The Firethorn Crown (13 page)

Once there, she crossed to the second room and climbed the narrow, winding stairs to the top where court records were kept, an area she and Eben frequented rarely over the years. He preferred histories, especially stories about the soldier-king. Guessing at the correct year, she took down a volume and hefted it to one of the tables. No cozy leather chairs here. Eben dragged a stool over for her. She sat and flipped through the pages, not sure exactly what she was looking for. Something mentioning Makar, or Rasmus, or the sorcerer whose name she still didn’t know.

Half an hour passed. She moved on to a second volume. Nothing.

Normally, her silence with Eben in the library was comfortable, but this was heavy, like the books she waded through. He must find her behavior odd lately. And hurtful. Maybe he even thought she had finally figured out her place, which was not to hobnob with the lower classes. “The Future Common Queen” some called her. It didn’t bother her. Not really. Did it bother Eben? Did he think it mattered to her?

He sneezed. “Not exactly light reading.”

She might as well give up for the day. She flipped idly through a few more pages, recognized a couple of names, and kept going. There was Father’s name—a record of his birth. She scanned down further. Names, judgments, events.

Wait. There.

Request for asylum from a northern princess for herself, her husband, and her father-in-law. The princess and gentlemen disappeared before the request could be granted or denied. Search and inquiry undertaken.
Someone had added in the margins,
No sign of refugees. Presumed
fled.

So, that part of Tharius’s story was true. She read it again, flipped a few pages ahead. There was nothing more.

Always alert, Eben noticed her change in mood. She stared into his eyes, willing him to understand, but it was no use. She closed the book, her finger still marking the passage, and then paused. She looked back up. He still watched her. She looked at the book, and then quickly back at him a few times. She was afraid to point, not knowing just when the strange curse might interpret her actions as speaking. Watching him carefully, she opened the book slowly and tried to guide his gaze to the pages.

It worked. He came closer and looked at the page. She snatched her pencil from the satchel and marked the passage she’d just read with a small dot. Eben’s eyes widened—they both knew never to write in library books—but he read the passage silently.

“I don’t understand.”

She didn’t dare try to underline even one word. Instead, she drew a goose in the margin, hoping Eben would catch on that way. Orin was from the north. Maybe he would know something.

Eben frowned in confusion. Probably at what she was trying to say, but also at how she was trying to say it. “Does this have something to do with Orin?”

She shook her head.

“You think Orin knows something about this?”

He was a genius. She nodded and clutched his arm. He looked at her hands in surprise, and she let go quickly.

“Wait.” He tore the page from the record book and closed it with a thump.

Lily let out the breath she’d been holding, thankful that Eben now realized how serious this was.

Chapter Thirteen

L
ily and Eben wove through back alleys, away from the swelling crowds, keeping a respectable speed so as not to draw attention. Once they reached the dirt road, Lily congratulated herself on avoiding Runson. Two minutes later, they met him riding from the direction of The Tree and scurried off the road to avoid being run over.

He reined his horse around. “Lily!”

His surprised face could use some work. She let Eben place himself between her and Runson’s skittish mount. She didn’t need to add
trampled
to her list of problems.

“No time to talk.” He swiveled his head to keep his eyes on her as his horse turned. “I’ll see you soon.”

Not if she could help it.

He grinned and spared a glance for Eben before addressing her again. “This must be an exciting time for you, announcing your betrothal at The Starlight Ball.”

Eben made an odd coughing noise, but his face remained stoic.

Great. Now Eben thought she was marrying Runson. She’d rather be trampled right now; it would probably be less painful. She wanted to explain so badly, but she couldn’t, and Runson wouldn’t, and Eben wouldn’t ask.

Runson said something, but she walked away. She’d given him more than enough time to talk. He laughed.

How dare he find amusement in this! She’d had enough. She ran, the dress light enough not to slow her down, and it felt good. Let Runson interpret that however he wanted. Hopefully, Eben would pick up that she didn’t want to be near the man. Unless he misunderstood it as embarrassment on her part, fleeing from an awkward situation.

Eben kept pace with her easily, but when they slowed to a walk at the field, he limped the last few steps. She hardly noticed his old injury anymore. Her eyes filled, and she sniffed loudly. She pulled out Eben’s frayed handkerchief and dabbed at her face. All she did lately was cause him pain.

True greeted them with a honk and then returned to snipping grass. Their rushed entrance hadn’t bothered the other geese.

“Good morning.” Orin stood, shading his eyes from the early sun. He frowned when he saw the state they were in. “Are you two all right?”

Lily shrugged, sighed, rolled her eyes. How did you convey
no
, without inviting questions? She flopped onto the grass, breathing hard. Eben limped over and sat on the boulder.

“We’re fine,” Eben said. “Her Highness needed a run.”

She liked how he said that. Maybe he understood more than she thought.

The breeze cooled her skin, worked its way under her braid. She took her sketchbook out and drew an outline of True.

“You sure you’re okay?” Orin indicated Eben’s leg. “Looks like you might have gotten into it with some geese.”

