Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 71

“You never know. I never thought I would be sitting here, in a palace parlor, talking to a man like you.”

“A thief?”

“A friend.”

He shifts in his seat, as if the word makes him uncomfortable. Truth be told, I’m not so comfortable with it myself, but the respect and warmth I feel for him can be described in no other way.

The door opens, admitting a plump, pleasant-looking woman with rosy cheeks and bright eyes that crinkle at the corners when she smiles. The garment around her shoulders is decorated with colorful flowers, much like the blooming trees around the hot springs on Ouroskelle. She wears a dark brown dress, and a woven bag hangs at her hip, its strap crossing her body.

“I’m Lady Cathrain. Knocked your head, have you?” she says cheerfully. “Let’s have a look, then. No, no, don’t get up, boys. Stay comfortable. I’ll just check the Prince’s pate.”

Her fingertips sink into my hair and press against my skull in various places. “I don’t feel any surface fractures. Let’s go a bit deeper.”

“There’s really no need.” I begin to rise, but she clucks her tongue and pushes against my shoulder. “Now, now, be a good prince. Hold still.”

Her fingers travel the entire surface of my skull, including my temples, the tender spots beneath my ears, and the corners of my lower jaw. Barely breathing, I wait for her to speak.

“Too much tension,” she says at last. “That’s the only thing physically wrong with you.” She takes her hands from my hair. “Brain injuries can be tricky things, difficult for healers to detect. And it’s always possible that you’re suffering from a sickness you picked up during your voyage. Let’s see if I missed anything.”

Lady Cathrain picks up my hand and pricks the tip of my index finger with a tiny tubular needle. Blood blooms from the spot, and the little tube fills with a few scarlet drops. She holds it up to a ray of light from the window.

“The color of your blood looks good. Open up, there’s a good lad.” She sets the tube aside and taps my lips with a small, flat stick.

I glance sidelong at Meridian. He doesn’t look happy, but he nods, so I open my mouth. The healer presses the stick down on my tongue, then sweeps it along the inside of my cheeks.

“Well, Your Highness, you seem to be in excellent health,” she says. “Any lingering memory issues or pain should clear up in a couple of days. But you’ll receive the best of care as long as you’re visiting us. The servants can bring whatever you need, and they know where to find me if your symptoms grow worse.” Her eyes fix on mine, warm and earnest, and she says, more quietly, “If you’re in any trouble, please know that I keep an open mind and an open door to all those who need mending.”

With a polite curtsy, she gathers her things and bustles out of the room.

“Well, that’s over,” mutters Meridian, swinging his legs off the sofa. “Went better than I expected, honestly.”

I’m hardly listening, because the healer’s words gave me an idea. “Can we order anything we want from the palace kitchens?”

“I suppose so. That’s what the servants said when they showed us our suite.”

“Could I order something to be sent to a different room? One that isn’t mine?”

“You could try.” He shrugs.

I heave myself out of the deep chair. “Soon I’ll need to switch forms for another few hours, but before that, there’s something I want to do.”

22

After my tryst with Kyreagan, I don’t return to my bedroom immediately. The chance to wander the palace without guards or servants is too good an opportunity to miss. So I take less-traveled paths down to the first floor, on the west side of the palace, and I follow the corridor that leads to the conservatory.

About halfway down that hall is a pair of enameled double doors leading to the music room. They’re never locked, so I slip inside, into cool gray gloom that smells faintly of rosin and horsehair and paper. The floor is a glossy chessboard of marble tiles, and gray statues stand between the cabinets that house the palace’s finest instruments.

My mother didn’t care much about music unless it was glorifying her or stirring up Elekstan’s soldiers into a victorious frenzy. This collection of instruments began with her father, my grandfather—a man I never met. I added a few pieces here and there, like the case of Oxian flutes in the cabinet across the room.

Though I can pick out simple tunes on most instruments, I’m an expert at none of them, except perhaps the piano. I can play any instrument flawlessly in my mind, though, and I can hear exactly how its unique sound would fit into a composition.

Slowly I pace from cabinets to shelves to drawers, experiencing a soft thrill every time I see an instrument lying unharmed in its usual resting place. Even the big leather cases at the far end of the room still contain their instruments. Nothing in this space has been damaged or moved, and the knowledge heals me a little inside.

A limited supply of sheet music resides on the shelves of the music room, but none of my own compositions are among them. I was always very private about my music. Didn’t like sharing it. Maybe I was insecure—afraid of my mother’s mockery. Maybe I was reluctant to draw more attention to myself. Or maybe I was simply terrified that none of my music was any good.

My fingers travel the brassy curve of a huge, bell-like tuba, and I press its keys gently before closing the case and latching it. My ears are hungry for music, and my fingers itch to play the piano in the center of the room, but I can’t risk being overheard. So I open a shallow drawer and take a pipe from its velvet bed. This pipe is a whispernaught, with a soft, muted sound. Just the thing.

I tuck myself into the shadows behind a large cabinet and sit cross-legged on the floor. Fitting the pipe to my lips, I begin to play nothing in particular… any combination of notes that comes to mind.