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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Cat

C at makes a list of all the people who know Elician’s secret:

Elician

Lio

Fen

Marina

Zinnitzia

King Aliamon

Queen Calissia

Lord Anslian

Lady Adalei

(Lio’s parents???)

He puzzles over it for hours, pen hovering over each name as he wonders who to cross off as potential traitors. Most have reasons for wanting Elician gone, but who would actually do it? Marina and Zinnitzia both wanted Elician to stop fighting the war. Him being captured would accomplish that. Anslian and Adalei have moved up in the hierarchy with Elician’s death, but both seemed genuinely in grief about Lio. Lio’s death could have been unintended, but Anslian had purposefully asked Lio to go with Elician. Cat remembers that clearly. Why would he send Lio somewhere if he knew there was a chance he could die? And why would it benefit King Aliamon and Queen Calissia to dispose of their only son now, after spending years lying to the world just to ensure that Elician ascended?

And what of Lio specifically? Could he have been involved? His full name, Wilion d’Altas, means his family comes from the best-known border town on the continent. Anslian secured Soleben ownership of the city twenty years ago, but Lio is twenty-four now. Even if Lio had been born and raised in Himmelsheim, his family had come from an Alelune-ruled Altas. Perhaps he’d betrayed Elician and is hiding in Alerae even now, successfully integrated within the ranks of the Alelunen army.

No. Cat shakes his head, pressing his ink-stained fingers to his eyes, rubbing away fast-growing fatigue. Lio had been nothing but loyal to and worried for Elician during their ride to Kreuzfurt. He can’t imagine Lio betraying Elician. Not for anything.

But who else is there?

King Aliamon does not seem interested in sharing his investigatory methods with Cat. He says they are trying to find someone who can get to the Reaper cells but refuses to offer any additional information beyond that. Progress, Cat has been informed, takes time.

It took Ranio nearly a year to smuggle you out of the city , the King had said, sneering when Cat flinched at the reminder of Ranio’s death. How long do you imagine it will take us to find a way to smuggle out my son?

Do you even know if he’s there yet? he had asked in turn.

King Aliamon had refused to answer. He refuses to answer many things Cat wants to know, and Cat’s impatience grows with each stunted inquiry.

It festers. It festers as the seasons change and cold winter wind slices its way through Himmelsheim. Snow and ice cling to the highest peaks of the palace, creating dangerous patches of stone where it is far too easy to slip and fall. Inside the palace, blue stones are placed through the halls, each radiating enough heat to keep everyone warm through the night. Braziers burn near each outside entrance and all the doors are sealed shut. Thick cloth pads are pressed against cracks in the windows, and curtains made of the same material as Cat’s Reaper garb are used to block the biting chill. The occasional cocklestove (some ornately built as miniature replicas of Himmelsheim) supports the blue stones when needed so there is nary a draft to be felt. But outside, the city is frozen, and its people are quiet.

It feels like everyone is waiting for something. Though what, Cat does not know.

He practises his swordplay with Marina. He pretends not to notice Elician’s father watching his progress. And he tries not to give too much weight to the few conversations he has had with the King that do not revolve around Elician directly. Have you thought about taking the crown? Of being King of Alelune? Would you make a claim? There is no law forbidding a Reaper from ruling.

Each time Aliamon presses him for an answer, Cat asks a question. Have you found your son? Does he have a way out?

Keep training, Aliamon says in turn. My son will need someone competent on the throne when he rules.

‘He wants you to be Soleb’s ally,’ Marina suggests when he tells her of the talks. ‘Someone will take Queen Alenée’s throne eventually. He’d prefer to choose who that will be.’

‘He wants to buy my affection,’ Cat translates. ‘It’s insulting.’ She does not disagree. Instead, she gives him more lessons. This time, on oration. He memorizes them all, reading famed speeches out loud, trying to mimic the cadence and tone of a statesman. He listens in on a few parliamentary sessions when he has the opportunity, watching the order of business as the assembled lords and ladies make petitions to the King or debate proposed rules of law.

The latitude he is given grates. No guard follows his footsteps. No watchful eye traces his movements. It’s another infuriating test. Kill Aliamon, like Cat’s queen demanded, or play the perfect pet hostage, granted all the rights and privileges as a full citizen of Soleb but meant to return to Alelune and undo a government that has long stood the test of time.

More infuriating: Cat is not sure what he truly wants to do.

