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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Fenlia

A nslian escorts Fen to the residential wing of the palace. He does not have to. She knows the way. It has not been such a long time since she was last here. But he leads her, and she keeps her head down and hands at her sides, trying desperately to mimic the perfectly polite postures of the ladies at court.

He walks through the palace as if he is the King, and everyone he passes instantly bows and whispers well wishes to his cause. He does not notice them. He does not speak to them. He walks briskly, too briskly for Fen to keep up without falling into a slight jog.

‘I don’t want to have a funeral for Elician,’ Fen says, hoping he can give her more information than her father had in their brief meeting earlier. It had seemed Aliamon would not be swayed from his path. In three days, a funeral will be held.

‘Neither do I,’ her uncle Anslian replies. ‘It’s a waste of time and money.’

‘And he’s not dead.’

‘Which is why it is a waste.’

‘If he’s been captured then we should be looking for him.’

‘Our spies in Alerae have reported nothing. Elician is not there.’

‘Then he’s somewhere else!’

Anslian scowls. He comes to a halt and Fen stumbles to a stop in front of him. ‘Where, Fen? Where is he?’

‘What about searching the Alelunen embassy? Could he be here, in this city?’ Alelune maintains one ambassador and household staff in Himmelsheim and always has. Laure de Gianno is the woman currently holding the station, and all official correspondence between the countries circulates through her at the embassy under a banner of truce. A Soleben guard stands watch with Alelune’s guards to observe the ambassador’s movements, but the same is true for Soleb’s ambassador in Alerae. If there is anybody in Soleb who would know about Elician, it would be the ambassador. Even if he’s not physically in the embassy, she would have to be kept informed of his situation to know how to respond. She must have some kind of information. She must.

‘Use your head, child. We cannot turn their embassy inside out – or take Ambassador Laure into custody as a hostage for that matter. It would provoke an international scandal. Even our allies in Glaika or the Gold Coast would balk at such a thing, and we cannot afford their reprisals.’

‘Alelune took Elician ! Laure’s nothing by comparison. Just a spokesperson.’

Anslian scoffs loudly. He shakes his head and Fen squares her shoulders, ready to fight. Even against a hero. Especially if it is to correct something so deeply wrong.

‘You cannot give up on him. He needs our help!’

‘Until we know for sure where he is, we can do nothing. Assaulting Ambassador Laure will only make the war tensions worse – not to mention imperilling our own ambassador in Alelune.’ Fen doubts it is possible for the war to get any worse than it already is. In the four years since Alelune had restarted hostilities, each report had been little better than a running tally of death tolls alongside various military victories and defeats. The numbers are always horrific, despite everyone saying they seem to be coming in at the same rate as they did during the last River War. Adding one more person to the list, at this point, hardly seems like much in the grand scheme of things. ‘There’s no trail,’ Anslian continues. ‘There’s no sign. Elician has all but vanished into thin air. Unless you know where he’s being held, this is our only course forward.’

‘To wait. To hold a funeral. To do nothing .’

‘To use our spies and our intelligence officers rather than provoke a country we are already at war with.’

‘And you, you’re going to be named heir, then?’ she asks. ‘In the meanwhile?’

‘Don’t give me that look, girl. I have no wish for the crown.’

‘But you’re still going to be named heir,’ she presses.

‘Whether I want it or not,’ he mutters.

A door at the end of the hall opens, and a woman steps out. She is dressed in all black, head covered by a long black scarf. Anslian’s daughter, and now, presumably, second in line for the throne. ‘Adalei?’ Fen gasps. Even when she had been ill as a child, Adalei had never been anything but fashionable as far as Fen could remember. Now, her garb seems threadbare and plain. Unremarkable and brutal in its contrast to the austere halls of Himmelsheim. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what would be best to do.

Adalei walks towards them, hands folded in front of her body. ‘Papa.’ She curtsies low and flawless, hand over her heart. ‘Fenlia. I heard yelling.’

Anslian ignores the gesture and wraps his arms around his daughter. One hand cradles the back of her neck, the other holds her back steady. Fen lingers awkwardly to one side, not wanting to interrupt. ‘You’re meant to be resting,’ Anslian chides, kissing the black silk scarf that drapes over his daughter’s head. He pulls back to cup her cheeks and kiss her brow too.

‘I have no desire to continue lying about staring at walls, Papa,’ Adalei replies. ‘Fenlia, there are fresh sheets on your bed. I had the maids in earlier to dust and—’

‘Thank you, I’m sure it’s wonderful,’ she assures her cousin.

‘When is Lio’s funeral?’ Anslian asks.

‘Two days ago,’ Adalei replies. ‘Don’t be cross with Uncle Aliamon; there was no reason to wait for you. Lio has never officially been my betrothed.’

‘I will be cross with my brother with or without your permission, daughter. Wilion was my commander. He deserved my salute.’ Adalei’s eyes fill with water.

It’s good she isn’t wearing makeup, Fen thinks, distracted. It would just smear.

‘Then, perhaps, if you have the time, you could speak with his parents before you leave. They would appreciate it.’

