Their talk on the roof resurfaced, the part he had been unable to shake free:
I stopped it, and it will not happen again. I do not want it to.
What had happened after Osian had left them…?
Gods, it did not matter. The last days with Meilyr had ruined his resolve, had dared to make it easy to share this space. To feel Meilyr’s hands on his chest and have his eyes lift into his as though hemight, he justmight—
Hope was a killer. Osian knew that, and knew one day it would be his end.
He had stared too long at the moon. It was time he returned to the dark.
THIRTY-FOUR
And may her name be hallowed as the earth upon which they spilled
the blood that destroyed the age of peace.
The Destroyer.
The Betrayer.
May her spirit never find rest.
Biography of His Holy Majesty King Uhtric Arden-Draca,
Holy Devotee Godwine Airaldi, 686 A.S.
THIRTY-FOUR
Curled towards Osian’s fireplace, Meilyr worried every overwhelming thought back and forth until his teeth hurt. Someone was killing Khaimfolc in power, probably someone at or close to court.Yewwas almost certainly the next plant to be used for a killing, that parchment alluding to something truly terrible – tied to the symbol of Cyngaleg freedom, and the symbol of the one responsible for the Sundering. He would have to look at it again, to try to understand what it meant, though frost stole into his skin at the mere thought.
Someone else, probably Prince Wystan, had tried to kill Osian. Lord Gelens had certainly had a hand in it. Deryn’s father might still die. Crownsworn had beaten Wade Bevan bloody. Cyngalon was a drought-riddled field with a torch set to it.
He had hurt Osian and had no idea how to make it better. And Haydn…
Haydn was the least of his problems, and yet the only one he could solve.
So, he made a decision. When watery light washed the walls, he rose quietly and approached the bed.
Osian was awake, no telling whether he had slept.
‘Forgive me, Majesty.’ Meilyr slipped into formality, in case Osian wanted it. ‘I must request a private meeting with Haydn Sayer, wherever that might be permitted.’
Osian left the bed and shrugged on his robe. ‘Of course.’ His voice was agonizingly neutral. ‘Your time is yours.’
Meilyr felt utterly wretched. Worse, as Osian left alone to attend his duties, smothering the weariness that still clung to him.
Redressing in the parlour, that damned thread in Meilyr’s chest began tugging, protesting the prince’s distance. But Meilyr had made a decision. It would have been better in his own rooms, but at least this gave as much privacy as he could be afforded. The tower was certainly being observed, but hopefully this would appear innocuous enough.
He sat on the divan and waited. The sharp feeling at the base of his ribs deepened. His blood rose to audible, searching for whatever danger made him uneasy.
Finally, Pedr opened the door. Haydn stepped in, confusion knotting his brow.
‘Thank you,’ Meilyr said. ‘That will be all for now.’
Pedr looked between them, and their silent question lifted Meilyr’s chest:Is this all right?
He nodded, hoping to convey enough. Pedr left.