It was morning when the river appeared below. They crossed over and kept walking until they came to an opening where the aqueduct crumbled away. After that there was nothing to do but sit and wait.
“Here, let me take him.” The queen knelt before Cas and lifted the prince free of his overtunic. “He’s . . . oh, he’s wet all over you!” Her eyes met Cas’. Seconds passed before they both began to snicker.
“How are we laughing?” She tucked her son inside her cloak and sat beside Cas. Dirt smudged her cheek. There was a scratch on her chin, likely from a tree branch. “You’re hurt. We’re trapped. It’s a disaster. And Jehan. Oh, Jehan.” She buried her face in her son’s hair. Her laughter turned abruptly to tears.
Cas let her be. Much later, when she had cried herself out, he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“I am always leaving her.” She sounded exhausted. “I did not even try to help her.”
“There was no time—” The look in her eyes stopped him. Grief and guilt. A terrible understanding.
“There was. We had time to try. I left her there on purpose. What sort of person does that make me?”
Cas was quiet. He was remembering Princess Jehan’s words. My life, Mari. You stole it. My king. My child. Give him to me. He was sorry for her. He would not wish what had happened to her on anyone. Seeing Princess Jehan, he knew there was a part of her that loved her friend and the life they had shared. But there was a terrible rage in her too, and as long as she lived, she would be a threat to the queen and her family.
Cas said, “The sort that protects her child. The good sort.” He leaned his head against the stone and closed his eyes. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”
“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “Because of you. The histories will be kind to you, Lord Cassiapeus of Palmerin.”
“Cas,” he said without opening his eyes. “Or Cassia, that one is bearable too. Just not Cassiapeus. Please.”
He heard the smile in her voice when she said, “Cas, then.”
Cas turned his head, looked at her. “It does me no good now, being in the histories. I would give it up for a bath, and supper, and . . .” The queen’s face grew blurry.
Frowning, she reached over, lifted his arm. A gasp. “Cas.”
He tried to focus. There was something in her eyes, a different sort of fear. “Your Grace?”
“And what else?” the queen prompted.
“Supper.”
“Yes,” she said patiently. “You mentioned supper. What else? No. Do not sleep just yet. You told me your injury was nothing. This is far from nothing.”
Cas looked down at his arm. The guard’s sword had cut deep. But . . . “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Do you think she’ll keep the horse?”
“What?” he heard the queen say. And then, more urgently, “Cas!”
That was all he understood, all he heard. So tired, he thought, and closed his eyes.
For the rest of his life, Cas would remember the sound of hoofbeats. The approach of many soldiers, including King Rayan, who had come to his senses and gone racing to bring his family home. And Lena. She was there too, riding her mare. They heard a baby crying and stopped their horses, looking round and round, and then up, their expressions incredulous, at the crumbling upper tier of an aqueduct.
34
How did you find us?” Cas asked.
He was at the palace in Elvira, in a bedchamber he remembered from years past. The rugs and tapestries were decorated in forest greens and deep golds. An uncovered window revealed the dark of night. He had woken to find little Clara asleep at his side. Thankfully, the side that was not injured. Her face was buried in the pit of his arm.
Lena sat cross-legged on the enormous canopied bed, looking down at him. Her dress was a shade of red that reminded him of the flame trees back home. At his question, she held up a piece of cream-colored fabric. The sleeve of a dress, made of silk rakematiz. “You remember Bittor’s family are wool merchants?”
A cheerful fire blazed across the chamber. In front of it, Bittor worked through a set of intricate moves with Cas’ mace. Bittor’s family were no longer wool merchants. They were gone. If Bittor chose not to speak of it, then neither would Cas. He answered, “In the north. I remember.”
“Well, Bittor suggested bringing the sleeve to the clothing guilds. If anyone would know who worked with silk rakematiz, it would be one of them.”
Bittor pointed the mace at him with a flourish. “And I was right.”
“Every guild master I spoke with mentioned the same person,” Lena continued. “A dressmaker in one of the southern parishes. She recognized the sleeve right away. She said that a woman brought the silk to her shop months ago and asked that a wedding dress be made from it. The dressmaker said that the woman’s hair was a pure white even though she didn’t sound old. She said her name was—”
“Faustina,” Cas said.
“Yes.”
Clara stirred. She wore a white ruffled nightgown. Someone had also dressed Cas in a white ruffled nightshirt that reached his knees. Bittor had burst out laughing when he first saw it.
Lena leaned over and brushed the hair from Clara’s face. “She wouldn’t tell the dressmaker where she lived, but she paid extra to have the dress delivered to a village inn in Patalon. She had made arrangements to have it picked up from there.”
Patalon.
“I went right away to tell Rayan,” Lena said. “He was in the stables already, in a frantic state. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He was going to bring back his family. We met up with the cortege, and they had to tell him that they had lost the queen’s carriage.”
“That was unpleasant to watch,” Bittor added.
Lena shuddered in agreement. “That’s when we saw it. A fire burning in the forest, just outside Patalon.”
Cas eased his arm out from beneath Clara and sat up against the pillows. The pain beneath his arm had been reduced to a dull throbbing. He touched the stitches behind his ear. Nothing leaked. It was all he could ask for. He said with difficulty, “Bittor. We lost Esti.”
“We found her.” Bittor waved the mace at the door. “She was just here a moment ago.”
“What?” Cas said, astonished. “How?”
Lena smiled at him. “She found her way to the road. It’s difficult for her to speak. The smoke damaged her throat and lungs, but the doctor says he doesn’t think it will be permanent.”
The relief made his head spin. “Where was she?”
Lena said, “She fainted by the carriage and woke up in the exact same place. Those wretched guards!” she added indignantly. “They just left her there in the cold. She said she heard voices coming from the castle and ran in the opposite direction. Into the forest.”
“Did you find anyone else?” Princess Jehan, her guards?
Lena and Bittor shook their heads, solemn. Parts of the forest were still on fire. It was too dangerous to search for others.
Cas did not know what to say to either of them, except “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Bittor held up the mace. “Can I have this?”
“No.”
Bittor turned away, grumbling.