The Unwritten King

11. Halcifer School of Magic

A minute of privacy was too much to ask for, but all things considered, this was pretty okay. Steaming sun over his face, icy water curling over the rest of him, and the incomplete silence of the valley to keep him company.

"– and then he said, he said to me, that I ruined his goldenrods. I made them pink! There are scarce few things in this world that would be ruined by becoming pink. He is so– ungrateful!"

It was a very incomplete silence.

"Works me like an ox and then complains when I add a touch of myself, as if I'm not infused into every root, every cell of his ugly garden!"

"Mhm," droned Nicholas, drawing a sudsy rag over his chest. He thought the garden looked nice. Whatever Malik had made this soap from was decidedly pleasant.

"I'm going to– I'm going to– whither his foxgloves! He won't feel so big and bad then."

"Oh wow."

"Maybe I'll grind some into his dinner."

"Hmm."

"Are you even listening?" Adrian complained from deeper water, where he floated on his back with everything bared. Nicholas faced away. Apparently no one in this world had any hang-ups around nudity. "I just threatened to kill a man."

"Mhm," hummed Nicholas, and Adrian wailed.

"Count yourself lucky for that pretty face, stalker. I do not like to be ignored."

Nicholas ducked his burning cheeks beneath the water.

"I might just believe that rotten king made you his prisoner. At least that way I can blame it on trauma. You poor thing, he must have done a number on you."

Nicholas touched the raised scabs on his cheek where Yasmin's rings had cut him. They were, he realized, the only scars he'd taken away from the whole ordeal.

"Actually," Nicholas said, "he didn't do much at all."

Or at least he hadn't, until he sent Nicholas off under the pretense of release, only to bug his bag with an eavesdropping charm to monitor his every word. So much for the kindness of his heart, Nicholas thought resentfully.

Water rippled his way as Adrian shifted. "Wash my back," he said, very princely." When Nicholas was nearly behind him, he sheepishly added, "Please. Sorry." But Nicholas couldn't blame him. Malik had been working Nicholas like a servant; veggies to be cooked, every corner of the house to be cleaned. With Adrian handling the garden and the hunt and Nicholas playing the housemaid, Malik was free to watch the entire day pass from his chair in the garden, the spitting image of the old recluse inside his soul.

"I'll tell you what he did," Adrian huffed at the first touch of the rag. He told Nicholas about things he already knew – the Interran ship that mysteriously sank right off the harbor, the severed beams that collapsed a terrane mine and killed nine of his people. The sickness that had been spreading, slowly but surely, through Interran cattle – the farmers called it a disease, diagnosable by the hot blush red that spread over the animal's tongue. But Adrian had found a crumpled petal near an infected pasture, and he'd scoured the archives for every book on poisons he could find. Charlatan's Oleander, a flower that only bloomed ruby red on the shore of the lake that bordered al-Narin.

"He will either kill us slowly or incite a war." Adrian spoke slow and short of breath. "Nobody believes me."

Nicholas already had his hands on Adrian's shoulders. So it was only natural, the placating squeeze of his fingers over the tight-wound muscle near the prince's neck. "I believe you."