| |
If someone had told me I’d be spending the night with one of the king’s bannermen, I would have thought it a horror and refused to believe. I would have sooner preferred to hear the king had returned early and I would be greeting the morning as a pile of ash. If someone had told me that I’d be spending the night in the company of a friend...? Yet there we sat, just the two of us.
Silent companions, for the length of a night.
Erik was able to count, same as me. He knew the king’s hunting trip had reached an end, and that sometime tomorrow, a pair of bright royal banners would crest the horizon. He knew the trial would be a withering stare, and the sentence, a flick of the hand. He’d spent the better part of two days consumed with that very moment. He’d imagined it whilst standing in the courtyard, gazing up at the cell. He hadn’t been seen until the last evening, it had been easier with the crowd.
He knew the significance of those starlit hours, he knew the horrors that lay on the other side. The knowledge hung over us like a cloud, dimming every look, dulling every gesture. It likely should have been a dominant point of conversation. I likely should have taken the hours to cry.
It never came up. Not a single time.
“Why did you never come to the dining hall, in the days before we met?” I asked the question suddenly, twisting my head to see him. “You’re a bannerman, you should have been there.”
For the last few hours, we’d been sitting with our backs propped against the wall; close, but never touching, never more than an arm’s length away. There were times when we talked, random stories and passing remarks, but for the most part, we stared in silence out the window.
It wasn’t an emptiness, the way some silences were. A lack of sound, or absence of idea. It had a weight, and a grip to it. It was pliable, flexible. You could lean in. At the time, it had seemed an aberration. Surely no one in the history of the world had experienced anything just so. It was not, after all, a true silence. He was sitting there beside me, soft breath and a gentle pulse.
He turned in surprise, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “The dining hall?” he repeated, trying to reorient.
It had been a long time since we’d shifted positions. Both of my legs were already numb with sleep. The freezing stone offered little reprieve for these ailments. It also remained consistently, though inexplicably, damp. I had tried and failed to locate the source of the moisture, chalking it up to the petty vengeance of a god. A handful of times, I’d seen his eyes flicker towards the ceiling.
“I served there each meal since the start of the festival,” I answered, tucking my legs beneath me as I angled to face him. “I never saw you before the day we met under the stands.”
Of course, that wasn’t precisely true. I’d seen him the night he arrived at the settlement; still flushed with travel, a northern wind tangling his hair. He’d burned into my mind like the pictures of a storybook. But I didn’t see the point of saying anything like that. Perhaps in a different life.
A blush colored his cheeks, and he dropped his eyes to the ground. There was a wide crack in the stone that stretched from corner to corner. He’d been tracing the groove with his nail.
“I don’t like the crowds,” he said quietly. “I know I should.”
The slightest frown creased my brow, he’d said things like that before. When we’d been strolling past the wrestling arena, he’d expressed a casual disinterest—qualifying it a second later.
I know I should.
“It matters not,” I said with a shrug, turning back to the window. It seemed ridiculous to be discussing such things, yet what else was there to discuss? “I don’t like crowds myself.” They have this nasty habit of setting you on fire. “But you were here for days,” I added curiously, without thinking, “did you just take a plate of something in your...?” I trailed off, understanding all at once. My cheeks flamed, and my eyes dropped to my lap. “How did you know I was there?”
It wasn’t likely, there were well over a hundred servants at the festival, and positions were coveted in the great hall. The merchant daughters who’d teased me were only trying to be cruel, but there was sense in what they said. His life and mine were very different, opposites never to meet.
He let out a quiet breath, keeping his eyes on the stone tiles. The ground was sloped, and by now, the water from the soldiers’ cruel shower had pooled on the other side of the floor.
“I needed to ask,” he admitted, smiling faintly in the dim light. “I gave your name to the king’s chamberlain, but he couldn’t seem to place you. When the butcher heard us talking, he leapt in with a bunch of questions. I panicked, made up this story about me having left my cloak in the arena.” He smiled again, shaking his head. “I got so flustered, they probably thought I was drunk.”
I smiled in return, trying to imagine it.
It wasn’t that difficult; I remembered how awkward he’d been behind the kitchens, when he’d overheard me discussing my fictional husband. It had been almost worse beneath the stands; he’d come there ‘seeking shade.’ The man couldn’t lie to save his life. Yet, here he sat.
“You left your cloak?” I repeated, with a sideways smile.
He shook his head faintly. “I was wearing my cloak as I said it.”
We laughed quietly, lifting our eyes to the window once again.
It felt a bit like that night I’d shared with Trina. Although there had been a dread to those hours, a tension that never managed to leave. Perhaps it was because there was still some hope in it; at the very least, one of us seemed to think so. In my aunt’s eyes, this was only a respite—a brief interlude, before which I’d use magic to seize my freedom and meet her on some distant shore.
