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The tempest that he had been running from had only grown. He’d composed an extravagantly elaborate opera in his own mind of what his kahyalar thought of him, what the ministers and Eozena thought of him, what his sister thought of him. She might not have exiled himphysically,but she’d still shut him out. Of course she wouldn’t say so outright. Clearly the plan had been to let him stew on it until he figured it out himself—she was graceful like that. Sneaky. Joke was on her: He’d figured it out right away. She probably wouldn’t even want to have breakfast with him anymore. Probably wouldn’t let him hold his niece ever again. Probably wouldn’t—wouldn’t—
“Too well, some might say,” the man was saying. Kadouhadpalmed a few high cards during the fuss with the cork. He’d hoped the man hadn’t noticed. “We don’t take kindly to cheaters.”
“Now, now. There’s no call to be rude,” Kadou said primly. “I took your comments politely, didn’t I? When you said not all of us can be a wine-soddenkyriosor whatever it was? And you were right.”
“You’d better leave now.”
Kadou grinned and kept talking. “You know, not all of us can be ugly goat-fuckers either, but you seem to manage admirably.”
He’d seen the punch comingminutesago, before the man had even stood up from the table. The fist slammed into Kadou’s face with glorious vibrant pain, and he was thrown half out of his seat. What relief, to feel a physical pain to match that of his own mind clawing itself up from the inside. He scrabbled at the table, pulling himself up, grinning and ready to say whatever it took to get the man to swing at him again—
But Evemer was already there. Ruining it.
He’d laid the man out flat on the floor in the time it took Kadou to find his balance, and Kadou felt the wonderful rush of glee drain out of him. Evemer said nothing to the man, just took stock of the room, the rest of the patrons. Most were still sitting, but a few at the tables nearby had stood or half stood, now frozen. Kadou rose slowly to his feet, rubbing his aching jaw. That was ruined now too. He snatched the bottle off the table, storming to the door.
“Yeah, fuck off!” the man shouted from the floor.
They’d have to find another bar, Kadou mused, striding down the street. He hurled the nearly full bottle down the first alley he found, relishing the shatter and splash, and went on. He didn’t look behind to see if Evemer followed; he didn’t care whether or not he did.
There were public houses aplenty here in the dockside district—sailors were a thirsty bunch. Kadou turned into the doorway of the very next one he found.
He’d never been so angry in all his life, part of his brain noticed, muffled as if it were someone speaking from a room down a hall. The anger—and, to be fair, it was well blended with his chronic terror—burned in him, like a fire pumped high by the bellows, like a wild animal trapped in a cage that would rip Kadou to pieces if it escaped. Anger was a relief, in a way. It was easier than fear. He was so tired of fear, but he was helpless to resist it or fight it off. It was like heading into a battle at sea against a fleet of ghost ships.
So he might as well turn that desperate energy outward and find someone else to fight with, if he couldn’t get a solid hit on what was in his own head. Anything. Anything to make it stop.
Inside the new, equally filthy public house, he grabbed the first person he could reach who looked like they might be drunk enough to want a fight, yanked them around by their shoulder, and said—
He didn’t know what he would have said, because thenhewas yanked around, and there was Evemer, not even breathing heavily. Wholly unaffected.
To hell with him and his expressionless face. To hell with him for being so contemptuous of Kadou. To hell with him for all of it—couldn’t he see that Kadou was doing worse to himself than Evemer could ever do to him? Could he not see how Kadou tore himself up with guilt and blame, how meticulously he picked over every mistake he’d ever made in his life, how he couldn’t even think of Balaban and Gülpasa’snameswithout sending himself into a black despair?
Kadou hated him. “Leave me. Go back to the palace,” he said.
“No.”
Kadou rocked back on his heels. “Excuse me? I’ve ordered you.”
“I will obey all your commands except those that countermand one given by a higher authority,” said Evemer—the most words Kadou had ever heard from him at once, he thought. “I obey Her”—he caught himself, barely—“your sisterabove you. I am charged with your protection.”
Kadou shook Evemer’s grip off his sleeve. “Keep your hands to yourself unless I call for you.”
“No.”
They were getting very close to the breaking point. Kadou was about to be hauled bodily and ignominiously back to the carriage—possibly over Evemer’s shoulder, possibly dragged by his hair. “You have not been granted the privilege of disobedience. You could be court-martialed for insubordination.”
“I will risk that.”
“I know my own business,” he said. “I can handle myself.”
“No, you can’t,” Evemer said. “Your choice of establishment and drinking companions has proved that thrice over.”
Kadou’s nails bit into his palms. He wanted to tear them down Evemer’s face—or someone’s face, really. It didn’t matter who. Just let them stand still long enough for Kadou to gouge into their eyes. How else was he supposed to convince Evemer to stand back and let Kadou get himself hurt? “It’s none of your concern.”
The world was whirling around Evemer, and the stupid little prince in front of him the center of the hurricane. Where was the man Eozena described, the one she’d known since before he could walk, the one she had sworn had always been quiet and good? Where was the shy and frightened thing from the temple who had shuddered himself to bits over a few cruel words? Where was the prince who had rebuked his armsman and lover and made him apologize to Evemer?
This man was cold and searing by turns, uncontrolled, wild. His tongue was barbed, his words sharp with venom, but it didn’t match the expression in his eyes. There was so much pain there—a quiet, broken kind of pain, and loss, and desperation. Heartbreak. It was, actually, quite close to that of the shy and frightened thing after all, once Evemer was looking for it.
So he wanted to pick a fight, did he? Evemer had seen that impulse in some of the cadets before, ones who were angry or grieving something—he wanted to hurt and be hurt until it broke the shards of glass in his heart into powder that could be scattered with a breath. That, at least, was understandable. But what could have happened to cause it? What was so bad that His Highness would want to wager his life for a brief respite from heartbreak?