Instead, he goes back to his list, folding it and unfolding it so often that the paper tears slightly in the middle of the crease. He explores as much of the palace as he can in hopes of finding an answer, and he finds Elician’s rooms.

Well, he finds Lio’s first. An unattended door that leads to more questions than answers. For a boy that had not been a prince, Lio had lived like one. His furnishings are fine, his clothing rich. The weapons on his wall are well made, sharp and beautifully decorated. A few wooden figurines, shaped and painted like Soleben soldiers, stand vigil on his writing desk, all in various stages of combat or repose.

There is nothing damning in Lio’s room. But he had gone to war at twenty and never returned. Perhaps the truth lay on the battlefield and not here. All Cat finds here are the signs of a boy well loved. Lio wanted for nothing while living in the palace. And when Cat presses open a door near Lio’s bed, he finds himself in Elician’s chambers. A level of trust that almost takes Cat’s breath away.

Elician’s bedroom is far bigger than Lio’s, of course. The prince could have swung his sword through all its many steps and forms and still would have found it difficult to accidentally strike a wall – though there is a suspiciously shaped gash tastefully hidden behind a curtain. His bed, massive in all respects, seems minuscule in the great emptiness of the open floor sprawling out before it. And one wall is entirely covered in books.

Cat pokes through Elician’s things, not entirely sure if he is looking for something specific or if he’s simply interested in knowing more. He opens the nightstand beside the prince’s bed and finds a small blue stone in the corner. It glows faintly, good for little more than a light in the dark. That shouldn’t be here. It should be in the hands of the people to whom it was originally gifted. Not stolen and kept in a drawer like a forgotten token. At least the ones in use throughout the palace are obvious in their purpose. Cat despises the sight of those too, but he can accept that they are being used with intention. This . . . this feels far more absentminded than that.

Cat reaches for the stone, tracing his fingers over its warm surface. Only the Master of the Blue Palace had permission to give them, and his father is long dead. Tears press at his eyes. He closes the drawer, hiding the stone from view. Take it, Elician, he thinks. I give it freely to you. But it is not his stone to give. Not anymore. He does not know who sits in the Blue Palace, now that his father is gone and he has been set aside. But whoever reigns over the Blue Lands is the only one with the authority to gift each precious stone mined from the earth.

Turning slowly, Cat lowers himself to Elician’s bed. He presses his hands to his eyes again and breathes slowly. He wishes he could have given it to Elician directly. Explained what it meant. Why it was important. Why it was wrong that it had been stolen in the first place, but how conceding it as a gift now felt somehow right . Leaning back, he lays his head on Elician’s pillow. He looks up at the ceiling far above. He wonders what Elician would have said. Wonders, too, how Elician could even stand such a grandiose room with a mattress so soft that—

‘What are you doing here?’

Jerking upright, Cat throws himself from the bed. He struggles to find his footing as he whirls towards the voice at the door. Adalei, the Lady of Himmelsheim. Heir apparent after Anslian, now that Elician has been declared dead. Dressed in black, head still covered by a long fabric scarf that encircles her throat and trails over her shoulders – she clashes badly with the bright and glittering gold accents of Elician’s room.

‘I—’ He has no excuse. He had not been in the process of uncovering anything useful, save for the knowledge of what the prince’s bed felt like. Like him, Adalei has entered from the connecting door that leads to Lio’s chambers, and Cat flushes in shame. She had gone there to see her beloved’s things and discovered Cat’s impropriety by accident. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Have you done something wrong?’ she asks.

‘I . . .’

‘Far be it from me to tell any young man to leave my cousin’s bed.’ It is the heart of winter, but a sharp heat snaps through Cat, leaving him breathless. ‘Though I admit, when I thought of finding someone in my cousin’s bed, I imagined him there as well.’ His cheeks burn. Words fail at his lips. Useless. ‘Apologies,’ she says, smiling wryly. ‘I meant no offence, only he gave me so few opportunities to tease him properly. I would have enjoyed it.’

‘I’m not offended.’

‘No? Most days I cannot tell your face from the snow outside our windows, yet now you’ve turned darker than the poppies in spring.’

‘I . . . I’m not offended.’ He can feel his blush deepening.

Her eyes narrow slightly before her smile grows. ‘Not offended – charmed, perhaps? Tell me truthfully then, what are you doing in my cousin’s bed?’

‘I just . . . wanted to know what it felt like.’ Adalei hums thoughtfully. She glides past him, elegance personified. She straightens some of the wrinkles on the silk bed cover until there is no sign that he had ever been there at all.

