Page 51 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

Lang

I stepped out into the noon sunlight of the southern palatial gardens, squinting into the brightness.

Braxthorn overlooked the rosehilt, with Septillis beside him.

I gritted my teeth, knowing the next simpering event—some horrid luncheon—loomed in only a couple of hours.

Then, a few nights after that, my dreaded homecoming ball.

Without meaning to, I thought of her again. It bothered me. I could not pinpoint actually what about her had me so distracted. Her dragon, her casual disinterest, her deceit. Whatever it truly stemmed from, it was hard to keep my mind from her. Irritation flared just as often as intrigue.

Banrillen, the Wragg, was here too, his bulking frame contrasting against the blooming garden.

Great. A family meeting.

Chaethor’s voice rumbled, and I could sense her location, spiralling in the skies above the fluffy Tanmer clouds. Braxthorn outdoors during Tanmer? He will shrivel like an aged peach .

I smirked as I approached. My brother pulled a petal from a shedding plant, and Septillis’ countenance was as stiff as ever. At least these two players are unchanged.

Chaethor laughed. Has he discovered her yet? Reunited with his childhood love?

I frowned at that, though I had been asking myself the same question. Septillis was close with Tanidwen back on Eavenfold. Even a simpleton could see the love he had for her.

The white-haired advisor turned to me, and I could determine nothing from his expression. He was wiser than Tanidwen in that respect. He had long learned to school his face. Braxthorn also turned, and his welcoming grimace was as cold as ever.

“Son,” Braxthorn said. “Have you chosen a wife? Will it be Lady Francillin, Lady Elissa, or Princess Margot?”

“We’re less than a week into Tanmer, father,” I responded.

He sniffed. “I proposed to your mother on the night we met.”

“And look how that turned out,” I said, coolly.

My father reddened, the anger touching the tips of his ears. “I have two healthy and strong male heirs. You should only hope your marriage is as successful.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Then I pity my future wife if your union is the pinnacle I might aspire to.”

Chaethor purred her approval, but chastised me nonetheless. You play with fire.

A fire he started when he beheaded her , I returned.

My father stepped forwards and slapped my cheek, hard. My head whipped, but I did not cry out nor change my face.

Banrillen smiled.

My father stared at me. Age had bent his back, and he stood inches smaller than me. But even old and frail as he was, there was a warning in his gaze hard to ignore. I knew being his kin was not enough to save me if I crossed too many of his lines. “You will choose.”

“Yes, father,” I replied, blinking back the tears in my eyes. The pain was hot against my cheek, and I clenched my hand to keep from touching it.

Francillin’s inclusion had surprised me initially, when he pointed her out to me.

At nearly eight spans, she was over a span my senior.

A scholar, by way of interests, and a spinster, by way of circumstance.

But when my aunt, Derynallis, reminded me that she was first cousin to Canenrill, King of the Scentlands, her inclusion on the list made sense.

What better way to reforge the alliance with the Scentlands, than for the Scourge of Courvin (as I will forever be to them) to marry into Canenrill’s family, just as his wife Queen Hyamis had been forced to forty years ago.

I thought it fucking odd that Francillin would agree to marry Brascillan’s murderer, her own cousin and prince, but maybe she hadn’t agreed to any of this either.

Though, rumour had it that Lord Fordonne was sniffing around her before the Laithcart Games I so abruptly ended, and if his reputation was to be believed, Francillin might not have entirely minded the events of that day.

Father studied me for a moment, and then took a step backwards. “We were discussing Vorska,” he said.

I froze, before nodding once. “What of her?”

His voice was low, despite the purposefully empty gardens around us.

“Her suggested loyalty. For now, she stays. If we kill her, her welp is too young to survive. For now, with her dragon barely more than a sleeping pup, she is no threat. But if that pup grows up and starts biting the hand that feeds it…”

“You fear she will turn on us,” I said.

“Obviously,” he drawled. “She is a savage. Even with good quarters and regular feeding, what will she do when we invade her forest? ”

Can he even hear himself? I thought to Chaethor.

Calm yourself , she replied.

“When the dragon is old enough to be of any danger to us, we can test her loyalty,” I said.

Banrillen looked up at that. “Test it?”

I shrugged. “Have her up at the northern border and see if she will kill one of her own for us.”

My brother pulled another petal, still staring at me. “Yes,” he agreed. “Make her kill her kin.”

