Their eyes met. Wary understanding dawned.
Pedr loosened enough to move, glancing at Wystan before guardedly descending the tight spiral of stairs out of sight.
In the gathering quiet, Wystan waited. Meilyr’s blood thudded against the roof of his mouth, warning:Danger. Danger.
But it would have been worse for Pedr if they had stayed. Much, much worse.
Wystan took one singular, measured step towards him; in the confined space, it was closer than Meilyr wanted.
He had witnessed the youngest prince drunk more than sober, both apathetic and callously cruel. This was something else, almost someone else: a mask removed, something certain and calculating where there had not been before.
Without theatrics, Wystan said, ‘I know your secret.’
Panic tensed Meilyr’s ribs. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’
‘Now, there, that’s a lie.’ Wystan’s measured indifference was chilling. ‘Very well, I’ll lay it out. I know all about the blood on the hands of your dear bond-brother.’
Meilyr’s heart lurched into his mouth. This was worse than what he had expected.
‘Yes,’ Wystan said, ‘I know aboutCelyn. Don’t worry, though, I don’t care about some Denelander peasant rotting in your little apothecary whilst Osian beds you. I don’t even care about that dead crownsworn. I just need you to know that I know, and that I could ruin both of you – all of you – if the whim took me.’
Meilyr’s shredded nerves steeled. ‘What do you want?’
‘I told you, I want you to know I have leverage over you.’
‘Why? I have done nothing—’
Wystan stepped forward.
Meilyr stepped back, his boot finding the lip of the stairs. Any further, and he would have to retreat down them, or fall.
But that was enough; Wystan’s intent was cold but devoid of hunger.
Instead there was something empty, and immensely more dangerous aboutthisPrince Wystan.
‘You offer a tantalising scapegoat, if the need arises. It would be wise for you to remember what you have to lose, should certain things come to light.’
Some of the pieces clicked into place. ‘What were you doing near that courtyard, last night?’
‘Gelens suggested we slip out to sample the local delicacies.’Therewas the hunger. Sated, and smug. ‘After all, that’s all Osian is doing with you.’ He moved past Meilyr, too close in the narrow space, and started unconcernedly down the stairs. ‘I trust we have an understanding.’
Fear held Meilyr for a further instant, before he turned. ‘How did you find out?’
Wystan halted at the turn of the spire, considering. ‘Whispers of the blood,’ he said, and left.
Aldreda insisted they all make an appearance in the Great Hall for dinner.
Appearancewas the only thing keeping Osian from damning everything and taking Meilyr to his chambers, away from all these eyes and whispers. It was the only thing keeping him from dragging Wystan into a deserted corridor and demanding he explain what he was doing. Slippery snake. He sat beside Aldreda, unusually quiet, drinking himself into a flush on the biting wine.
Pedr’s words hung heavy. The knight had caught Osian’s arm before dinner, as he had descended the stairs.
Majesty, there is something you must know.
It had taken every fragment of his self-restraint not to knock on Meilyr’s door, stride inside and make certain he was all right. What had Wystan wanted? Gods damn him and his games.
Gods damn whatever he and Gelens had planned.
Over the years, Osian had been forced to cultivate a kind of quiet watchfulness. It came from having Aldreda as a sister, having King Oswald as a father. They made waves as giants striding through a river, bending the shore by sheer force of momentum. Damned be whatever remained in their wake.