In my mind, it had been a race. A slow race, a quiet one. A race in which both participants were leaning sitting on the ground, wrapped tearfully in each other arms.
She had been plotting, planning. I had been watching the sky lighten, trying to say goodbye.
It felt different with Erik, almost restful. Resigned. Like turning the final page on a story you’d been reading for a long time. There was grief, of course. But a feeling of conclusion as well.
“So what did you say to them?” I asked abruptly, turning again to face him. When he glanced up in surprise, I offered a faint smile. “When you were asking, but none of them knew my name?”
He hesitated, staring back at me. “What do you mean?”
If I’d been thinking more clearly, I probably wouldn’t have said anything. If it hadn’t been one of my last nights on the planet. If we’d been sitting in a different kind of room. At the time, with those dusky ocean breezes stirring around us, there was nothing in the world to lose.
I smiled again, silent tears running down my cheeks. “How did you describe me?”
It should have been coy, with a fluttering of eyelashes, a dimple in the cheek. I knew how to be coy—I had done that, once upon a time. It was said with a shrug in a prison cell.
Typical, really.
He sat there for a long time, framed in the shadows. The sky had finally begun to show the first strains of light, but the tower was dark, and his eyes were like two chips of starlight, holding fast onto mine. It was quiet so long, I didn’t think he was going to say anything.
Then he let out the quietest of sighs.
“I asked them if they’d seen a beautiful girl,” he replied softly. “Braided hair, eyes like sunlit amber. I told them about your smile.” His eyes met mine a brief moment before falling a short ways to my tunic. “I also told them about your pin,” he added, gesturing towards it.
I unlocked my frozen body and glanced down in surprise. I’d forgotten I was wearing it. I was completely stunned the guards hadn’t confiscated it on my way inside. A needless precaution, but they’d made me kneel on my fingers. Who knew what devilry I could manage with a pin?
He was still looking at me, eyes shining in the dark.
Say something.
“Does it help?” he breathed. “To hear that?”
I shook my head, arms wrapped around my legs. The chain twisted around my ankle like a loose snake, sprawling formlessly on the floor. Sometimes, it was the only thing in my world. I needed to escape it; I could not breathe until it was gone. Other times, I nearly forgot it was there.
My head bowed suddenly, spilling loose hair down my arms.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, shifting a few inches closer. His eyes flashed to the chain and his fingers clenched helplessly at his sides. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to—”
“Why are you here?” I interrupted, lifting my face from my knees. We’d gone almost an entire night without asking the question, but dawn was approaching. “They could have seen you climbing and run you through with a sword. Why are you sitting here, Erik? Why are you spending the night in a prison cell, telling stories, when you and I both know—I’m about to die?”
The word struck harshly between us, and I saw him flinch. Just the faintest movement, a slight tightening between the eyes. I was afraid I’d gone too far, sparked him to anger. But there wasn’t a trace of it anywhere on his face. He merely stared back at me, like he was trying to decide.
It seemed we had something else in common. He had nothing more to lose.
“I’m sitting here, because my legs are shaking too much to stand,” he answered quietly, meeting my eyes. “And I’m spending the night in a prison cell...because there is nowhere in the world I would rather be.”
* * *
The final hour passed slowly, as Erik and I sat on the floor of the prison cell, watching as the sun crept over the eastern peaks. Despite the grimness of the room, it was a lovely view, more vibrant than either of us had expected. With a kind of dulled shock, we slumped against the wall behind us, sitting completely immobile as the line of shadow moved slowly across the ground.
When it reached a predetermined stone, I threw him a glance.
“You should probably leave. They come with a tray a little after dawn.”
He startled a little, almost like he’d forgotten anyone else was sitting there, then he nodded silently and pushed to his feet. Our limbs were stiff from so long sitting down, and our eyelids were heavy. I stood up gingerly beside him, jumping a little at the accompanying rattle of the chain.
I will never get used to that.
My throat tightened, and I felt the sudden urge to cling.
I won’t have to.
“Thank you for speaking up for me,” I said in a rush, my voice raspy and hoarse from lack of use. It might not have changed the outcome, but it got me three more days. It got me a final moment with Trina. “Really, Erik. I can’t...I can’t believe you did that.”
Or this.
I stared up at him with a wistful smile, trying to interpret his expression. It wasn’t easy on the best of days, and his eyes were burning like a brand. Perhaps he was feeling as I was, caged inside his own head. Wanting above all things, to close his eyes and merely scream.
“You are thanking me,” he asked incredulously. “You are thanking me for that?”
