Meilyr looked away before he could not. ‘They do not hurt,’ he tried.
‘Please, Meilyr.’
He let the prince unlock the shackles and set them on his desk.
‘Both crownsworn who were killed were under investigation by my knights,’ Osian told him. ‘I think there can be no doubt now that someone is choosing specific targets.’
Meilyr rubbed his wrists. He wanted to fade into the stone at his feet. ‘Who else would know they were under investigation?’
‘My knights, and perhaps anyone paying enough attention. These people were known because they were openly hostile to Cyngaleg townsfolk, openly discussed anti-Cyngaleg sentiments or travelled in close circles with those that did. Before I arrived, they had no reason to conceal themselves, so most did not.’
They stood in the wake of that as the rain hissed against the windows.
The crownsworn who had fallen from their horse had pushed Pedr in the corridor. Could Pedr have…?
Guilt and doubt. Pedr had never shown a hint of malevolence, and had moved with such certainty at Osian’s call to try to save those crownsworn. Surely they could not be the killer.
Henbane.
The fox had met him beside golden henbane. The thought tangled with a thousand others, laying him bare as though the entire world waited for him to finally admit this was, somehow, connected to him.
Osian braced himself imperceptibly where he stood, swayed by an exhaustion that lanced through their bond. Meilyr moved to steady him at the elbows. ‘You need more time to heal.’
‘I am fine, that merely…’ Meilyr’s look quelled him. He steadied his breathing, and they let each other go. ‘Perhaps,’ Osian admitted. ‘Forgive me, it was presumptuous – selfish – to bring you up here. I only…’
It was a good thing he could not say it. ‘It is fine,’ Meilyr managed, tamped into old habits. Struggling not to glance over the edge of the precipice that reared towards him no matter where he stepped.
This was supposed to be a lie. Thiswasa lie.
So why did the touch of Osian’s hands linger fiercer than any trace of iron?
‘Edeva is not speaking to Aldreda until she lets you go,’ Faina toldhim as she sorted the armfuls of books she had deposited on Osian’sdesk. ‘She keeps using Jocosa and me as mouthpieces, which, as you canimagine, Aldreda loves.’
Meilyr smiled slightly for her, perched on the armchair as Demelza combed his hair. His shackled hands were folded in his lap. ‘I am sorry. You can tell her I really am fine, if you think it will help. You also did not have to visit.’ Though he was truthfully very glad to see them both.
‘Nonsense,’ Demelza said gently, as Faina said, ‘Yes, we did. We know you’re innocent, and how busy Osian will be over the next days.’
Councils, overseeing questioning, overseeing redistribution of forces around Eascild – across Cyngalon. Trying to calm the Marcher Lords. Aldreda had offered him further respite, but he could not leave the work in another’s hands. Meilyr’s fear for him was not the devouring dread it had been, but it plucked at his nerves, leaving his heart constantly thrumming.
‘Besides, you’ll perish from boredom without good books. I recommend this one.’ She waved a pale purple tome, pleasantly worn. ‘The love story is perfect! The bit in the barn isso– well, you’ll find out.’ She winked at him.
‘Faina,’ he began. She was always easy to read, and her energetic air concealed something in particular. ‘You were questioned. I am so sorry.’
She sighed, and smiled more honestly. ‘Now why would that be your fault? Besides, everyone of Cyngaleg heritage is being questioned. Mine was reasonably painless, though I donotlike Lord Gelens. I can say that in present company.’ She shuddered animatedly. ‘The sooner they go back to Khaim, the better, though there has been talk of that, too. Obviously, the king and everyone is desperate for the coronation, but from mutterings, some of the Marcher lot and the palace-based nobles might request leave to return home. Shows how terrified they are that they’d miss out on something like this, but I can’t blame them. How you’re not scared out of your wits, Demelza, I have no idea.’
Demelza’s hands slowed in his hair. ‘I am afraid, darling. Afraid for them, far more than for myself.’ As though she felt Meilyr’s question, she touched his shoulder. ‘You can ask me. I would, were our places reversed.’
‘Forgive me, Highness. I only…’
‘You are wondering why I am not returning to Khaim. Why I am here whilst my king remains there.’
He had wondered. Wondered at the chasm of sadness that weighed upon his shoulder.
‘Osian has a good heart,’ she said, ‘but I knew he would face difficulties here. He is the closest thing to a son I could imagine, Aldreda the closest to a daughter. The thought of abandoning them, of abandoning everyone here, when there is trouble has not even crossed my mind.’ The sunlight streaming through the windows burned her hair to darkest crimson, ignited with the resolve in her eyes. ‘My place is in Cyngalon. There is nowhere else I would rather be.’
There was a soft knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Demelza called.