I nodded, and distracted myself with the garden, examining whatever flower was before me. I knew how my father and brother’s minds worked. If they considered Tanidwen a threat, in truth, she was already dead. And I did not want that to happen.

You keep her alive, even now. Chaethor’s voice was curious.

It’s your fault , I jested, though it fell flat. Your obsession with beautiful things has rubbed off on me.

This one is under your skin more than most .

I wronged her.

Chaethor let out an admonishing groan. You kept her breathing.

I’m certain she does not see it that way.

Septillis cleared his throat. “Perhaps there is another path to her favour.”

Braxthorn touched the Brother’s shoulder, a fatherly gesture he has never bestowed on me.

He was always too enamoured with the Moontouched, believing every word from their mouths.

It was nothing more than mimicry, in my mind.

He knew how Stormnoon’s visions had favoured his grandfather, King Praevontil, at least before his end.

How the Moontouched had forged his reputation, his legacy. “What say you, Septillis?”

Septillis spoke slowly, as if measuring every word. “I have met with the girl. Then, last night, she appeared to me in a vision. ”

I stiffened. So they had reunited. He must have known her as readily as I had, or more, given their time together. I studied him with all the perks of my own Sight, and that of Chaethor’s. The two men in the city who knew her for what she truly was.

“What did you see?” The hunger in my father’s question was too transparent. Another great king advised by a fortune-telling boy. There was precedent, but little originality. What moniker did he hope for, I wondered. Braxthorn the Wise? The Great?

Septillis closed his eyes, as if seeing it again. “She wore a white dress in the throne room. It seemed to be her wedding day.”

Braxthorn frowned. “Her wedding? In our castle?”

Septillis nodded, opening his white eyes again. “The girl is unmarried and untethered. We should strengthen her ties to our kingdom. With a husband and a babe-in-arms, I cannot foresee that she would leave.”

That was his angle. I wondered if Septillis’ own hand might soon be offered. After all these years, he clearly still held a torch for her.

I could not imagine she had signed off on this idea. Tanidwen had expressed no suggestion of wanting to marry. Septillis must have decided himself that marrying her off was the best way to keep her heart beating.

It wasn’t the worst plan, and it didn’t rely on her killing any Euphons to do it.

Braxthorn stared at him, running his tongue into his cheek. “An interesting theory, albeit costly, to throw away a possible political alliance.”

“Would this not also be a valuable political alliance?” Septillis returned calmly.

My father turned his ring on his narrow finger. “I take your point. But who would you choose for her?”

He glanced at me. “The princes are both unwed. ”

I spluttered. Septillis knew I had Broken the girl. Derynallis might have pulled him from the arena that day, but he knew what I had done and what it had meant. How could he even consider forcing her to wed me?

“Hah!” Braxthorn’s laughter mirrored my own incredulity. “You cannot be serious, Septillis. To match a prince with a destitute Soundlander. What message would that send to the Triad?”

He nodded. “I understand it would be an uncommon match, Your Majesty. But you have the value of dragons already, and you do not understand the wants of those without. Those around you covet them, jealously. When your allies and enemies alike hear of the girl, you may be sure they will make her an offer themselves.”

Braxthorn frowned now. Septillis had struck true, finding the heart of my father’s insecurity.

“You think she will receive proposals from other lands?” Braxthorn asked.

Septillis only inclined his head once more, deferential to the end. “Everyone has seen the might of your reign, Braxthorn, and they know the reins you hold are part of that. They may wish to take the girl, and her dragon, from you.”

Banrillen grunted. “Then we make her bend the knee, as a soldier.”

I rolled my eyes. “Women cannot pledge such an oath.”

“I will think on it,” Braxthorn said. “Write me a list of our unwed nobles. I’m sure a low-ranking lord would seem as much like a prince to her as any other.”

Septillis grimaced, but only barely. I would not have noticed if I had not been studying him with the attentiveness of a hawk. “Very well, Your Majesty.”

I sighed, staring between them all with an emotion I could not place .

Four men discussing a woman’s future with the ignorance of pigs, Chaethor said, echoing the same feeling.

I disliked my aunt at the best of times, but she would at least add a calculating discernment to this picture.

Braxthorn eyed my sigh with distaste. “What is that noise, son? Speak, if you have something to say.”

I shook my head. “Only that I cannot imagine one of them accepting the hand of a cacof. I am certain she hates us.”

