The Book of Terrus: The Wise and Powerful

Chapter 16 - A Heart of Stone

OoOoO

Beauty was an integral part of Hithon's life. As the crown prince of the entire world as he knew it, only the best and purest of all things were allowed to enter his sphere. The cloth from which Hithon's rose-red doublet was stitched was the finest that the northern weavers could make, his breakfast cooked by the top chefs in Amenthere from only the freshest eggs and southern fruits. The prince's companions, tutors and guards were likewise of only the highest caliber, whether their skills lay in etiquette, singing, or swordplay. Sometimes Hithon wished it were not always so.

            Make no mistake; he knew that such a charmed life was both his privilege and his place. But still, Hithon remembered a time when he was very small and had had both a mother and a father that his parents had taken him north to visit his Vaelonese grandparents. Vaelona had been even more beautiful than Castle Armathain, if that were possible. What had enthralled Hithon most though had been the journey between the two.

            Their carriage and escort had passed farmyards, roadside stalls and inns, none of which were perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Fence posts leant towards one another on an angle, sagging wearily from lack of straightening. Hithon remembered asking his mother why the fences were built so. Queen Gwynnis had laughed and tossed her long mane of strawberry-blonde curls, amused by her young son's naiveté. Hithon still remembered how the sunlight used to catch his mother's green eyes, making them sparkle like the waters in the castle fountains.

            It was beside one of those fountains which Hithon now sat. The gardens of Castle Armathain covered not only the palace grounds, but also part of the castle walls themselves. Multiple tiers and terraces connected by ornate walkways decorated the lower walls, crawling green up the white limestone like ivy.

Hithon liked the fifth and highest garden the best. From here he had the best view of the wider city from over the palace walls. Granted, he could get an even better view from his rooms inside Castle Armathain, but being outside made it feel like he was somehow closer to that busy buzzing maze of humanity. Someday, when he was king, Hithon decided he wanted to spend all of his free time out there. He wondered what it would be like to meet and play with street urchins his age, rather than the intimidatingly poised children of Amenthere's nobles. Girls like Lady Genevierre who knew their dance steps so well always made Hithon feel somehow small, prince though he was. Would the children of the everyday folk think him intimidating too? Or perhaps, if he offered to share his vast collection of expensive books, musical instruments and games, they might like him and welcome him to join their perfectly ordinary circles.

Imaginings like this sometimes came to Hithon, prompting him to hide away from his tutors' calls for a while. It was only a matter of time before they remembered the terrace gardens; one of his favorite hiding places. Hithon took full advantage of the time to himself by going in search of the mundane.

Remembering the empty birds' nest he had found amongst the sweet mock orange shrubs, he ducked around the edge of the neatly manicured hedge and into its branches. The last remnants of early summers' white blossoms easily scattered their petals onto his head and shoulders as he brushed past them. Past the outer shell of prettiness, Hithon found the darker, tangled heart of the hedges. Here he could risk catching his clothes on a stray branch, or even encountering a spiders' web strung with cocooned insects. It was cool and crowded and earthy smelling; exactly what Hithon had been craving without knowing what to ask for.

"Prince Hithon...Your Grace?"

The voice of his economics tutor came from the castle doorway leading off the garden. So the strict old grasshopper had finally thought to look for him here. A sudden streak of mischief seized Hithon, and he turned aside his better instinct to come out and declare himself. Instead, he nestled into the scratchy heart of the mock oranges even further, taking care not to rustle the leaves around him.