Unable to think of a reply, I merely shrugged my shoulders—wishing that I’d said it a lot sooner, wishing that we hadn’t been quiet so much of the night.
“I still can’t believe it worked,” I replied, fiddling with the chain. “I’ve never seen such a turn of expression as when you appealed to your uncle. Was it really that much of a surprise?” Strange as it was, I nearly laughed then, remembering the man’s bewildered expression. It mirrored Erik’s right now. “Are you really that much of a terror at home? Did no one teach you how to say please?”
It took him a moment to realize I was teasing him. Another to remember how to smile.
“Things have not always been easy,” he admitted, “with my uncle. There was a time I did not think...” He trailed away, frightened by what he’d almost said. “But he is my father’s brother, and I am in his care. For years, it has been the only defiance I allowed myself. The man could do as he liked, but I would not beg him for anything. I would never say please.”
He lifted his head to look at me, perhaps he was going to say something more. But in that moment, I came back to my senses, freezing as though iced water had been poured down my spine.
“Erik...your uncle spooked the horse.”
He stared at me, blinked. “What are you—”
There was a movement somewhere deep below us, the slam of a cabinet, the rattle of a distant chain. It was enough to start my heart pounding, but the sky was still dark and the guards had never been up as early as this. At any rate, I had been a fool. An entire night we had spent together, sitting in silence and staring at the shadowed clouds. I should have been saying this.
“When I was serving in the Great Hall, I heard a conversation between your uncle and the king,” I said quickly, abruptly pressed for time. “The king was very impressed by you, he asked your uncle to bring you on the hunting trip. He wanted to get to know you better,” I added, pressing a little farther. “He kept talking about a successor, said that he wanted to start fresh.”
At that point, I paused a few seconds, waiting for it to click.
He wants you, Erik. He wants a new heir.
Silence.
“Your uncle didn’t like that,” I continued, casting a look at the door. “I’d just gone outside to warn you when he called you over to saddle the horse.” My voice dropped conspiratorially, and I took a step closer without thinking, staring into those sky blue eyes. “I saw him take a knife from his pocket. When you bent down to fix the saddle, he nicked the horse’s flank.”
There it was, right out in the open. I should have started with it. I should have screamed another warning as they led me away. But no harm had been done, the message had been delivered.
But it wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.
“He nicked the horse’s flank,” Erik repeated tonelessly.
I stared a moment, then nodded.
“He drew a knife and cut the horse,” I repeated, wondering if he was in shock. “It reared into the air the moment you knelt beneath it. There was no way to...” I trailed away shakily, the image flashing through my mind. “It was going to kill you, Erik. It was coming down on your head.”
Because he was jealous. Because he wanted you out of the way.
It was quiet a few moments, just long enough for me to consider repeating the entire story from the start. But no sooner had I drawn a breath, then he cocked his head, staring down at me.
“That’s what you saw?” he asked. “In your...vision?”
There was no inflection when he said the word, yet he stumbled over it all the same. Like his mouth couldn’t manage the shape. There was none of the anger I’d been expecting. None of the surprise either. Most men would have been astonished, flown into a rage. There was nothing.
His entire focus was on me.
“Yes, that’s...that’s what I saw,” I finally replied.
I was impatient and flustered. The sky was getting lighter, and people would be pouring into the courtyard before long. Unless he hurried, Erik’s fearless gesture was going to be waylaid by the village baker, setting out the morning loaves to cool. Yet he merely stood there, watching.
After a few seconds, he nodded slowly. “So, you saved me,” he concluded. “I was going to die.”
It took me a moment to shift gears.
“That isn’t why...” I shook my head, trying to steer him back on course. “Erik, did you hear what I said? The king wishes to give you a crown, and your uncle tried to kill you—”
“You could have kept quiet,” he interrupted, staring intently into my eyes. “You could have kept quiet, and no one would have discovered your secret. You’d be waking up in bed right now.”
...and you’d be underground.
I shook my head dismissively, glancing again at the door. “That doesn’t—”
“You shouted for my attention.” He spoke each word quietly, deliberately, like he was laying them out in a pattern. “You could have kept quiet, but you shouted.” He paused a moment, and it felt like there was nothing in the world except his eyes, holding mine. “...why?”
It was the one question I hadn’t been expecting, the same one that had been plaguing me since the moment I stepped into a cell. A hundred years, I could have asked that question, and still not gotten any closer to understanding. Yet at the same time, the answer was perfectly clear.
Of course, you don’t understand it. The boy who rebels by denying himself the word please.
“It was going to kill you,” I repeated, like it couldn’t be more obvious. Our eyes met in the pale light, staring a final time. “Who wouldn’t shout?”