“Geese?”

“I’ve limped a time or two after making one of them angry.”

“Oh, no, this is an old injury.” He patted his thigh. “Shows itself from time to time.”

Orin threw himself down on the grass in front of Lily. “You were a dragon soldier before, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, did a dragon get you?”

“Sort of.” Eben shifted on the boulder.

Orin pulled grass and wove the blades together, waiting. “I need details.”

Eben chuckled. “First time, a horse broke it. Second time, a pit dragon.”

“Ouch. I’ve never seen one of those.”

“You wouldn’t, so far north. They need sand for their pits.”

“So you slid into a pit, and . . . ?”

“It was a small dragon. Had a hard time dragging me into the air. Someone shot it down before it flew too high, but I landed wrong. Re-broke the leg.”

He’d also crushed two ribs, and the dragon’s claw had left a jaw-line scar running from his ear to his chin. Most people wouldn’t notice it, but Lily had watched it heal day by day as he lay in the palace infirmary.

She added the finishing touches to True’s picture while the boys discussed dragons and soldier politics. Eben seldom talked about his job. After recovering from his second injury, he’d been granted a place in the palace guard by King Brido, and he’d worked his way up to become one of the youngest royal guards in history.

Orin finished weaving a tiny green circle and tried to put it over True’s head. It didn’t fit. “Fat goose. It’s a crown, then.” He placed it carefully, while True held still, her neck extended. Who knew geese could be regal? She flapped majestically, and then the crown became a snack.

Lily bit her cheek, determined not to be run off today with the threat of laughter.

She sketched idly as the boys chatted, watching the geese and a handful of speckled starlings. The Weaver’s Maze took shape under her pencil, and she paused. She didn’t want to draw anything in the undergarden, but the maze would be okay.

“This is my best side.” Orin presented his profile. “You’re drawing me now, right?”

Grinning, she obliged and flipped to a clean page.

“You could make me taller, if you want. Add a few muscles.” He flexed his arms. “Maybe a sword, a damsel in distress, and a dragon or two.”

She flourished her hand to indicate her acceptance of his request.

“Excellent. I’ll sleep . . . uh . . . pose right here, then.” He folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes. “Wake me when you’re done.”

If she had Ruby’s or Wren’s talent, the sketch would have taken much longer. She didn’t bother to wake him, but flipped back to the maze picture, penciling in the mirror and trying to capture what she’d seen reflected in it. She couldn’t fit in much detail. Her stomach grumbled, and she pulled out her lunch. True settled by her leg and pecked at the corner of the book.

“Looks nothing like me.”

Lily jumped, her pencil tracing a startled line across the paper. She’d lost track of time again.

“Sorry. It’s good, really.”

Eben watched over her shoulder, too. She swallowed nervously. Would he think this one of her fanciful creations? He hadn’t actually seen the mirror.

“What is it?” Orin asked.

“It’s the Weaver’s Maze,” Eben said.

“Ah. I hear it’s creepy.”

“Not really.” Eben stared intently at the page. “Just overgrown and dark.”

“Sounds creepy enough to me.”

Eben traced his finger along the mirror, nearly blotting it out. “Is this what the girls saw the other day?”

She nodded.

“Did you see it, too?”

Yes, again. He almost had it—part of it. Quickly, she sketched an open book and a tiny goose, hoping to remind him of the page he’d taken from the library.

He took his time responding, rubbing his hand down his jaw. “Does this mirror have something to do with the northern princess?”

“What northern princess?” Orin asked.

Eben gave him the page from the records book, explaining Lily’s search and pointing to the passage she’d marked. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Orin studied it, squinting like he needed reading glasses. “It doesn’t say what kingdom they were from. Or when they went missing.”

“It was just after King Brido was born.”

“Frits isn’t know for sorcerers. Could they have come from Sotan?”

“Maybe.”

“I can ask around.”

It might not be good idea for people to know she wanted information about a sorcerer.

Orin picked up on her reluctance. “Discreetly, of course.”

“Do it,” Eben said.

“Of course,” Orin said again, and then he ran off to take care of a goose squabble.

Eben paced. “I’ll ask around, too.” He stopped in front of her. “Whatever’s going on, Lily, you can count on me to help. You know that, right?”

She nodded and ducked her head, tears stinging her eyes as she packed her things. She needed Eben’s help to break her curse, but how could she say words to him that she had trouble admitting to herself? She had no guarantee that he would return them, even if he felt the same. His duty came first.

The sun hadn’t sunk low enough to signal her return to the palace, but she didn’t care. She was taking both of the boys with her; she wanted to see their reactions to whatever the twins had painted. It was time to trust her friends.

If nothing else, Eben was her friend.

Orin rounded up the geese and joined them without comment. Lily and Eben helped herd the birds into their shed at The Tree.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Orin asked.

Lily shook her head and tugged on his arm, indicating for him to come with her.

“You want me to come to the palace?” He looked from her to Eben, who shrugged.

