Figurehead

forty-four

"When did he arrive?" I ask as we walk, him leading the way through narrower passages that used to be walked only by the serving and Escatin family. Now the serving don't spend as much time in the palace, trying to find their places in Anshakim's city or outskirting farms.

He sighs. "The day after you were attacked, he showed up before first light." His jaw clenches. "Practically dragged in by his guards, he was completely drunk. Threw up as soon as he entered his bedroom." He shakes his head. "He'd been writing to me, you know that?" He turns and looks me in the eye, his gaze intense and pained. "He sounded fine. Sober." His grip on my waist tightens again, his fingers pressing on my bruises. I wince. "Nothing like the man I saw yesterday."

I bring my hand up to his and peel his fingers off my side, bringing us to a stop. He stares at me, a touch of horror in his eyes. "I'm alright," I say quietly.

He cradles my head in his hands, lowering his forehead to touch mine. "I'm sorry," he says, closing his eyes briefly. "I can't- I don't want to hurt you. Ever." He inhales sharply. "I don't-" he breaks off, opening his eyes.

I touch his cheek. "Dein, of course we'll hurt each other, emotionally. That's to be expected." His eyebrows furrow but he doesn't disagree. "It's alright." I give him a soft smile. "I'm alright. I understand."

He sighs. "Still.."

I roll my eyes. "Enough, Dein. I'm alright and you didn't hurt me." He opens his mouth and I sigh, speaking before he can. "Enough." I pull back.

He doesn't smile but he doesn't protest further, looping his arm around my shoulders instead. He exhales. "Alright," he says finally. He hesitates as we resume walking. "You and Tui visited on the way to Deritri, right?" I answer him with a reluctant nod. He takes a breath. "He wasn't sober, was he?" His voice is flat.

I sigh heavily. "I visited twice. Once with Tui on the way to Deritri, and once on the way back." I grimace at the memories of both meetings, one worse than the other. I force my fists not to clench.

"What happened?" he asks, voice low. Cautious. Wary.

I bite my lip. "I'll tell you later," I say finally.

We turn down the hall in silent tension. I can tell he's not happy with my answer. A little angry, a little scared for what I might have to say about his afa. And there's definite reluctance when we pass into a wider hallways and come to a stop before three guards, Puit in the centre. My jaw clenches at the sight of him.

Seeing that and seeing the way Puit eyes me, Dein's hand tightens around me. "We're here to see my afa," he says. His voice is unreadable, his face a mask, although a touch of anger laces his words and clenches his jaw.

Puit runs his grey gaze up and down before he and the others move out of the way, and I suppress the urge to shudder. I also suppress the urge to punch him in the face as we pass. I'm not supposed to hate people, am I? But here I am, trying not to hate the former king and one of his guards. I heave an inward sigh.

Sorry, Lord. Forgive me.

The doors thunder behind us.

The front room is bare, except for the firepit in its centre, and that's empty too. The door to the bedroom is open, and from where we stand, we can see Jur sitting on his bed, back against the wall. In front of him on the bed is a pile of parchments, some of which he holds in his hands.

"Ready?" I murmur, glancing at Jur's youngest son.

Dein takes a deep breath, lowering his head to mine and closing his eyes before kissing my forehead and left cheek. He straightens, removing his arm from around my shoulders and taking my left hand in his right instead. He presses his lips together, glancing through the open doorway at the man who is his afa and must know we're here. "Let's go," he mutters. I squeeze his hand.