My father narrowed his eyes. “You believe she will betray us?”

“No,” I replied quickly. Maybe too quickly. Patience, I cautioned myself. I did not want to give away the guilt and unplaceable warmth I felt for the moon girl. “Not as such. But I do not believe her loyalty will be bought with a marriage.”

He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “Women are easily swayed by finery and security, you will see.”

At this, Chaethor rumbled with laughter.

I only nodded, my face stony. “As you say.”

My father dismissed us, making some excuse about the flowers hurting his eyes, though even someone with no Sight could see the sheen of sweat attached to his skin, and his neck bobbing with thirst. He had always hated Tanmer, but recently his aversion felt laced with fear, as if the sun would desiccate him like a ghoul from an old tale.

Septillis followed him out, bowing to us with perfect form.

He was good. Better than I had given him credit for. But when Tanidwen discovered that her path was to marry some banner lord she’d never met, I imagine even he would struggle to hide from her ire.

Banrillen didn’t follow them, continuing to pull the petals from a new plant with uncharacteristic focus.

Reluctantly, I approached him. “You are thinking, Ban. And you know that isn’t good for you.”’

“Fuck off, brother. ”

That was more like it. “Happily.”

I turned away from him, hoping to get some respite before enduring the upcoming horror show of timid women.

But Banrillen’s voice cut apart that hope like dragonteeth onto flesh. “Father’s creepy helper was onto something.”

I turned back. “About what?”

His expression reminded me of my father’s scorn. He had learnt the squint well. “The girl, idiot.”

“Oh, that. I don’t think he was,” I said. “She is a stupid thing from the Soundlands, nothing more.”

A slow smile crept over his mouth. The same smile he had worn when I discovered his dead squire two spans ago. “And now you try to dissuade me. Interesting. Do you want her for yourself?”

I laughed, then. A genuine laugh for my part, at the idea of Tanidwen ever agreeing to marry me. “She is beneath both of us, brother.”

Banrillen was not deterred, clenching his ham-fist around a pale pink petal. “And yet, if you were to take her as your wife, you would control her, too. Her dragon would be yours. Both the red and the blue at your disposal. The Crown Prince with two dragons.”

I smiled again, this time at the thought that Tani would be controlled by a construct so pedestrian as marriage. “I have one dragon, an adult who is finally useful. I have no interest in training a child, nor teaching a barbarian wife our ways. She barely knows a spoon from a ladle.”

Banrillen threw the mushed-up petal onto the floor. “He promised me a dragon. You stole one from me once, I will not let you do it again.”

I only raised an eyebrow, letting him have his tantrum. His stubborn miscalculations had hurt him often enough, but this was maybe too close to the bone. He would claim her if he thought it could have the faintest chance of spiting me. “Leave the girl alone, Ban.”

“It is none of your business what I do with her. She is beneath you,” he spat.

“If you wish to marry a commoner with nothing but a welp and the scraps on her back to recommend her, be my guest.” I pulled at a sleeve, straightening it with affected disengagement. “I thought you better than that.”

Banrillen curled a lip, closing the distance to me. He lifted his thick finger at my chest. “No, you think you are better than that. Don’t inflict your nature on me, brother.”

I levelled him with a stare. There was a warning in my eyes, one I rarely used. “You cannot control something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Banrillen spat on the floor, the spittle clinging to his beard. He glared at me with a ferocity rivalling the noon sun’s glare. He could have me on the floor within seconds if he chose to start a fist fight. He was huge, and enough of it was muscle to overpower me without a blade.

But we were outside, and so was she . He would not risk it, not when Chaethor was nearby.

All I had to do was glance to the sky, and his expression shifted.

He took a step back. “That’s what you think.”

I rolled my shoulders. “Do as you please. Throw away your hand for a tribal girl. It is your life.”

Then I turned away from him and put my hands into my pockets. My steps were slow and languid, and I whistled a silly bard’s tune about churning butter. To any onlookers, I was a prince enjoying a stroll through the gardens with nary a care in the world .

But my heart was skipping every third beat, and my pockets hid my shaking hands. I had to hope my brother was not serious.

I would wish any banner lord on Tanidwen before him. I wonder if Septillis realised what he had done: what my brother could do. I would have to find some way to warn her, if he was truly ambitious enough to try. She deserved better than our family, and far better than the Wragg.