My companion grins, as if he guesses my thoughts. ‘You’re extremely valuable, Your Grace. Dead or alive.’
Bastard. I push the roll of paper away and lean back against the cushions. ‘And what’s the other way? You said there were two ways in which I’m a target.’
‘Well, you may be a target for those who seek not a reallocation of power, but to tear down the whole rotten edifice entirely.’
‘There are such people?’
‘Yes. Among the flightless, and even a few among the nobility. Rebels, who would free the ruled by removing those who rule them.’
‘But that’s not fair! You know the changes my parents introduced in Atratys. Schools for the poorer flightless children, and the free infirmary at Hithe –’
‘All well and good. But if you lose control of the dominion, if you’re replaced by someone who wants only to exploit … You’ve seen the people of this area. There’s no hope left in them.’
We left Atratys behind more than a day ago and are now passing through the Dominion of Brithys; the rumours I’d heard did not prepare me for the wretched state of the villages along the road. I remember the blank gazes of a flightless family we passed this morning, standing outside a cottage with unglazed windows and half the thatch missing from the roof. The children didn’t even have any shoes.
Lucien shakes his head and looks out of the coach. ‘Why do you think these roads are so bad?’
I frown, following his gaze, wondering at the change of subject. ‘I don’t know. Are they especially bad?’
‘Yes. Full of ruts, without proper surfacing … They’re barely roads at all. Not compared to the roads in Frianland. But nothing is done to fix them, because nobles so rarely travel by road. And the flightless don’t count.’
For couple of minutes neither of us speaks. Half of me wants to shut the conversation down, to order him into another coach. But I just can’t help myself. ‘You’re a noble too.’ I drag the family tree nearer. ‘And we’re related: your name is here, just like mine. You’re part of this … rotten edifice you seem to despise. And I actually know someone who is flightless. Letya and I spend most of our time together. I rely on her –’
‘She tells you what to do?’
‘Of course not. But I like having her near me.’
‘Like a pet?’
I feel the anger flaming into my face. ‘I won’t have you speak of her like that. She’s my best friend.’
‘Really? So did you ask Letya whether she wanted to leave Merl and come with you to court? Do you ever ask what she wants, instead of issuing an order and just expecting it to be obeyed?’
‘Do you ask Turik?’
‘He is my servant, and I don’t pretend otherwise. It seems to me that Letya is neither one thing nor another. I pity her.’
Is it anger, or guilt, that makes me itch to slap his handsome face? ‘At least I know better than to touch Letya or any other flightless without asking permission.’ My mention of his behaviour at the beach makes him blush. I push on. ‘Why are you here, Lucien? You obviously despise me. Why not let me go to court alone, let me make some mistake that will get me killed? You seem to regret not killing me when you had the chance.’
‘Stop being so dramatic. I don’t despise you; I hate what you stand for. What we stand for. But I –’ He breaks off, begins to put away the family tree. ‘There are plenty of people who might do a worse job than you. For the sake of everyone who lives in our dominion, I’m going to try to keep you alive.’
Until when? Until he decides I’m no longer useful?
He’s staring at me, his dark eyes full of shadow in the dim light, as if he’s trying to see inside my head. Or perhaps he just expects me to be grateful for his forbearance.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
At least we’re lucky with the weather. Most of the next week is sunny, and we travel quickly over the dry ground. I spend some more time studying the family tree, trying to memorise names and relationships, though Lucien won’t tell me much about the people I’m shortly to meet. He says I’ll remember the details better after I’ve seen them in the flesh. His silence makes me nervous, and I wonder what he is trying to conceal. Occasionally I ask him about family history, probing for information that might help me find out who killed my mother, but he either doesn’t have the answers I’m looking for, or doesn’t want to tell me. The rest of the time – as much time as I can stand – he teaches me about the intricate conventions governing behaviour at court. For instance, as a lower-ranking noble, Lucien should not address me without express permission. I don’t trouble to conceal my pleasure at that particular rule.
When we’re not studying, Lucien and I contrive to ignore each other by reading. Lucien, I discover, prefers novels, while I work my way through a book on astronomy. Trying to understand some of the mathematical concepts is a welcome distraction, though one which proves less and less effective as we get nearer to the court. I find I cannot concentrate. The Citadel and its inhabitants cast an ever longer shadow across my mind, feeding my doubts about the wisdom of my decision, eating away at my confidence. But we’ve entered the Crown Estates; I can’t turn back now even if I want to. I don’t mention my worries to Lucien. Instead I spend some of my time just watching him read; he smiles more, forgets to glower. Observing him passes the time quite pleasantly, until one morning when he catches me staring and I force myself to stop.
I’ve brought a travelling Battle set with me. We play twice – both times I win, capturing Lucien’s eagle – before my companion tells me he doesn’t particularly care for the game.
So we go on, peacefully, if not comfortably, until our luck runs out. The weather changes. Sunshine is replaced by rain, coming down in sheets, slowing our progress to a crawl as the carriage wheels and the horses become mired in mud. Eventually we stop, stuck fast.
Lucien puts aside his book and glares out of the window, cursing under his breath. He’s craning his neck round from his backwards-facing seat, trying to see the road ahead, but I’m not about to invite him to my side of the coach. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on the pages of my book, trying to concentrate on a description of the elliptical motion of the planets, until the muttering reaches such a pitch that I can no longer pretend to ignore it.
‘Is there something you wish to say, Lord Rookwood?’
He turns on me. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘The weather? It’s annoying, certainly, but hardly ridiculous, given the time of year. Crex is often a rainy month.’
‘You know very well what I mean. We should be flying.’
I take a deep breath, gripping my book tightly. ‘I know your feelings on the subject. You made them quite clear that day you were talking to your father in the library.’
He scowls at me. ‘I thought only children or the flightless eavesdropped on other people’s conversations.’
‘I wasn’t eavesdropping,’ I retort, unable to stop myself, ‘and if I was, it’s your fault for talking so loudly.’
‘You don’t have to justify your behaviour to me. You obviously don’t care what I think –’