Page 29 of The Shattered King

Bay and Sall were his other guards, but while Ard and Sten worked two-thirds shifts, Bay and Sall only worked one-third, or stepped in if Ard or Sten was ill, though with my presence, that was no longer an issue.

“We will accompany you.” Ard passed Sten a look that must have hearkened back to a previous conversation.

Renn nodded. “This is why Nym is here. But I do not want to take any chances. We’ll stop at the shrine this morning.”

He led the way from the room; I let his guards follow after, then took up the rear.

We did not go straight to the shrine, but down to the kitchens.

Renn stopped halfway down the stairs, his hand pressed to the stone, and for a moment I worried he was ill, until I remembered where we were—the north tower.

The very stairs the prince had shattered his legs upon some ten years ago.

I knew somehow, without a doubt, that he was thinking of that now, and I ached for him. Had he evaded these stairs since regaining his legs? Had he been so focused on getting out that he hadn’t realized where he’d gone?

It lasted only ten, perhaps fifteen seconds. Renn continued the rest of the way down, never taking that hand off the wall.

We came to the kitchen, where Renn’s presence startled the servants there, Lonnie included.

Even now, people seemed shocked that he was up and about, a real man and not a ghost haunting the west wing of the keep, or that he existed at all.

He very kindly asked the cook for a loaf of bread, which she offered with shaking hands, along with a few more for our breakfasts.

Then Renn went to the all-gods shrine, where he set the bread and some merits before the image of Hem.

He lingered there, perhaps saying a prayer, perhaps contemplating how he would occupy his day.

I waited in the back, feeling the eyes of the icons boring into me, wondering if they judged me as Ann claimed they did.

Eventually I turned away, letting them see my back instead.

That golden scroll, the one with the ancient prophecy upon it, caught my eye again.

When the kingdoms of men falter, the blood of the Allmaster shall rise up, garbed as an angel of fire, and balm its people as rain to the earth.

I thought of blood rising up and wondered if the god Hem was meant to be slain and then resurrected.

I couldn’t remember if that was a theory of scholars or merely a passing thought in my mind.

Could gods die? Gods and prophecies were more Ursa’s interests.

Had been. I dared not reach out to her now to see if she was near, not with so many about.

I did not hear Renn approach, so when he spoke, it startled me.

“There is a place I’ve heard about, a street where merchants from all over the world set up their wares. It’s called Nations Row.” He pulled his gloves on. “Have you been?”

I shook my head. “I’ve only been up the main road to come here. I haven’t had a chance to leave the grounds.”

He searched my face, a tight smile touching his mouth. “It’s been a long time for me. Almost like a first for both of us.”

The offer felt warm, like a drink of tea. He moved ahead to the doors, passing Sten and opening them himself.

I tensed my cheeks to keep from smiling too broadly.

The chance to get out and explore , to see and talk to other people, to interact with the city and the beautiful aspen woods I could only admire from my window .

.. I felt light on my feet. Like I was about to stretch after months of slumber.

I could not purchase anything; one thing Renn had yet to change was my lack of wage.

But I was used to being poor and finding joy in window-shopping.

In imagination. The fresh air and new sights were enough to fulfill me.

“Where are you going?” came a familiar feminine voice, and my joy shriveled. The queen’s timbre put the image of overdried prunes into my mind.

Renn stopped abruptly, but otherwise appeared unfazed. “I’m going into the city.”

Alarm jolted through her as though she’d just stepped into a live firepit. “What?” The word shot like a dart, but she tempered the next. “Why?”

Renn raised an eyebrow. “To explore.”

She shook her head. “It’s not sa—You mean to go without informing me? And with only two guards?”

I could feel the embers igniting in Renn’s stomach as they often did in mine, though from behind him, I couldn’t see if they broke through his mask. “Do my half siblings report their outings to you as well?”

She frowned. I did not think she liked her son’s growing independence, however much she had fought for it. “It doesn’t matter. I need you at the keep today. I’ve scheduled a fitting for you.”

“A fitting? For what?”

“Clothes for your birthday celebration.” She beamed. “I’ve decided to throw you one.”

