The following dawn, Lord Gelens waited in the cloisters of the southern entryway to the gardens, hand extended to the drizzle. ‘Fine weather for a morning stroll,’ they greeted.
Meilyr stopped, Pedr close behind, any hope he might be able to continue past evaporating. ‘I am in need of supplies for a medicinal tea.’Do not lie.Do not lie.‘If you will excuse me, My Lord.’
‘The prince certainly is taken with you.’
Meilyr halted again, in the archway leading to the lawns, mere steps from the king’s adviser. The first droplets of rain found his face, cool and sharp.
‘To think he would risk everything he longs to build. The Marches are baying for your blood, did you know? The prince’s precious Council risks falling to pieces, and all because he cannot bear to give them you.’ Languidly, they moved off the wall and closer, uncoiling a hand towards him. ‘Of course, there is a way you could assuage doubt—’
Meilyr withdrew sharply, stepping away. The response Lord Gelens had hoped for.
Their smile was sympathetic. ‘Ah, so he has indeed told you of me. But if you have nothing to hide, there is nothing to fear.’ They turned their bare hand, as if to show it was harmless. ‘I promise it does not hurt. You could be rid of all this. All these accusations and this doubt. Do you not want to prove your innocence, for your beloved?’
Meilyr’s mind reeled with every single thought he could not let Lord Gelens glimpse.
‘I have ordered Captain Radnor leave you be, for now. He is a loyal dog, but who knows what shape his grief will take if we cannot discover the true killer. How long it will be before the Marches are at Eascild’s walls, demanding more than justyourhead.’
Lord Gelens drew closer. Meilyr was aware of Pedr with their hand on their sword, frozen in indecision.
The touch had to be willing, but—
‘Highness Cadogan!’
Haydn, approaching up the lawns, the brim of his working hat running with rain.
Lord Gelens lowered their hand.
‘Forgive me, Highness. My Lord.’ Haydn bowed deeply. ‘Highness, I have urgent need of your assistance.’
Meilyr stepped onto the grass with a passing dip of the head. ‘Lord Gelens.’
Pedr followed. Lord Gelens watched. Haydn longed, palpably, to take Meilyr’s arm and lead him away. The cacophony of emotions was almost too much, but Meilyr walked cleanly down the terraces, refusing to show weakness.
When they turned past the first ornamental hedges, he swayed and clutched his chest.
‘Meilyr!’
‘Highness?’
‘I am fine.’ He held up a hand to ward them both off. ‘Merely should have had more for breakfast.’ A laugh that sounded shaky, even to him.
Neither was convinced. But he straightened, flexing his hands to dissipate the need to curl into a ball and tremble. ‘What has happened?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Haydn admitted. He hesitated, then took Meilyr under the elbow and cut across the open space towards a bench that was mostly overhung by willow branches. At Pedr’s intake of breath, he said, ‘Either you do it or I do it, but I’m not letting him fall on the gravel.’
‘I’m all right,’ Meilyr insisted. He was, he simply had not come to terms with how utterly, shockingly terrified he was of Ectheid magic. Of Lord Gelens in particular. At the notion of being dissected by a stranger – a stranger who wished him and Osian harm.
But he was fine. He pulled gently on Haydn’s arm. ‘I really am, please.’
Haydn stopped but did not let go. ‘What was that about?’ A glare at Pedr. ‘And why were you about to let it happen?’
Pedr’s shame flared, and Meilyr had to look at the ground or risk another wave of overwhelming feeling. The willows were too old to care, but there were younger, more inquisitive plants beginning to notice him.
‘I know them,’ Haydn continued. ‘I know what they’re saying in the castle, but Meilyr had nothing to do with it. You know that, don’t you?’
The accusation was thick, making Meilyr’s skull twinge.
Pedr opened their mouth, but again had no response. A beat, then, ‘His Majesty Prince Osian believes in Highness Cadogan’s innocence. That is enough—’