‘What else is down there?’ Meilyr whispered, ice in his blood.
‘The gardens, and a side route to the armoury. Not much else.’ Neither of them said the rest, but it was in Osian’s expression as he finally looked at Meilyr. ‘We should leave.’
TWENTY-FOUR
I worry for him, darling. Since returning from Cyngalon he hasbeen distracted, and fearful. His nightmares are worse than ever. Iworry he is still too young, too gold-hearted for whatever he sawthere.
Pray, come home to us. Leave the unrest. Come home to your son,and your daughter. Come home to me.
Undated personal letter penned
by Her Majesty Queen Ena of Khaim: 659-693 A.S.
TWENTY-FOUR
Meilyr had kissed him. Meilyr hadkissed him.
Osian tried not to want the taste to linger. Tried to push back the storm of feelings that ripped at his walls, threatening to tear him to pieces.
Meilyr had kissed him—
Stop.Meilyr had kissed him, but only to save them from discovery. He had to bury it with everything else, in the depths of the watery grave of his heart. Meilyr had kissed him, but that was all: a once-unimagined taste of spirit-nectar. A soul-changing taste he could never have again.
Because Meilyr had kissed him, but Meilyr did not want him. Could never want him. There were some things that could not be, some agonies that ran too deep; Osian was the physical embodiment of all of that pain for Meilyr, and always would be. He had to accept that – did, even as his heart and his body…
Gods, would it be worse now? To live with that taste burned into his memory – the feeling of Meilyr grabbing him and throwing their mouths together so… fiercely. Pulling him close, fingers in his hair. His tongue slipping past Osian’s lips. The press of his body, as though—
Enough.
Osian put his clenched fist firmly on the stone wall behind the basin, letting the water drip from his face and hair. That was enough. It would die with him, after it had slowly killed him, the inevitable death he should have seen coming in that street when he had looked up and…
Perhaps it was what he deserved.
At least Meilyr had not seemed too shaken. All this must be more than unbearable for him – utterly, unspeakably unbearable – but Osianwouldfind a way to keep him safe.
That was all that mattered.
Deryn had taken time off, abruptly. Meilyr only hoped she was all right.
Dressed and readied by Parr and Maitane, he muddled his way through Harlan’s lessons. By lunchtime, his head might as well have been stuffed with wool, incapable of concentration to the point where he was actually ravenous.
All he had stomached that morning was a snatched mouthful of raw camelia, fuchsia and sword lily: not a well-rounded breakfast, but he had not had time to make anything else with them. The gardens still buzzed in his mouth, making it even harder to focus.
Someone with access to the gardens had killed Kenelm Radnor, and almost certainly Lord Leighton as well. He had to do whatever he could.
‘Right.’ Harlan closed the history book from under Meilyr’s hands. ‘I would get more sense from your horse today. We will continue tomorrow.’
Faina took his arm as he reached the doors of the reading rooms. ‘Lunch?’
‘Please,’ Meilyr said. ‘If you are offering.’
‘More demand than offer. Come on, Demelza will be here in a moment, then we can all go together. Let me put these away.’
‘Would you like a hand?’
‘Always, but I could not possibly ask such a thing of you with our dear steward nearby.’ She winked scandalously, and Meilyr bit back a laugh. ‘No,’ she continued, ‘you catch some air and I’ll be right out. I’m very pleased with this development, though.’
‘What development?’