LOGIN"I'm going," I told him.It was the night before. I'd found him in the corridor outside the library, which had never been on any route of his, and he had the look of a man who'd been walking for an hour so as not to arrive somewhere. He stopped when he saw me. He stood very straight, with the scroll of the invitation rolled in one fist."You don't have to.""It would be a grave discourtesy to decline.""I can think of worse.""So can I." I kept my voice even. "But if I stay behind, they'll say I'm afraid. And if I'm afraid, they'll have something. I'd rather not hand it to them."His jaw tightened. For a moment I thought he'd argue. In the end he only looked at the floor, and said, very low, "Then you'll stay beside me. The whole day. Not a step away.""As you wish, Your Highness."It was the sixth time that week I'd said it. I watched it land. I didn't take it back.---The King's forest began where the castle's last wall ended.It was a great grey-green place, old beyond saying, wit
He stepped back.It was only a pace. In the narrow tower room it felt like crossing a river. The dark fell between them, thick and wet and full of the smell of rain, and Adrian stood with his hand still raised in the air where her face had been, as though it belonged to someone else.*What are you doing?*The question went through him cold and clear, in a voice he knew very well. It was his father's. It was the one he'd heard all his life, reading the elders across a council table. *What do you want, Adrian? What does it cost?*He lowered his hand."That was the storm," he said.His voice came out steady. He was distantly proud of that. It was the voice he used for treaties and funerals, level and dry, and it had never once failed him."The storm," said Lily."It does odd things. The air. The light." He turned toward the shutters, because he couldn't look at her. "I forgot myself. I apologise. It won't happen again."Silence.He listened to the rain. He listened to her breathing, quic
"Come with me," Adrian said.The thunder had rolled on past, grumbling, and the rain was coming down in a solid grey sheet. He still had hold of my arm. I don't think he'd noticed."Where?""The east tower. It has the best window in the castle for this." He let go, quickly, as if he'd touched a hot kettle. "She always went up there. I haven't, in a long time.""Because of her?""Because of the weather." A flicker at the corner of his mouth. "Don't ask me to be consistent. I've had a poor week."I'd meant to say no. The guards would object, and there were a hundred reasons, and none of them were any good. I put the book down on my pillow, took my shawl, and followed him out.The guards fell in behind us in the corridor, and Adrian said, without turning his head, "You'll wait at the foot of the stairs. The Princess will be quite safe." Not one of them argued. I'd noticed that about him. When he used that voice, people simply stopped arguing, as if the idea had never occurred to them.Th
I'd folded the coat three times by morning.It sat on the arm of the chair by the window, grey light across the collar, and I'd looked at it so often I could have drawn every seam. The key lay on top, on its faded ribbon. I'd put it there at three in the morning and hadn't touched it since.I hadn't slept. I hadn't expected to.At nine there was a knock. Not the polite double rap of a servant. One knock, short and hard, like somebody who'd decided in the corridor to do it quickly before he could change his mind."Come in."Adrian stood in the doorway.He was dressed. Shirt, waistcoat, collar fastened to the throat. He'd shaved. But there were shadows under his eyes the colour of old bruises, and he held himself the way you hold a full cup. Carefully. A parcel wrapped in brown paper was tucked under one arm.The guards were out of sight beyond him. He closed the door."You left this," I said.I picked up the coat and held it out. He crossed the room and took it, and for a moment neithe
"Fear," Adrian said again, as though he were tasting the word."Yes.""A man put his hands on my mother, and you want to talk to me about fear.""That isn't what I said.""It's what you meant." His voice wasn't loud. That was what frightened me. It was low, and level, and very cold, and every word came out already cut to size. "They brought her home covered. I stood in a passage and my father held my shoulders and told me to remember. And you stand there in my coat, in my house, and tell me the people who did it were *frightened.*""I'm not excusing it.""Then what are you doing?""Refusing to hate every one of them for it." I kept my hands on the rail. They were shaking, and I hated that. "Adrian. I'm not saying it didn't matter. I'm saying that if you burn the whole world down for one man's crime, you'll have burned down everybody who never did it.""Everybody who never did it." A short, dry laugh. "How very reasonable. How very *human.*""Don't.""You'd say it, of course. You'd say
I didn't say I was sorry. It's what everyone says, and I'd learned that it never fits.I stood there in his coat, with the cold stone under my feet, and waited. After a while he let out a long breath, as though something had been tied tight around his chest for years and he'd just felt it shift."I was twelve," he said."Tell me.""It's very short. That's the worst of it." His eyes were fixed on the dark towers across the court. "She went out one morning. She often did. She didn't say where, and I didn't ask. I was reading in the window seat when she left. She touched my hair on the way past." His mouth moved. "She had a way of doing that. As if she were checking I was still there."I said nothing."She didn't come back that night. Or the next. On the third day they brought her home." A pause. "She was covered. I wasn't allowed to see.""Who told you?""My father." His voice stayed perfectly level. "He knelt in front of me in the passage outside the nursery. He held my shoulders. And







