Aldreda dragged herself free first. ‘Well, we still have the full coronation to prepare for. Do not take this the wrong way, Osian, but I will never have been happier to see the back of your birthday. Oh, and please find Demelza today. I’m worried about her. She was practically shaking when I told her about Meilyr, I think it’ll help to see you both.’
‘Of course.’
‘And, Osian?’
He stopped on his way to the door.
‘This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. Are you ready?’
There was only his level, reserved certainty. The banked strength beneath. ‘Always.’
‘Good. I may need you down there tomorrow, if that goes… poorly.’
‘I know.’
Meilyr waited until they were given a sensible distance from Blythe and Macsen through the halls before speaking. They were in a lower corridor, busy with morning comings and goings. ‘She means if things go poorly with the arrival of more crownsworn.’
Osian was quiet for a beat. ‘Yes. As you can imagine, Aldreda is expecting… trouble.’ Even with his levelled tone, his feelings were clear.
Meilyr was immeasurably thankful, even amidst the hopelessness. ‘Is there a way I can see Celyn?’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps Haydn? If we knew more of what has happened…’
Osian considered. ‘There should be a formal meal this afternoon. Let me see what I can do.’
They had linked arms, leaning close in a private aside. ‘Thank you,’ Meilyr said.
‘Of course.’
Aldreda’s words still clung, and he could not shake them. ‘If she asks for your help…’ With suppressing Cyngaleg townsfolk.
What would Osian do? What could he do?
They both slowed, the knights giving them space. Osian took his hand and lifted his knuckles to his lips, and brushed a kiss to the Cyngaleg gold of Meilyr’s father’s ring.
‘I will honour my oaths,’ he breathed, with an intensity that stirred Meilyr’s blood.
He did not have to say the last of it, but it was there, devastating in its clarity: I will honour my oathsto you.
Meilyr could have kissed him right there in the corridor.
They used Meilyr’s plan for explaining their delay to the formalbanquet, claiming the prince consort had suffered a fainting spell afterthe strain of the night before. It would give them some time,hopefully.
The rain persisted, darkening the cloister beyond the secret hatch almost to the depth of night. Water rushed down the pillars and overhangs in steady, thick streams.
Meilyr rubbed his arms, nerves ragged. It was incredibly risky to be here, but he could not shake the feeling that it would be worse to leave Celyn.
‘He will be all right,’ Osian told him as they made their way towards the far corridors. Their boots thrummed with the rain. ‘The knights I positioned here will allow us entry. Aldreda’s should be conveniently distracted, and there should be… Meilyr?’
Meilyr had slowed, then stopped. Stiffened.
‘What is it?’ Osian asked.
A tug, as though his blood had heard something his body could not.
‘There is something… wrong.’ There was no other way to put it. It did not feel like Celyn, did not feel like it came from the dungeons.
It was as though Osian felt it too as he followed Meilyr’s gaze and tensed.
Something was moving in the shadows of one of the other corridors. Meilyr’s senses strained like a bowstring:There.