‘Of course. Fenlia, if you’ll excuse us—’

Fen bows and steps back. She does not want to see Adalei crying anyway. She says, ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ and continues on to her room. The first door opens into a sitting room, but the ones beyond lead to her bedchamber. The bed has indeed been made up, and all her childhood possessions have been dusted and delicately placed right where she had left them before leaving to train in Kreuzfurt. Fen runs her fingers over the glass horses and beaded dolls. Lio and Elician had given her most of these. Adalei had woven and embroidered the fine cloth they rest on.

Things were far simpler before they all had to move away. For the next hour, she unpacks her valise, which a servant had brought to her room. She checks what dresses she has outgrown and what needs resupplying.

A knock at the sitting room door echoes all the way through her suite, and she bids them enter while she continues her work. There is a quiet shuffling of feet, and she calls out, ‘In here.’ Cat enters a few moments later. ‘Oh, I thought the King would keep you longer,’ she admits. ‘How was it? He’s nice, right?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replies.

‘How do you not know?’ Fen asks, rolling her eyes. He shrugs, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, then looks over her possessions. ‘He’s always been kind to me,’ Fen reveals as Cat leans towards the only portrait she owns. ‘That’s my real father,’ she explains, moving to stand next to it. ‘I’m adopted, you know? But my father and the King were basically as close as Lio and Elician. And my father, he was the greatest intelligencer in Soleb! Or . . . he was until he died. We look alike, don’t we?’ She knows she does. She has his chin. His ears. His nose.

‘Yes,’ Cat agrees quietly. ‘You are much alike.’

‘Have you seen Adalei yet? She’s Anslian’s daughter and she’s . . . well, she and Lio were not really together , but they were together , you know?’

‘No.’

‘Well, it wasn’t official. But they were courting. They have been for years. Lio used to send her all these love poems, but between you and me – Elician wrote them all for him, because Lio is as romantic as a shoe.’

‘I don’t understand. Elician did what?’

Fen flushes and backtracks. She waves her hands this way and that, marching Cat through the embarrassing truth. That Elician needed to write love letters to his own cousin to woo her on Lio’s behalf.

‘But he did not love her himself?’ Cat asks.

‘I don’t think Elician has loved anyone . He always had these strange rules. And I guess they made sense because no one could know he was a Giver. But he’s never interacted with anyone privately or spent much time with anyone as far as I know. He just liked writing poetry, reading books and getting into trouble with Lio. I think for a while people thought he loved Lio in a romantic way, but then Lio fell in love with Adalei – and Elician never so much as blinked. And he’s never grown close to or even seemed to like anyone else like that. Even during balls, he’d always dance the exact same amount of time with every person who ever asked. I timed him once; I couldn’t believe it. What’s with that face?’

Cat winces and shrugs. He shakes his head. ‘He was lonely,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s sad.’

‘How could he have been lonely? He’s the Prince of Soleb. He’s surrounded by people all the time. Everything he does is praised by every person he meets. He could have a hundred friends if he just bothered talking to anyone for more than a few minutes at a time.’

‘But isn’t that how you become lonely?’ Cat asks. ‘When you are surrounded by others . . . but even still, you are alone?’

‘Maybe in Alelune.’ She shrugs. ‘How did it go with the King?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t understand what he’s doing with . . . everything. I need to think. Marina sent me to fetch you. She and Zinnitzia want to go over our education moving forward. We will be staying in Himmelsheim and there will be changes.’

‘Good changes?’ she hopes, doubtful.

‘Just changes,’ he replies. ‘How are your seeds growing, by the way?’

‘They aren’t.’ She had tried everything she could think of on the ride to Himmelsheim, but the seeds remained, stubbornly, seeds. Better off being fed to the birds. She had spent hours on them some days, sectioning them off into piles based on size and shape. But they did nothing beneath her care. Her failure is not something she will put in her report to Elician when he eventually comes home. ‘I think Elena is wrong. There’s nothing I can do.’

‘There must be a trick to it.’

‘Do you know how to do it?’

‘Not for certain, just a guess. There must be a way of sparking life in them. If you can figure it out, it would be nice to see, wouldn’t it?’

‘I suppose.’ But flowers are not going to bring her brother back. She almost tells him this too. She feels the words on her tongue. But she stops at the last moment. ‘Are you all right?’ she asks.

‘It will be better for everyone, I think, when your brother returns,’ he replies. Then he bows his head awkwardly and leaves. She locates her seeds and holds one in her hand. If she could have made them grow, then she would have already. After all, Cat is not the only one who could use something to make him feel better.

But three days later, the nation mourns for its lost prince. And there is nothing she can do but attend the ceremony. Civilians fill every spiral of Himmelsheim, standing shoulder to shoulder, chanting funeral prayers and giving praise to Soleb’s lost son. Fen stands beside Aliamon, Calissia, Anslian and Adalei as their people come forward one at a time to express their grief.

