All too soon, they turned into the shadows of a vaulted stone gatehouse then back into searing light. The world fell away on either side of a narrow bridge, and Eascild Castle speared the sky ahead.
Eascild.Nothing but a bitter taste on every Cyngaleg tongue forced to swallow it.
There had always been a stronghold here atop the cliffs, even before the days of the princes. The castell of Caer Tarian had endured for centuries atop the bluff, stone gifted by one of the last great cewri, its own gigantic body laid down for the foundations. A castle that had endured against the enemy across Môr Astalch, the Splintered Sea. A castle finally asphyxiated, razed and reanimated with bloodless Khaimlic stone.
Eascild Castle was an abomination, a monster grown from the bones of what had been Cyngalon’s final hope. The first castle raised in the Ring of Iron, the encirclement of Khaimlic fortifications to secure Cyngalon.
In his more than nine years in the city, Meilyr had barely dared glance at it. Now, as they approached the jagged portcullis of another gatehouse, it unhinged its jaw and consumed him. High pale stone opened upon reams of people and standards, noise and movement.
Meilyr tried to let the sound of hooves and countless Khaimlic voices drown him, but it did not work. Everywhere eyes followed, whispers buzzed louder than the barks of the heralds proclaiming the return of the prince, the weight pressing in and in.
They halted in a central courtyard, where the prince helped him dismount before leading them into a lavish hall. There were so many people – carrying boxes or trunks, hanging cluttered tapestries, the blaze of white wings towering over red, people talking amicably arm-in-arm, staff and courtiers and nobles – glimpsed in an instant of flow.
Their entry was a stone tossed into the water. Eyes turned to Meilyr, speculating. Measuring.
As they neared a wide stairway, the prince turned to his close-following retinue. ‘Have him shown to my rooms.’ He strode away, without looking back.
Meilyr had expected to be sent to a cell, but this suggested something else entirely about their budding arrangement.
One of the crownsblood gestured. ‘This way.’
Meilyr went, even as his blood still hammered for him to run. He would do as he was told, to whatever end.
They travelled deeper inside and up Eascild Castle, stairways and halls growing in splendour before becoming cool, narrow, bared stone once more. Atop many tight and twisting steps – near what had to be the full height of one of the castle’s towers – the stairway abruptly ended in a solitary arrow slit and a heavy-duty wooden door as thick as the span of his hand.
A considerable, comfortable parlour spread beyond. Nature-themed tapestries lined the walls, ensconcing couches and chairs and a large, low-burning fireplace. Several half-emptied trunks nestled nearby, suspended in the act of filling the already-brimming bookcases. The air was thick with their papery press and the pleasant cloy of the fire, and even in his state, Meilyr noticed: so manybooks.
The crownsblood closed the door, leaving him alone. Alone in the prince’s rooms.
Panic reshaped itself. He wrung his ever-chilled hands, raised them instinctively to his chest, to clutch at the comfortable weight of—
Oh,gods.
He spun in a panicked circle, searching. He had to hide it. Before the prince came back, before anyone had the chance to find it.
The bookshelf – if he moved those books, perhaps…There, that would have to do. Please let that do, just for now.
His fingers shook as he stepped back into the centre of the parlour, hoping. Praying.
There were several small plant boxes in the window alcoves. Through the corner of his eye, he watched their various inhabitants slowly, inexorably turn towards him.
Not good.
There was a knock at the door. It groaned open and Prince Osian stepped inside, closing it behind him.
‘Your brother has been quietly placed under guard, for his own protection.’
The air rushed back into Meilyr’s lungs. There was truth in the prince’s words; reading intent was a blessing and a curse of Meilyr’s blood, made easier through touch, or other forms of weaving. But he needed to control his emotions. If the prince looked elsewhere…
Prince Osian moved deeper into the room. ‘This incident should never have happened. Hopefully, when the blacksmith awakens, they will remember enough to confirm your story. But there are those who will attempt to decry this as a member of the local populace killing a crownsworn in cold blood.’
Fear sharpened. Several of the closer daffodils twitched.
Really not good.
Meilyr stepped away from the windows, closer to the prince. ‘You have to tell them it was my fault. Please.’
‘I am hoping it will not come to that. However, if I release you both, I fear it will be difficult to keep you safe.’