Yes. It was not the first he had thought on them. ‘I believe so.’
The prince nodded. ‘If there is a means through which we can arrange the apothecary be tended, I would see it done. If there are tasks you feel only you can complete, ask for what you need and it will be provided, if possible.’
The words took a beat to unscramble. ‘Majesty…?’
‘It may assist the process if you can provide lists, for myself and any possible assistant. Will you require equipment from the apothecary?’
Hemeantevery improbable word. At least, it felt like he did.
Could he be telling the truth? ‘Majesty, this is – most generous, thank you.’
Prince Osian set down his cup and rose.
Meilyr remained flabbergasted, even as papers and inks were laid out and the process began. He could almost hear Celyn’s voice:This is a trap.He is Khaimlic.
But what would be the reason for this particular trap? And if Meilyr could help the people he cared for, perhaps it was worth the risk. He found himself being honest with what he needed, and for whom.
‘Perhaps if you write the missive itself,’ the prince said, ‘it will be received more kindly. It could then be passed to your brother, to be delivered?’
‘Thank you, Majesty.’
They changed positions so Meilyr could sit at the grand desk, slipping past one another in the dimming candlelight. The prince remained behind him, unobtrusive but present. The desk was beautifully ornate, legs and edges carved with trees and beasts. Meilyr picked up Prince Osian’s exquisite quill and allowed his fingertips to brush the thick, pleasant paper.
A breath from the lungs of trees far, far away.
He focused and penned a short missive to Heulwen. Hopefully it would be enough; hopefully Celyn would not give her too much additional cause to worry.
‘Thank you,’ he said when it was done.
The prince secured the missive with his royal seal in pale gold wax: the head of Khaim’s White Dragon in profile, before a crescent of oak leaves. His body was close as he leaned forward, and Meilyr’s wine-dulled senses honed to fiercely focused awareness. Those blue eyes met his, and he added a very belated, ‘Majesty.’
‘There is no need for the formality,’ Prince Osian said quietly, ‘unless it makes you more comfortable. Is there anything else you would like given to your brother?’
Meilyr hesitated.
‘I will have Pedr deliver this by hand, and it will not be tampered with in any way.’
The truth. Though, it had been what Meilyr could possibly say to Celyn that had given him pause. ‘Thank you,’ he said at last. ‘I will write to him as well.’
Prince Osian drifted pointedly to the divan, giving Meilyr space to write what he needed. But even if the prince and Ser Pedr were to be trusted, Meilyr had to imagine every word would be read by someone who meant Celyn or Heulwen or the prince harm. As with Heulwen’s letter, he was unspecific, asking Celyn to remember what Meilyr had asked him to swear, and to think of Heulwen and the apothecary if Meilyr’s absence made him fret.
He sat back when it was done, and the prince carefully returned.
‘I will make certain these are seen to first thing in the morning.’
Butwhy? The question pressed against Meilyr’s tongue, and he opened his mouth.
‘It is late,’ the prince continued. ‘You are free to retire for the night, unless there is something we have missed?’
Meilyr swallowed. ‘Thank you. I do not believe there is.’
‘Very well.’ Prince Osian moved from the desk, allowing Meilyr to rise.
By the time he reached the door, the prince was there to meet him, with the botany book. ‘You are free to take it with you.’
‘Are you certain, Majesty?’ The formality slipped back in; he could not help it.
‘I am,’ the prince replied. He set the book into Meilyr’s hands and turned for the door.