THIRTY-NINE
Almost seven centuries since the tragedy of the Sundering.
Almost six hundred years of bloodshed and war since.
We know so little,
and have lost so much more.
Dragon of White, Dragon of Red: Cyngalon, A History,
Gwydderig gan Brioc
THIRTY-NINE
In Osian’s rooms, Meilyr let the royal physician look him over, numb.
He had asked after Pedr immediately: ‘They are alive,’ the physician had told him. ‘The wound is deep, but they are strong. The night will tell.’
Haydn had also been seen to and would recover. Meilyr’s hands still trembled as the physician’s assistant washed away the blood. ‘These cuts might scar,’ they said, ‘but thank the gods you’re all right.’
‘You two will be the death of me,’ Harlan informed him, fastidiously neatening cushions, eyes bloodshot.
When they had all finished, Meilyr asked to be left alone. Asked to be told should anything change with Pedr or Haydn, or if there was word from Osian.
Everyone, including a reluctant Blythe, departed.
He flexed his frozen fingers and swallowed the urge to scream. The urge to crumple and cry and hyperventilate and choke. He needed to focus on something – something he could touch.
Pedr.
He went to Osian’s desk and the apothecary supplies there, and spotted the new addition immediately: a small cutting of yew, no more than a handful of connected needle-like leaves. A folded missive that said,Highness Meilyr Cadogan, apologies this took so long. Please forgive me.
Haydn.
Meilyr broke off a strip of needles and ate them. Winced, and went to wash it down with a shock of wine. The sample was bells older than he would have liked, but he was woven with the old tree in the gardens now. Perhaps that would be of help when the killer next struck.
He returned to the desk and inventoried what was there. Almost the right things.
Blythe jumped as he heaved open the door and made an uncertain face as he made his request. ‘Highness, I’m definitely not supposed to leave you.’
‘It’s for Pedr. Please.’
Her expression changed. ‘I’ll rouse someone, but you go back behind that door and lock it, understand? I’ll shout when it’s done.’
‘Thank you, Blythe – thank you.’
Deryn came, hands full of supplies. She waited until they were alone, then threw her arms around him. ‘Gods! When we heard, I thought…’
He squeezed her arms as she stepped back, her cheeks flushed, eyes welling.
‘I am all right,’ he said, the old stone of the words truly crumbling. ‘How is your father?’
‘A bit better, thanks to you. I came to tell you, and then all this happened.’
‘I am so glad to hear it. Could you… help me with this? My hands…’
She put her own to her mouth as she saw. Moved as if to touch his chest, then got to work.