‘It’s a fine bed,’ she drawls. ‘Though I’ll tell you a secret: he spent more time under it than in it.’

‘Under it?’

‘He drew pictures on the bottom. A whole world just for him. You should look sometime. They might interest you.’ She trails her fingers along one of the large bed posts. ‘Have you seen his portrait in the memorial hall? It was just raised last week.’

‘Yes.’ He had found it by chance. While walking to meet Fen, he had caught sight of Elician’s name on a placard beneath the new installation. The prince had been draped in regal shades of white and gold, kneeling with sad eyes turned up towards the sun. The background depicted duelling armies, the foreground showed only flowers and fields. One of Elician’s hands rested on the golden pommel of his sword. His other was a closed fist over his heart. ‘It doesn’t look like him.’

‘I hear they made him more handsome for the painting,’ she replies, shrugging.

‘No.’ His nose scrunches. ‘They didn’t.’ The artist had chosen to flatten Elician’s lovely curls, turning them into a subtle wave that feels simply wrong to look at. Elician’s skin had been painted just a few shades lighter, and his eyes had been given a strange golden hue rather than the warm and comforting brown that always felt so charmingly sincere. There had been no sign of Elician’s dimples either, but perhaps more egregiously, Cat notes, ‘There’s no beard. He has a beard.’

Adalei laughs as if she had not expected to and covers her lips with her hand. ‘He didn’t have one before he left for the war. The artist wouldn’t have known.’

‘He looks better with it.’ Cat’s brows furrow, his lips twist. ‘And . . . he is not . . . that is not how he should be positioned.’

‘Oh? How do you think a portrait should display my cousin?’

‘He would often sit with his knees up and his hands on the ground, leaning back. He would tilt his head, and when he did look at the sky, he . . .’ Just breathed in sweet fresh air, simply happy to be alive.

What do you think, Cat? Elician’s voice echoes in his head. Sweet and content. Is today going to be a good day?

‘You became quite fond of him on your way to Kreuzfurt, then? Even though he was your captor?’

‘He was kind.’ So few people in his life have ever been that way from the start.

Adalei is quiet for a long while. Finally, she nods her head. ‘Yes,’ she says softly. ‘He has always been very kind. I imagine he would have become rather fond of you as well by the time your journey was done.’ Aliamon had said the same thing when Cat first met him. Unlike the King, Adalei genuinely sounds pleased by the knowledge. Her eyes sparkle, and she leans in like she intends to tell a secret. ‘We used to tease him, tell him he could make friends with anyone and anything.’

It was what Elician had wanted more than anything. To have friends. Cat stares at her, numbly, as he remembers Elician speaking about how hard it had been just to find time to talk to another person. ‘That was cruel,’ he says, words falling from his mouth before he can think to stop them.

Her eyes narrow infinitesimally. But her expression does not alter. ‘You’re right,’ she admits. ‘He could make friends in seconds, but keeping them . . . that was always difficult.’ She shakes her head, sighing a little. ‘Often, it wasn’t allowed. But in truth, he worried about what making friends with someone mortal would mean in the long run for him too. Something you won’t have to worry about. You could be his friend for lifetimes . . . if you wanted.’

She moves, and his attention is pulled to her long black dress and covered arms. Her only visible skin is her face and hands, but she wears no bell. ‘You are not a Reaper,’ he says as she straightens her back and flexes her hands in a kind of absentminded stretch. The black hem of her dress swishes to one side. She shakes her head.

‘No, I am not.’

‘But you wear that colour, still.’

‘It is a tradition for one to wear the colours of Death when a loved one is lost. I will exchange this for something else when I no longer grieve.’ The rest of the household has already done so. There are periods of mourning, arbitrarily set to mark the length of the commitment and relationship to the deceased. It has been months since the funeral, memories have been spoken, and all the household has moved on. Yet Adalei’s mourning dress remains the same.

‘We celebrate death in Alelune,’ he says.

‘I’ve heard. You’re happy someone has embraced their chance to change and wish them well in their futures.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a kind sentiment, but I miss my loved ones. I will grieve for them, even if they have changed into something better.’

‘It’s selfish,’ he points out.

‘Sometimes it’s important to be selfish, from time to time.’

He bows his head, accepting. When he looks back up, she is carefully adjusting her headscarf. As far as he has been able to tell, the women in Himmelsheim seem to take great pride in their hair, braiding it, coiling it, setting it into designs. The cloth draped over Adalei’s head is not flattering, according to the fashions of her people. It hides her hair; it also hides much of her neck and throat. ‘What does it mean?’ he asks, indicating her scarf, searching for something to say.