She trades her white dress for black for the second time this year, temporarily mimicking a Reaper. No jewels or finery. No embellishments. Unlike with Fransen, who had been an acquaintance and almost a friend, Elician is her family. It will be several weeks before she will be permitted to wear anything other than black again. She already misses her lighter garb, especially because none of it is real. Adalei may be mourning in truth for Lio, but the rest of them are simply playing a game of pretend. It feels like cheating, or a mockery of all the people who are actually in pain. When the funeral procession ends, the royal family retreats inside for their last meal together as a unit. Anslian will leave to return to the front lines in the morning.

All the most highly ranked courtiers are expected to attend this final meal, and though it is supposed to be a sombre affair, the sound of chattering fills the hall as everyone finds their seats. Fen is not sure who created the seating arrangements, but apparently Cat has been given permission to join them. He sits bracketed between her and Marina and seems just as annoyed as he was after Fransen’s death. Though he does have the good grace not to complain outwardly about their funeral practices this time around.

It is for the best. Sitting across from them are some of the most highly esteemed members of the Soleben nobility. Fen doubts Lord Hamad and his son Rodans would appreciate Cat’s less than fond outlook on their culture. Hamad had made a name for himself in the last River War and Fen has already heard Rodans mention that he is looking forward to being old enough to enlist. Both try to ask Cat his opinion on the current war’s tensions. He responds by blinking at them dumbly until they decide he cannot understand Soleben and turn towards Fen instead.

‘It is good to have you back in the capital, Your Highness. You have been missed,’ Hamad says warmly.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she replies as the first course is brought out. It is a creamy soup that Elician favoured. All the meals served tonight will be those that Elician enjoyed. This is their time to remember him in his entirety and grieve his loss together. No one will be permitted to eat these meals again at court until the mourning period is over.

‘Do you think you’ll stay in the capital long?’ Rodans asks next. He is a pretty boy with sand-coloured hair and green eyes. He has a long face and a smattering of freckles that have been fading the older he gets. They used to play together before she became a Giver. Afterwards, like all her other friends, he suddenly became very busy. There was a war on. It was bad timing. Sometimes things just happened. She hasn’t spoken to him properly since then. It had hurt, at the time. She had winced, too, when she saw him sit across from her. But his tone is earnest, his expression sweet. Just like it used to be.

She wipes her mouth with her napkin, tries to match the uncertain but casual nature of his inquiry, and replies, ‘I’m not sure. It depends.’

‘Prince Elician had said he wanted you on his council when he became king. Do you think Lady Adalei would have you on hers? You’ve been working so hard, training in Kreuzfurt. It must be commended.’ She flushes a bit at the praise and tries not to shrug in response. It’s unbecoming.

‘You would need to ask Adalei. I don’t believe she’s made any decisions . . . like that.’ Anslian may appear reluctant to take the crown, but Fen knows Adalei will have at least considered its likelihood. Adalei has always been the type to make six different plans for the future, ensuring that if one path failed, she has another already prepared. She is singularly difficult to outmanoeuvre.

‘I am sure she would do well to have you with her,’ Rodans says, drawing Fen’s attention back to him. She thanks him, trying not to smile too obviously at the praise.

The second course arrives and with it, the memory procession. Queen Calissia begins, telling the story of how, many years ago, Elician and Lio used to enjoy scaling the walls of the castle. Like their fascination with chariots, they had read about this in a book – and had tried to recreate the skillset of an ancient warrior sect, renowned for their ability to climb just about anything. The boys had made it halfway up before they ran out of handholds, and the palace guard had needed to rescue them. Fen still remembers the fierce scolding they’d received from the King.

King Aliamon goes next, sharing another anecdote from Elician’s life. This honour passes from person to person as they share memory after memory, recreating Elician in their hearts and minds. They skip Cat twice in the procession, understanding that he is there as a guest but not a member of the mourning party. But at the last round, Cat whispers a memory of his own into Fen’s ear. ‘On our way to Kreuzfurt, there were nights where he had trouble sleeping. Sometimes we would stay up together, watching the stars.’

‘That reminds me of a phrase I heard once,’ Rodans says. Cat flinches, realizing the boy had been eavesdropping, and pulls back. Rodans speaks it, but even Fen can tell his Lunae is imperfect. She frowns, trying to puzzle out what he means. Marina clears her throat at Cat’s side and repeats the phrase, and Rodans snaps his fingers. ‘That’s it. My tutor said it’s something Alelunens say when they meet.’

‘Somewhat,’ Marina replies. ‘It can be roughly translated as: May a star fall in your lives. It wishes the listener good fortune and unexpected blessings.’

‘Did you?’ Rodans asks Cat. ‘Have good fortune and unexpected blessings?’ Cat blinks at him, and for a moment Fen thinks he will feign ignorance once more. But Cat does not.

He meets Rodans’s eyes and, speaking just loud enough for his voice to carry, says, ‘Yes, he was that, for me.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Rodans’s father says. A chorus of voices chime in, until one by one glasses are raised and King Aliamon stands.

‘For the greatest king we will never know,’ Aliamon calls out. ‘For Elician.’

In that, at least, they are united. Even if some of the grief is a game of pretend.