She smiled.

“Should I change?”

She shook her head.

He offered his arm properly, and she took it.

Eben followed, wearing the unreadable expression of a royal guard.

*

The tower guards let them into the sitting room. Eben stopped at the threshold. He’d been in briefly over the years to deliver things, or people, like Wren the previous night, but none of the girls had ever
invited
him inside. Orin watched, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face.

Lily motioned for Eben to come in, but he didn’t move. She raised her eyebrows and gave him a pointed look.

He got it, but was slower to step through the door than she liked, so she let go of Orin’s arm and yanked him into the room. The nearest guard snorted, and she closed the door in his face.

Orin stood where she’d left him. He inspected the girly space and the princesses unabashedly, but his gaze returned each time like a magnet to Melantha, sitting on the floor in a nest of maps. Hazel and Junia sewed, and the twins painted by the window. Azure and Ivy played with a basket of kittens.

Hazel cleared her throat and nudged Melantha with her foot. They all knew who Orin was, but they hadn’t been properly introduced. Lily couldn’t do it.

Melantha stood, scattering maps. “Prince Orin of Gritton, may I introduce my sisters—Hazel, Junia, Ivy, Ruby, and Wren.” She waved to each girl in turn. “You know Azure.”

Azure saluted with a kitten, which Ivy quickly rescued.

Orin chuckled. “Pleased to meet you, and please call me
Orin
.”

Hazel’s eyebrows turned down just enough to let them know she wasn’t pleased with the casualness of the introduction.

Eben rubbed the back of his neck and then ran his thumb along the scar on his jaw. His gaze darted around the room but found nowhere to settle. Maybe she’d made a mistake by dragging him in. He’d said he would do whatever he could to help; but was it because he wanted to, or because he was a royal guard and thus duty-bound to help? She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t keep doubting the motives of her friends.

She motioned Hazel over and showed her the sketchbook.

Melantha approached Orin. “How’s Tr—did you have sweets before you came? Why didn’t you save us any?” She brushed crumbs off his tunic.

They’d shared sweet rolls on the way through the city. His face turned red, but he answered casually. “True is pining for you to visit, and I had no idea where your sister was leading me, or I would have brought you a basket of sweets.”

Melantha subsided, pacified.

“And another one for your sisters.”

“Hey!” She punched his arm.

Hazel studied the sketch of the maze and the mirror. “It’s . . .”

Lily took the book, and gave it to Eben. He glanced at the drawing and then at the two girls.

Hazel gasped. “He can see it. Nothing happened.”

Lily took the book back and pointed at the twins behind their easels.

“You want to show him?”

She let out a breath she’d been holding, relieved that Hazel understood.

Ruby and Wren laid their brushes down and moved away from the windows, eyes round with fear and excitement. Blacks and blues and greens spattered their smocks, evidence of the rush to capture their memories.

Lily motioned for the boys to join her. Hazel and Melantha followed and peered around their shoulders.

Ruby had painted dancers. A handful of shadow-people and a few white-haired courtiers smudged their way across the floor, while all twelve sisters almost leapt off the canvas. She’d paid special attention to the gowns, the gems and feathers, ribbons and textures. Coral’s red hair blazed, Hazel’s shined like gold in the candlelight, and Melantha’s copper locks twirled in a dance of their own.

She’d painted a close-up of Lily and Tharius, but his eyes should have been dark brown, almost black. Ruby had made them yellow. Or maybe they reflected the candlelight—yellow paint tipped each of her thumbs.

A tiny figure with brown skin stood under a tree in the corner—Neylan must have told the girls about Bay. Surely Eben recognized her.

Wren’s painting consisted of a series of small scenes scattered haphazardly over the canvas. Dark flowers and thorns wrapped around and between the images. She’d done the maze where it turned into a tunnel, leaves blending into stone walls, a close-up of a caged candle, a panorama of the clearing with the giant oaks, and the gazebo. At the bottom edge, two hands placed a teardrop pendant around a slender neck. Wren hardly ever painted hands.

Lily shuddered at the unwelcome reminders intruding into the safety of their tower.

Orin’s gaze roamed back and forth between the two canvases, not focusing too long on anything. He glanced at the girls, too, taking in their reactions.

Eben studied both girls’ works, and then his eyes settled on the image of Tharius and Lily. After a significant pause, he visibly shook himself and studied her face. No comments. No questions.

“Well?” Ruby asked, finally.

“They’re very nice paintings,” Orin said. “You’re obviously talented. Both of you. My own sister has no interest in such things.”

The twins sighed in unison.

“What?” Orin said, alarmed. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” Hazel assured him.

“Are they trying to tell us something?” He studied the paintings again. “Like with Lily’s sketches, and the page from the records book. I’m just not sure what. Or why.”

“Look again!” Azure dumped a kitten in Ivy’s lap and ran over. “Keep looking! Study them. We ca—” She made an odd gurgling sound and fainted.

Orin caught her before she hit the floor and carried her to the couch.