‘Nothing cultural, if that is what you’re asking,’ she replies. ‘I am simply vain.’ She traces the edges of the fabric along her forehead, then lowers her hand to her side. ‘I spent many years in Kreuzfurt. Did you know that?’

‘Yes.’

She nods consideringly and turns to look at Elician’s bookcase. It reaches high up the wall – high enough that a stool waits patiently at its base, to help a reader reach the upper shelf. Adalei trails her fingers along a few spines. ‘As a member of the royal family, no Giver was allowed to heal me, and so I went to the House of the Unwanting . . . waiting to die. There was some hope, of course, that I could find some comfort there. Or at least a painless end when I was ill. After he became a Reaper, Fransen stayed with me quite often . . . reading to me, teaching me things. I was sorry to hear of his passing.’ She grins over her shoulder. ‘I hope he changed into something he enjoys.’ Cat cannot help it. He smiles in return. ‘Elena was my physician from the very start. And she worked tirelessly to make me whole. You see, Alelune has its blue stones, and we have our greys.’

‘Greys?’

‘They’re difficult to understand,’ Adalei responds. ‘Fatal to use or interact with in most circumstances. It’s forbidden to mine them as a result. But there had been some observations regarding their powers to heal, in the past, and when my health took a sharp turn for the worse, Elena was willing to try. A Reaper needed to hold the stone, and so Fransen did it for her. He held it above me, and Elena talked him through how to use it. I’m not sure what her methods were, but when the treatment was done, it would leave me more drawn out and ill in ways I could not imagine for hours. But, always, there was improvement in the days that followed. Until one day, I no longer needed the treatments at all. But the stone leaves its mark, and it’s permanent. In my case, it affected my hair. It never grew back and my scalp . . . well . . .’ Her fingers brush where the scarf meets her brow. ‘I’d rather hide my . . . deficiencies from the court.’

‘You’re not deficient,’ Cat argues.

‘Lio would have loved you dearly for saying that.’

‘We were not close.’

‘Shame.’ Lowering her voice, she leans towards him. ‘I am insecure about my appearance, but in truth, our king is equally not someone who enjoys being reminded of his potential heirs’ lack of suitability. If I am to be considered a viable member of this family, I must look a certain way. Act a certain way. And so, the scarf ensures I meet expectations of outward propriety that suit our family’s reputation. Do you understand?’

‘Your king expects a lot from you all.’ He wonders if she would bother with the scarf had Aliamon not insisted upon it first. Cat does not ask, and she does not offer the answer on her own. Instead, she glances back to the books lining Elician’s wall.

‘A long time ago, Elician, Lio and I made a plan for our future. What we wanted to do once Aliamon had passed on.’ Plotting for what comes after a monarch’s demise sounds almost Alelunen of them. He’s surprised she would confess as much to him now, but she shows no equal sign of uncertainty. She speaks calmly, coolly. ‘Elician named me his heir. He expected to abdicate after a certain amount of years, so as not to affront Soleb with his status as a Giver overlong. And then Lio and I . . . we had plans. On what the kingdom could be and how it needed to change.’

‘He loved you,’ Cat says. Her lips quirk. She nods but says nothing. She already knows. A thought comes to him then, sudden and unexpected. Beyond anything he has ever seriously considered before. ‘Lio . . . His funeral was before we arrived.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the remembrance dinner?’

‘That too.’

‘I have . . . Is it too late to share a story for him, in memory?’ The custom is meaningless to him. But not to her. She meets his eyes.

‘It is never too late to share a story,’ she entreats, voice wavering as she beckons him to speak. ‘Tell me. I would like to hear.’

‘He went fishing for us. One night, for dinner, as we were on our way to Kreuzfurt. He waded into a stream, and he put his hands in the water. And the fish seemed to just go to him, as if they didn’t know or care that he meant them harm. He caught them, and he tossed them up onto the bank and he . . . he asked me to be useful and to kill them swiftly. So I did.’ He pauses, unsure. ‘I killed Lio, too. When I first met him. But Elician brought him back and afterwards, Lio was never once afraid of me. Of what I could do. Even though I could have killed him again at any moment. He still asked me to help with the fish and believed I could be useful. I don’t think I treated him well on our journey to Kreuzfurt, but . . . I liked him. I thought he was a good man.’

