draping the gown over the top. It cut the wind even further. A few minutes to restore some warmth and she’d look for some way to make a fire. Just a few minutes …
Rillirin blinked and stretched, felt an immediate bite of cold as the pine needles slithered away and the damp wool of her gown settled against her skin.
Daylight. Fuck, she’d slept all night. They could be right there, right behind her. Rillirin lay still, her eyes roaming between the trees and out on to the mountainside. The river chattered angrily behind her, swollen with snowmelt. There wasn’t any movement, and she didn’t expect the Mireces would wait for her to wake up before taking her captive. Had they passed her by, or missed her completely and taken the path she’d meant to take herself?
Rillirin slid to her feet and into her gown, torn and ragged now, one sleeve missing, but all she had against the cold. Checking for movement, she crept to the bank and splashed water into her mouth, wincing at the cold and the pain in her face and jaw, pain which started to spread throughout her body as her muscles woke.
A sharp wind carried the sounds of dogs and men, as though they were made of it, appearing every time it blew, allowing her no respite. With no time for thought or to plan a direction, Rillirin began to run again.
Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
The palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘Your highnesses, it is an honour.’ The physician’s bald head winked in the light from the window as he bowed. He gave a short nod to Galtas. Galtas managed a smile and looked back out through the window, bored already.
‘Master Hallos, the honour is ours,’ Prince Janis said. ‘Thank you for coming; we know how busy you are.’
The honour is ours? Sanctimonious little prick. Galtas unsheathed his dagger and used the tip to clean beneath his nails. Busy? Busy failing to cure the king. Rastoth the Kind, they used to call him. Rastoth the Mad now. A smirk pulled at his lips and he bent his head so no one would see.
Hallos took a seat in the heir’s small study and eyed the princes. He smoothed his beard, uncomfortable. ‘King Rastoth’s mind remains as sharp as ever, his intellect as great. These … confusions have nothing to do with age or infirmity, that much I am sure of now. I would venture they are the result of grief, Your Highnesses, a grief that has not lessened since your mother the queen’s demise.’
Janis glanced at his brother, and Rivil’s smile was wan. Galtas rolled his eyes. ‘A grief we share with our father but, perhaps, are bearing a little better.’
Hallos sighed. ‘Your mother’s loss has destroyed the king’s peace. He cannot conceive of a world without her by his side. It troubles him, disturbs his sleep, his equilibrium.’
‘If we could only find those who took her from us,’ Rivil said, voice coiled with anger. Janis put his hand over Rivil’s clenched fist. ‘I speak with Commander Koridam every week, read the reports he receives, and nothing. Still nothing. Almost a year has passed and still her killers roam free.’
‘This failing is not yours, Rivil, nor mine, nor Koridam’s. The culprits will be found eventually, found and brought to justice. We must trust in that.’
Galtas leant his shoulder against the wall by the window, his back to the group before the fire. Pious, pragmatic, devoted Janis. It was exhausting just listening to him. The man was as dull and pointless as an ugly woman. A clever, ugly woman. Galtas suppressed a shudder.
‘Queen Marisa is with the Gods of Light now, Prince Rivil,’ Hallos murmured. ‘Be at peace knowing that. There is no more suffering for her.’
‘Fuck the gods. I have prayed to the Dancer and the Fox God both, asking them to bring her killers to justice, and yet my father still suffers. They still remain free,’ Rivil said, sullen with anger. ‘My brother suffers. I—’ His voice broke and he looked away, biting off the words.
Galtas glanced back, watched Hallos and Janis pause, awkward in the face of Rivil’s grief.
‘I have found a sleeping draught aids the king. Restful sleep does much to restore his strength. If you would like …?’ asked Hallos delicately.
Rivil looked up and wiped at his eye with his thumb. He scrubbed his fingers through his dark gold hair. ‘Thank you, but please, save all your efforts for my father. I fear our enemies may seek to take advantage of his illness soon.’
Janis frowned. ‘Rivil, this is not the time.’
Rivil’s eyes darkened, but Janis didn’t notice. Janis never did. Galtas saw it, though, oh yes. Galtas always noticed.
Rivil focused on Hallos. ‘And the visitations?’
‘At present I have been unable to stem their flow. If anything, they are increasing in number and severity. It may be your father’s way of coping, or working through his grief. In time I believe they will cease.’
‘So you don’t really think he sees my mother’s spirit?’ Rivil asked and Janis coughed, closing his eyes. Rivil ignored him again.
‘I think he wishes to see her, wants it so hard that his brain tells him she’s there,’ Hallos said. He spread his hands. ‘And yet her soul rests in the Dancer’s Light now. Souls do not return from that.’
Janis pushed up out of his chair and Hallos and Rivil rose to their feet. Galtas pushed away from the wall and put away his knife. ‘I think that’s enough for now. Thank you, Master Hallos. We won’t keep you any longer. Rivil, a moment, if you will. Galtas, you stay too.’
Galtas exhaled a deep breath, knowing what was coming. He stayed by the window, unwilling to attract Janis’s attention more than necessary.
‘What was that nonsense about spirits? I need you to grow up, Rivil. You cannot avoid your responsibilities – or the real world – forever. You may be the younger son, but you are also a prince of the blood with duties to Rilpor and the throne. So I’m asking you to act accordingly.’ Janis stared at Rivil, lips pursed. ‘Don’t make me make it an order,’ he added, and Galtas’s eyebrows rose.
A muscle flexed in Rivil’s jaw as he nodded, nostrils flared. ‘You are right, of course, Janis. I forget myself.’ He sounded sincere, at least.
I, on the other hand, forget nothing, Galtas said to himself, glaring at Janis’s back.
‘I know Mother’s death hit you harder than you care to admit, brother. But it’s taken something from all of us, don’t forget. And yet we must keep going, stay strong. While the northern and southern borders are secure, General Koridam’s latest report from the west indicates increased movement from the Mireces. They’ve made a couple of late raids, later than we would expect. The folk of the Cattle Lands and the Western Plain are afraid. They need strong direction from the throne, messages of support. You can aid in that.’
He clapped Rivil on the back while Galtas stifled a yawn. Still in love with the sound of your own pompous voice echoing out of your arsehole. I’ve done farts that had more substance.
‘We cannot afford to fail, Rivil. We must make a responsible adult out of you,’ Janis said and grinned to lighten the mood.
‘Gods, I hope not.’ Rivil laughed. ‘I quite like being the rebellious prince.’
‘A part you often play a little too well,’ Janis said.
Rivil inclined his head. ‘The burden of kingship will fall to you, not me. I can afford to have a little fun—’
Janis’s face was hard. ‘No, Rivil, you can’t,’ he interrupted, souring the mood once more. ‘Not now, with Father so ill. Maybe not ever again, not in the way you mean. Understand that. Accept it. Royalty is a privilege