‘A functioning blade, cousin. And I know how to use it.’
‘I’m sure, though I doubt it will help you here. What did you think of Patrus? Scintillating, isn’t he? And supposedly well ahead in the bidding.’
‘Bidding?’
‘For you.’ He laughs – at my expression of shock, I suppose. ‘It’s not phrased quite like that, of course. My father has let it be known that he thinks you ought to marry, and various interested parties have, quite coincidently, been moved to offer His Majesty certain lands, or treasures, or what have you.’
There’s a servant hovering nearby.
‘So thoughtful of my uncle, to concern himself with my future.’
‘Quite.’ Aron winces and shifts position slightly, as if the loss of his arm still pains him. ‘Of course, you could refuse. In theory.’ He stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. ‘Think of it from my father’s perspective. He was convinced you were flightless; it does happen, even in the best families. And Atratys is so very well endowed with natural resources and convenient harbours. To take Atratys from you and have it directly under the control of the crown would be desirable. But if that’s not possible, why not sell you to another Protector in return for one or two of your most important ports, or mines?’ Aron grins. ‘His logic, you must admit, is flawless.’
I grip the back of the sofa tightly with one hand. ‘So who else might I be sold to?’
‘Well –’ Aron scans the room, counting on his fingers – ‘of the five other dominions, you’ve met Patrus of Brithys. Olorys will be inherited by Siegfried Redwing. A brainless beauty, at least according to my father, but even if you want him you can’t have him: he’s betrothed to my sister. Grayling Wren is twenty and will inherit Fenian –’ he points at a slightly stooped young man hovering near the musicians – ‘but it’s a poor dominion, and his father is a wastrel. He probably can’t afford you. Lancorphys will be inherited by Nyssa, Lady Swifting – the woman on the other side of me at dinner. Nyssa is a chatterbox, though amusing in small doses. But even if you did like her,’ Aron continues, ‘Protectors have to marry so as to allow the possibility of producing children. Whatever your personal inclinations might be.’ He shoots me a questioning look, which I ignore. ‘And then there is Dacia. Protector Arden fancies himself a military genius, and he’s already married. Still, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if his rather unattractive wife met with an unfortunate accident now that he’s seen you.’ He pauses, observing my face. ‘Wishing you had stayed at home in Atratys, cousin?’
Panic rises in my chest as the prince watches me, head tilted, as if he is determined to force me to answer.
‘May I have something to drink? It’s very warm in here.’
Aron clicks his fingers at the nearest servant. ‘Iced cloudberry tonic for Her Grace.’ After a few moments she returns with a silver goblet. The liquid inside is cold, fragrant and slightly herby; a pleasant antidote to the soporific effect of the wine. My cousin is still silent.
‘My father wished me to come to court,’ I lie. ‘And if my uncle truly thought I was flightless, then it is just as well that I have proved I am not.’
Aron purses his lips. ‘You’ve proved you’re not flightless. You haven’t yet proved you can fly. I wouldn’t count your cygnets before they’ve hatched, cousin. You might still be disinherited.’
I grit my teeth, repressing the urge to pay the prince back for his needling by kicking him. But I can’t resist trying to wipe the smirk from his face. ‘And you would know all about that, of course. Tell me, cousin, did your father think about challenging the Decrees? Looking for a way around them? Or did he allow you to be cut out of the succession without so much as a second thought?’
For a moment Aron’s cheeks flush, and he narrows his green eyes. But his scowl dissolves into laughter. ‘A nice try, Protector. But I lost my arm two years ago. There aren’t many insults I haven’t already heard. Still, if you think of some new way of abusing me …’ He half shrugs. ‘The Elders spoke, and the Decrees are what they are.’
‘So I’ve been told, Your Highness.’ I sigh; there was just a trace of bitterness in his voice. Just enough to make me feel ashamed. ‘Have you found any other exercise you enjoy, instead of flying? I started to ride, after my mother’s death. It took me a long time to train a horse to carry me, but it was worth it. I have –’ An enormous yawn swallows the end of my sentence. ‘Forgive me; it’s several nights since I’ve slept in a proper bed.’
‘You were saying, you have a horse in the stables, named Henga.’ Aron smiles slightly. ‘There are no secrets in the Silver Citadel, Aderyn. And yes, I ride too. We will ride out together, once you’ve had a chance to settle in. But for now –’ Aron looks over my shoulder and his lips twist into something like a sneer – ‘Rookwood is trying to attract your attention. I hope your choice of horse is better than your choice of adviser.’ He rises and inclines his head – his eyes not leaving mine – before disappearing through the door onto the terrace.
One of the black-and-silver-clad servants is bowing to me. ‘Lord Rookwood wishes to approach Your Grace.’
The request makes me want to laugh, but I nod, trying to look dignified, and wait until the servant has walked Lucien to the sofa and gone away again.
‘Good evening, my lord. Did you enjoy the banquet?’
My clerk sits down without waiting to be asked. ‘Why didn’t you send for me? You know very well I can’t enter this part of the gallery without permission from you or somebody else.’
‘How was I supposed to know when you didn’t tell me?’
Lucien sniffs and crosses his arms. ‘You look haggard.’
I raise an eyebrow, staring at the dark shadows beneath his eyes. ‘I’m sure I’m not the only one. Are we allowed to leave?’
To my relief, he nods. Once I’ve bid goodnight to my uncle – he is deep in conversation and waves his hand at me vaguely – I am free to go.
Lucien accompanies me out of the gallery. There are Dark Guards stationed at intervals along the corridors, and servants going back and forth between rooms, so I wait until we are in my apartments to tell him what Aron said. He dismisses it.
‘He enjoys making people squirm, but he’s telling us nothing we didn’t already know.’ From the corner of his eye he glances at me. ‘My father and I have both spoken to you about the risks you face here, Your Grace. Aron uses his tongue as a weapon, but he doesn’t have any real power, not any more. And he’s nothing like his father.’
‘He seems to dislike almost everyone.’ I look up at Lucien to see the effect of my words. ‘He definitely doesn’t like you.’
My clerk shrugs. ‘There’s no particular reason why he should. Though truly, I pity him.’ Lucien is frowning, his gaze clearly fixed on some scene playing out in his head, and I wonder what exactly he is remembering. ‘Try to be pleasant to him, if you can. The purpose for which Aron was raised has been taken away from him. And a flightless noble is –’ He breaks off, blushing.