‘I liked him too,’ Adalei replies. ‘And he was. Thank you for telling me.’ She touches his gloved hand. Squeezes his fingers.

‘I’m sorry I killed him.’

‘It was not the first time he had died,’ she says gently. ‘Death has been chasing him since he was a child. But Elician never wanted to let him go.’

‘Why?’

‘They are brothers, in all ways that matter. Queen Calissia struggled giving birth to Elician, and afterwards, she was too weak to nurse him. Lio’s mother was hired to care for my cousin. In return, Lio was considered a natural playmate and confidante. They grew up together, here, and were always at each other’s side. Elician was still a child when we realized he was a Giver, and his life was arranged to ensure no one ever knew the truth. Lio helped make that happen.’

‘Do you trust him – Lio?’ Cat asks her. She frowns, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze until the intensity forces him to look away.

‘You want to know if he would have betrayed Elician, if Lio is the reason my cousin is gone.’ He nods, still incapable of looking at her, still feeling the weight of her eyes upon him. ‘It’s possible,’ she replies. ‘Anything is. But if I were to judge it, I would say no. Lio is fanatically loyal to my cousin, and he was a part of Elician’s plans for the future, every step of the way. He has nothing to gain, but everything to lose. I do not imagine Lio is the culprit you are looking for.’

‘What else did Elician plan?’ He knows the broad strokes. Kreuzfurt freed, an end to the war (somehow), and now even a succession that would appease his people. But there had to be more than that.

‘Ask him when you see him,’ Adalei demurs. ‘It is meaningless coming from me. I could be lying.’

‘Are you?’

‘I could be. But for what it is worth, I believed in his plans too.’ When he dares to glance up at long last, she’s still looking at him. Back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly. She is delicate and frail in her black dress with her too-thin wrists and thin body. She reminds him of his Reapers, in Alelune. Emaciated, weak, and yet filled with power. Unfathomable power. For appearances mean nothing in the face of what they can do – and Adalei commands power simply by existing. He is compelled to speak to her, prompted by shame, and tempted into revealing the truths he had not intended to speak. Never has he seen someone this perfectly in control who holds none of the physical means to enforce that control. ‘Ten people know Elician’s secret,’ Adalei says.

‘What about Lio’s parents?’

‘No, they were never informed. Ten alone know the truth. Two are missing. One is a young girl who influences nothing. One is a prisoner of war, so couldn’t have used his knowledge. Two are sworn members of the Houses of the Wanting and Unwanting, but as clerics of the Kingsclave, they are neutral parties and would see no point in getting involved in politics. One is myself.’ She smiles. ‘And I have no tangible defence. Queen Calissia is frail and far removed from the true running of politics within Soleb. All this leaves only my father – who failed to write to Kreuzfurt when Elician did not arrive at the front, doing so only after he’d been missing for months – and our king, who is the first person my father contacted. He equally did not confirm with Kreuzfurt if Elician had been delayed in any way.’ Cat had been right. Something had been wrong during his initial conversation with the King . . . and all the ones that had come afterwards.

‘Do you know who the traitor is?’ Cat asks, chest aching at the thought.

‘My father or Aliamon. Perhaps both. Only . . .’ She smiles again, but it’s sardonic and twisted. ‘I have no proof. So, until I do’ – she picks up the hem of her black skirt – ‘I will haunt them until they concede. And even then, I will never forgive them for what they’ve done.’

‘What will you do, if you find out who it was?’

Adalei bows. ‘Elician is a king who cannot die. We have time to watch them fall.’ When she straightens, she walks towards the door. ‘Be careful, Stello Alest.’ Cat’s fingers spasm. His bell rings anxiously at his wrist. He hadn’t realized that she knows his true identity. ‘Secrets are like Reapers,’ she tells him. ‘They never stay dead for long.’

She leaves, closing the door behind her. And when she’s gone, he goes for the drawer once more. He takes the blue stone in hand and crawls beneath Elician’s bed. He lets the stone’s subtle light flood the darkness of the world beneath. And it is a world. It is a glorious world. A collage of fantasies stretches from one wooden pane to the next, with childish words looping and squiggling in all their glorious triumph.

Silver suns and golden moons. Even written apologies for a party thrown after the Moon Prince’s death. If he had lived, maybe we could have changed this world together, Elician had written around the body of a boy who held the moon in his hands.

‘I think I would like to change the world with you, Elician,’ Cat whispers, pressing a hand to Elician’s dreams. ‘If, after all of this time, you still want to try.’