That gave me pause. I had not known the prince’s twenty-first birthday was approaching. I imagined he’d never had a public party in his honor.

I stepped to the side and glanced at the prince’s profile.

His mask was still firmly in place, but I’d learned to read through its cracks.

The announcement made him uneasy. Renn did not like crowds.

Not because he was unused to them, but because he was a prince of Cansere, a celebrity, and strangers of all kinds approached him because of it.

Stared at him, spoke to him, even touched him.

He took a long time to open up to newcomers, but when put on show, he had to open up to them immediately, or pretend to. Thus the mask. One of a few he wore.

His answer did not surprise me—he wanted to please, because when he pleased people, they accepted him. Another mask. “That is very thoughtful of you.”

I stuffed images of Nations Row and aspen forests into an urn in the back of my mind. I’d been getting ahead of myself, anyway.

The queen radiated with relief. “I thought you might like it. I will send invitations this morning. Verdanian Truline is meeting you in your salon this morning for your measurements.”

I did not know who Verdanian Truline was, other than Sestan, by his name.

However, after returning to Renn’s suite, I discovered he was a men’s tailor, and a renowned one at that; had I spent more time in the castle or worked among the nobility, I would have instantly recognized the name, so accomplished was he.

The tailor was short, with an oiled black mustache and oiled black hair, and he spoke with a thick Sestan accent.

He’d been living in Rove for ten years now, so Sten informed me.

A smart choice; I understood that, had he lived in Sesta, he would not presently be permitted to come here.

Not by his king, and not by ours. The ongoing skirmishes had created a stranglehold on trade and travel, though apparently the Noblewights still had the ability to order in new clothes for themselves.

He’d set a tall mirror against the wall and brought over the stool.

He wore a pincushion on his left forearm and had three different measuring tapes, one around his neck and two dangling from his belt, along with an array of tools, including shears, chalk, a straightedge, and other things I couldn’t name.

I lingered near the door, stifling a yawn, as he spoke to Renn in dulcet tones, waving his arms as if saying, Bigger, bigger, Bigger .

Pushing Renn to step outside his comfort zone with his clothing as well.

They seemed to reach an agreement. I looked at my nails, picking dirt from two of them. When I looked up again, Renn was tugging his shirts over his head—all three layers of them.

I had seen the prince in various stages of undress; such was the life of a healer, and anyone who spent so much time in another’s private quarters. I’d seen him in his shirtsleeves, or buttoning on a vest, shoeless, sockless, rumpled, clean. But I’d never actually seen him half naked.

It wasn’t a scandalous thing; men need not guard their chests the way women do.

I’d seen my brothers, including Brien and Dan, who were well past puberty, in less.

And yet I felt very much exposed, like I was eavesdropping on something I shouldn’t hear, though Renn knew that both Sten and I were in the room, with Ard outside the door.

I had the sensation of too much tea, especially because the mirror reflected him back to me, and I hated the discomfort of it.

I turned bodily away, pointing my focus at the desk instead.

It’s just like Brien. Just like Dan and Colt. Just another brother.

I occupied myself straightening a curl between my fingers. Letting go and watching it bounce back into formation. Gods, it would take hours to straighten my hair into the palace fashion, and it would revert back the moment it got wet.

I glanced back to Renn, forcing myself to take him in with a healer’s mind. His efforts were paying off, for which I was glad. He did not have the build of his brother, but lean muscle was gradually filling him out. He looked healthy. Thank the gods he at least looks it.

Just another brother.

Then I noticed the scar.

He had a scar across his ribs, nearly the length of my hand, angling downward. A scar I could heal, if I ever sorted out which broken bauble it belonged to.

Without thinking, I asked, “Where did you get that?”

Renn glanced back at me as Verdanian marked muslin with chalk. His eyes dropped down, seeming to understand the object of question. “When I was twelve. Assassination attempt.”

I straightened. “Assassin?”

He shrugged, like the idea of a hired killer was commonplace. “That’s why my mother was ... concerned ... about our departure. It’s happened before. Never successfully.” The smile he punctuated the statement with had a feline slant to it.

I sputtered, “I suppose that explains the windows.”