“Your Grace,” I said, and gave a very awkward curtsy. “Again, I’m really very sorry.”
“Sorry?” the prince asked.
Gryffin pointed to the curtains. “She thought I was an intruder.”
I realized I still had the poker in hand, hurried to the hearth, and put it back in its place.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gryffin said. “We’re good friends now.” He gave me a charming smile. I could see some resemblance between them in it.
“Why are you in here?” the prince asked, glancing between us.
“We were both looking for a quiet place, as it turns out,” Gryffin said.
“It’s quiet in here,” the prince agreed, casting his gaze about the animals. “But let’s go somewhere a bit less grim.”
We followed him through several corridors and then into a set of rooms where a guard waited quietly outside.
This room was already lit with candles, the coffered wooden ceilings lower, and the furnishings less fussy. Wood crackled in a low fire in an enormous stone hearth, scenting the air with woodsmoke and pine, and still barely cutting through the palace’s eternal chill. There was a fine table and benches, tapestries on the wall, weapons on a side table. A carved wooden bed was visible in a room beyond. It was all very unfussy, and not very Lys’Careth.
Gone were the duke’s loose smile and relaxed air. Concern tightened his features now. “I didn’t have a chance to speak to you earlier with all the dancing, but I’m glad to see you healthy, nephew. I only just heard about the attack.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m fine and surrounded by good, reliable people.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to mourn the former Western Prince. I know you were close.”
“No apologies necessary. You were in the capital, as your father wanted.” Gryffin walked to a side table and ran his fingers over the hilt of a sword. “The ceremony was small and quiet. Peaceful.” He nodded, as if reassuring himself that was the case. “I wish we’d been closer. He was smart, your brother, but his intelligence was wasted. He figured he’d never reach the throne, so he decided to enjoy himself until someone killed him off. And it was the sickness that got him in the end. It’s a damned shame. Your father…” He prepared to speak, then glanced at me.
“You can speak frankly,” the prince said. “I trust Fox.”
If Gryffin looked surprised by that, he didn’t show it. “I suppose there’s no point cataloging your father’s faults. I do wish you’d all had a different kind of life, but that wasn’t your fate’s particular weaving.”
“Being royalty isn’t so bad,” the prince said, “so long as you stay alive. How about a drink? I have some ergaine from the City of Flowers.”
“Ergaine?” I asked.
“Plum liquor,” Gryffin said. “And I’ll take a nip if you don’t mind. Still logy from the road.”
The prince went to a cabinet of glossy burled wood, opened a door, and pulled out a blue lacquer bottle that gleamed in the candlelight and a small cup in the same shade. He poured a nip into one and carried it to his uncle.
He was still angry enough that he hadn’t bothered to ask if I wanted one.
“To the new Western Prince,” Gryffin said, raising his cup. “May he live a blessedly peaceful and long life.” He drained the cup, then squeezed his eyes shut. “Like being kicked in the face by a very ugly horse.”
He handed the cup back to the prince, who put it on a side table.
“Where did you travel from?” he asked.
“This time, Eonin. Already broiling hot down there, but green and lush. You’ve never seen such a green place.” He looked at me. “Do you like spicy food? It’s very spicy down there.”
“I do.” At least I thought I did. Vhranian food was spicier than most of what we could get in the market, and I’d liked that.
“Then you should go. It’s a beautiful country, full of surprises.” He moved to a bench near the simmering fire, sat down. “A mountain of fire that smokes throughout the year. Other peaks skinny and sharp as teeth, all in a row. There’s a bit along the coast with waterfalls and caves, and you can take a boat downriver nearly as far as the Carethian border—assuming you’ve got rowers enough.”
“Did you see the Floating City? Where the water god lives?”
“Alas, no,” he said with a smile. “We didn’t brave the Southern Ocean, not in winter. But I’m told the Floating City is a marvel, and the god beautiful and strong with hair of cress and waterweed.”
