kian had brought bread, butter, and a little pot of honey. There was also some cold meat and some cheese, things that would remain edible no matter how late Ambris woke. The healer’s thoughtfulness touched Ambris’s heart, and only fueled his determination to keep the truth from Kian.
Kian wouldn’t understand that the pain Malik caused him was necessary. Since he couldn’t bring himself to face the fire at his core, it was the only way to force the shift, the only way Ambris could attempt to master it.
“It’s all right to tell me.” Kian’s voice came from right behind him, and Ambris flinched as the healer laid a hand upon his shoulder. He allowed Kian to turn him slowly around to face him. Determined brown eyes bored into him.
“The wounds I healed yesterday—”
“Don’t,” Ambris whispered, looking away.
Kian took hold of his chin and gently tilted his head so Ambris was forced to meet his gaze. “I know what I’m seeing, Ambris. Most of those wounds were consistent with a failed shift. But somebody took a lash to your back, as well. Was it Malik?”
“Please…” Ambris shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. A tear found its way out and trickled down his cheek. “Don’t ask me that.”
Kian let out a heavy sigh. A moment later, Ambris was drawn into his arms. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me,” Kian whispered.
“No one can help me,” Ambris whispered back. He started to pull away, but a wave of hopeless despair washed over him, and more tears fell. With a strangled sob, Ambris pressed his face against Kian’s shoulder and wept.
* * *
Kian held the prince in his arms and let him cry himself out. Ambris trembled against him, silent tears sliding down his pale cheeks, but the man remained stubbornly silent when questioned.
After Ambris calmed down, Kian managed to get him to eat some of the food he’d brought up from the kitchen. Not knowing how long it would be before the prince awoke from his healing sleep, Kian had begged something other than the usual breakfast fare from Patra. She’d told him where to find everything and left him to prepare it himself.
“Have you eaten?” Ambris asked, tucking into his second slice of bread piled high with meat and cheese.
“Ai. I ate when I first woke up. Healing is draining, hungry work. I’ll probably fall asleep early tonight, too.”
Ambris lowered his eyes. “Thank you,” he said shyly, face coloring. “For healing me.”
A number of responses crowded into Kian’s mind, I shouldn’t have had to, being the first. He suspected that voicing such thoughts would only upset the prince, so he said only, “It’s what I’m here for.”
Ambris looked away and finished his meal in silence.
When the prince had eaten his fill, Kian took the tray back down to the kitchen. He scraped the leftover food into the slop bucket and set the dirty dishes next to the sink. Patra was busy at the work table chopping onions and carrots, and Ella was nowhere to be seen.
“Mistress Patra, would you answer some questions for me?” Kian asked.
Patra glanced up at him. “If I can.”
“It’s about the prince.”
“Ah. Well.” Patra’s expression became guarded, and she shot a glance toward the back door. “I’ll tell you what I can,” she said in a low voice, “but don’t expect it to change anything.”
“Thank you, Mistress Patra. You can trust me to keep quiet about it.” He hesitated, knowing that once he started down this particular road, he’d likely continue, whether it would be in his best interests or not. “I think Malik might be abusing Prince Ambris. And I think Master Taretha is allowing it.”
Patra gave him a stricken look and lowered her voice even more. “I wouldn’t know about that, though it wouldn’t surprise me to learn it was true. If that is the way of things, you’ll not be doing yourself any favors by saying so. Malik is Wytch Master Taretha’s man, through and through, and she’s the one in charge here. If she’s allowing it, there’s naught you can do to stop it. And trying could get you a whipping or worse.”
Kian recalled what she’d said about poor Ella’s sweetheart being beaten to death. “How does someone like Malik end up with so much power?” he asked. “Does he have some kind of hold over Wytch Master Taretha?”
“I doubt it,” Patra said, wiping her hands. “I can’t imagine her allowing anyone to have power over her. More likely she’s promised him something. Reinstatement of his position with the king’s guards, perhaps.”
“Reinstatement? Why? What happened?”
Patra glanced around again and said, “This goes no further than you and me, Kian. Other than Malik, I’m the only one left who was here when Blackfrost burned. Malik was always ambitious, and he joined the king’s guard as soon as he was old enough. He rose quickly through the ranks, and was quite a young man when he was made captain of the queen’s guard. When Blackfrost burned, his first duty was to save her, but he failed, though he did manage to save himself.
“The king was beside himself, and ordered Malik’s execution. I heard no more about him until Master Taretha brought Prince Ambris here. Malik was with her, and she left him in charge. Jorin was still working at the palace at the time, and he says as far as he knows, the king never pardoned Malik. But someone must have interceded on his behalf, because he clearly wasn’t executed.”
Sudden understanding bloomed in Kian’s mind. “And since Ambris started the fire that killed the queen, Malik blames him for losing him his standing with the king.”
“Ai, I think you’ve the right of that. Not that Malik would ever admit it, but… he’s certainly the sort to bear a grudge.”
Kian had to agree with that. His path seemed clear now: somehow, he had to get the prince out from under Malik’s thumb. And the only way to do that was to see that Ambris learned how to control himself so there would be no more need for Master Taretha’s lessons.
“Thank you, Patra. You can trust me not to say anything.” He turned away and headed for the kitchen door, more determined than ever to find a way to get a message to Master Ilya. He was almost to the door when Patra’s voice stopped him.
“Kian.”
“What?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Kian shook his head and gave her a rueful grin. “I’m afraid that’s a bit like telling the pigs not to roll in the mud, Mistress.”