Ventillas realized this. He rose, barking orders at nearby soldiers. Men dressed in red and blue. An intermingling of royal soldiers and the city guard. At once, the crowds were pushed back. A perimeter surrounded Cas, Ventillas, and the baby, who was as heavy as a stone, weighed down by his water-soaked dress. The soldiers held their shields outward, overlapping. Cas heard the clink of metal on metal as he tried to comfort the prince, bouncing him around in his arms because what did he know about infants? He held the wet prince against his wet shoulder and flinched when the baby screamed directly into his ear.
Cas sympathized. “It’s no great fun being wet, I know,” he said soothingly, teeth chattering. “I’m as miserable as you. But we are brave men, Rayan’s son, Prince . . . Prince . . . What did they name you?”
One of the soldiers guarding the perimeter laughed. An older man, craggy-faced and burly, dressed in red. Captain Lorenz was his brother’s second-in-command. He called out, “His name is Ventillas! The next king of Oliveras will be named for your brother. Lord Cassia, you are a sight for these old eyes!”
Ventillas produced a cloak out of nowhere and flung it over Cas’ shoulders. In a low voice, barely heard over the screaming, he said, “Three years, Cassia. I hardly recognized you . . . Where have you been?”
His answer would have to wait. There came the rattle of a carriage, the clomp and neigh of horses. King Rayan and his queen rushed through an opening in the perimeter, with more guards, and all was chaos. Without a word, Cas held the baby out to Queen Jehan. She gathered her son close and turned into her husband’s arms. Not a glance was spared toward Cas.
It was his first good look at her. Queen Jehan was not much older than he. A furred hood covered most of her dark hair. What he would remember, always, were her eyes. Tear-filled and full of rage. She looked how a mother would look—his mother, any mother—if someone had tried to harm her child.
King Rayan pressed a kiss to his queen’s head, then his son’s. He ushered his family into the waiting carriage, a lavish chariot drawn by four horses. Waving away a hovering servant, he removed his formal robes and passed it through the door. The prince would need the dry warmth of it. When King Rayan spun around, all gentleness had vanished. If the queen’s anger had been quiet, his was not.
“I want those gates barred! I want that building searched! I want him found and I want his head on the wall before this day is done. Ventillas, with me!”
“Your Grace.” Ventillas’ words were muted. Something in his tone caused the king to pause mid-tirade. He turned to Cas, standing there soaking wet and shivering beneath the borrowed cloak.
“Friend,” the king said to Cas, making an effort to rein in his fury, “how do we thank you? We are in your debt . . .” He trailed off, peering closer, then goggled. “Little Cassia?” he said with such astonishment that Ventillas laughed.
Cas bowed. “Your Grace.”
“But where . . . how . . . ?” King Rayan looked to Ventillas, who threw his hands up. He, too, was in the dark.
Ventillas said to Cas, “We’ll speak later. You’ll go home? Find Jacomel?” His reluctance was apparent. He did not want to leave Cas behind, moments after they had been reunited, as if Ventillas was afraid Cas would vanish once again.
The king, impatient but not without understanding, said, “Cassia, get in the carriage.” He gestured toward the open door. Before Cas knew it, he had climbed into a beautifully appointed but extremely small carriage and was sitting opposite a startled queen, a second nurse, and an angry prince who wailed in his mother’s arms.
The king poked his head in long enough to say, “Jehan, a friend.” The door shut. An order was given and the carriage rolled away.
Cas shifted uncomfortably. His presence could not be welcome. He was a hulking ape in a cramped space, making it smaller. Lake water dripped from him onto exquisite upholstery, crushed velvet piped with silk, the color of the night sky.
Quickly, it became apparent that no one cared he was there, ruining the furniture or otherwise. Queen Jehan clutched her son, which made it difficult for the nurse to unbutton the prince’s elaborate dress. No fewer than a hundred pearl buttons marched along his back, beginning at the nape of his neck and ending at the hem, which puddled, sad and ruined, by Cas’ boots.
“Tear it off,” Queen Jehan ordered softly.
The nurse was elderly, cheeks splotchy, nose red. She wore a white wimple. “My dear, please,” she protested. “The gown is two hundred years old—”
“Let me.” Cas reached over. He started with a small rent at the top of the dress, followed by a larger one straight down, buttons popping off and falling where they may, until the opening was large enough to remove the prince. Her expression pained, the nurse held up the king’s cloak. It was lined with lynx fur. The queen wrapped the prince in the warm, dry clothing. Instantly, he stopped screaming.
Queen Jehan regarded Cas over her son’s head. Her furred hood had fallen away, revealing hair black and sleek, not a curl in sight. A diamond circlet sat above her brows. Her face was round without being plump, no sharp cheekbones or angles. Pretty, Cas admitted grudgingly, even with reddened eyes and tears drying on her cheeks. She said, “I’m not certain we can ever repay our debt to you.”
“There’s no need.” His eyes met hers, then fell away. Absently, he rubbed at the scar on his wrist, hidden beneath cloth. “I was the faster swimmer, that’s all.”
“There’s every need. What is your name?” She spoke formal, perfect Oliveran.
“Cas, Your Grace. Lord Ventillas is my brother.”
Two pairs of eyes widened. A glance exchanged between the women. Queen Jehan said doubtfully, “You are Little Cassia?”
Cas held back a sigh. He hoped the childhood name would go away, as he now stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother and half a head taller than his king. A strange thought. “Just Cas, Your Grace.”
“I don’t understand,” Queen Jehan said. “Lord Cassiapeus of Palmerin was killed three years ago, along with his entire party. How can this be?”
Quietly, he answered, “My friends were killed. Death would have been preferable to where I’ve been, maybe. But I am who I say.”
The carriage hit a bump in the road, rocking slightly before resuming a smooth, steady pace. Cas pulled the cloak tighter around him. He felt the cold to his bones.
“I don’t disbelieve you,” Queen Jehan said. “How could I? You are the image of your brother. Ventillas!” she exclaimed suddenly. “What a state he must be in! Can you imagine, Faustina? And how wretched you must be feeling,” she said to Cas with a smile. “Do not worry. You’ll be at the keep very soon, and we will take good care of you.”
Cas felt a sudden, bristling resentment. She spoke as though it were her keep and he the visitor. The words were out before he could stop them. “I can take care of myself in my own home. Don’t trouble yourself, Your Grace.”
Silence.
The nurse sputtered, “Why, you impertinent—!”
“Let him be, Faustina.”
Cas scowled at the upholstery. He told himself it was not hurt he had seen in Queen Jehan’s eyes, or confusion at his rudeness.
“He cannot speak to you this way. How dare he! The king—”
“Owes Lord Cassiapeus a debt, as I do.” Queen Jehan’s eyes met his. Whatever warmth he had imagined there had gone. “Today, he can do no wrong.” She looked away and cuddled the prince closer, inhaling his scent. “Tomorrow is a different story.”