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Ashe slept fitfully. Surprising since his own bed was the most comfortable he'd slept on in many a month. Since the safety of home surrounded him and all the familiar things that were his own. Still he tossed and turned and woke innumerable times out of some indefinable nightmare or another, to stare blankly at the shadows of his ceiling.
He slept late into the morning as a result. His staff let him slumber, but he heard the soft sounds of their movement outside his bedroom doors. Heard the occasional low voice directing this and that. Ven putting his things to order.
Finally he rose, rubbing sleep from his eyes and a hand over a stubble coated jaw. A bit of light seeped past the floor length drawn curtains, casting a slice of brightness across the end of the bed. Dust motes danced lazily in the brilliance. Ashe put his hand out and they scattered elusively. Beyond his reach. Beyond his control. He let his hand drop and sighed, weary still and not afraid to let his shoulders sag and his face betray it in the intimate privacy of his own room.
A long year. A grueling year. He felt the weight of every day upon his shoulders. He'd come home from it not in victory, but in failure. Seganny was lost. Gunthar had scored a decisive triumph, despite the fact that he had managed to slip through their fingers. They had still taken him. They had still outmaneuvered him. They had infiltrated his allies and swayed them to their own cause. Such failure would not be forgotten. His father might not have announced it in that farce of a formal welcome home, but the shadow of it had been there.
"My lord?" A soft knock at his door, only preceding its opening by a fraction. Ven slipped in, his narrow face fixed in its habitual properly emotionless state. "Shall I have breakfast brought in for you, my lord?"
His manservant went about laying out clothes.
"Humm, is it still morning?" Ashe drew the curtains back, letting in more light.
"A few minutes more till mid-day, my lord." Ven said, without a hint of disapproval over his prince's slothful habits.
"Send word to Lady Lurene then, that I'll take lunch with her."
"Of course. Perhaps a shave before you venture out?"
He did not go straight-away to the lady's suite. He felt the need to explore the place he had grown up in and not seen for almost a year. The Prince's Wing was set off to one side of the main palace complex. It had been a late addition, as were many of the outlying buildings that had sprung up alongside the original castle. The vast gardens surrounded it, and it was merely a matter of a long and leisurely walk towards the rear of the castle complex to reach the royal carriage house and stables.
The neat stone buildings and small, well kept paddocks sat against the inner bailey wall. Beside it was an ornate iron gate that led out into the inner bailey where the city's guard were barracked. He could not quite help but wonder where his ranger was, behind that tall stone wall and whether he found the company of the city guard more palatable than the royal court.
Of course he did. Illya was nothing if not unpretentious and would happily blend into the background of a group of gruff soldiers, listening to their stories and their exaggerations as opposed to being forced into the center of attention of a mocking, curious court.
Ashe could have walked through that gate and into the dusty, less aesthetically pleasing grounds of the inner bailey without raising too many brows. He had cronies in the ranks of the officers after all. He was the prince knight and had access to every aspect of the royal guard. Of course the prince knight never bothered with the little things. Of course the prince knight might stride into the officers barracks and reacquaint himself with men of rank who his customary sparring partners and occasional drinking and gaming partners. No one would think anything odd there. No rumors would spread - -
- - unless he varied from his usual haunts and ventured into the domain of the common soldier. For him to trod on the rough plank floors of those barracks - - now that would be something else altogether. Then people would talk. People would speculate over the unseemly interest the crown heir had in a simple younger son of a younger son. They would wonder, the prince heir never having been particularly secretive in his varied tastes in bedpartners, just what relationship might have sprung up between a comely young ranger and his liege lord during many weeks of captivity.
Regretfully not enough of a relationship for Ashe to risk causing such a stir so soon returned home. He sighed and forced his thoughts away from the bailey and all that it held, focusing instead on the long, low, immensely welcoming warmth of the royal stables.
He loved this place. The smell, the soft sounds of its inhabitants, the genial comradeship of a stablemaster that had probably seen more of him growing up than his own father had. Even before he walked into the shadow of the stable, he heard the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith hammering an iron shod shoe into place. Heard the nickering complaint of one horse to another, the tuneless humming of Grathy, one of the stableboys, as he mucked out a stall. Bits of straw and dust floated in the air.
There were stalls along both walls, the outer ones boasting half doors that opened to the daylight and let in fresh air. As he strode in, curious equine eyes turned his way, inspecting this new visitor. Some heads were foreign, newcomers to this stable, but others were familiar and beloved. Quite a few were his. Bred by him, trained by him. He touched a nose, and scratched under a forelock, going down the line, spreading his attentions out. The stableboy looked up and saw him. Went goggled eyed and yelped out his name.
"Prince Ashe!!! You're back!" The rake dropped and the gangly boy hopped out of the stall, all grins and questions.
"Was it grand? Did you kill hordes of Guntharians? Is it true what they said? About you being captured and all?"
"Ah and hello to you too, Grathy. You've sprouted a handspan since I've been gone. Where's master Cleon? Go fetch him for me, would you."
He was not of a mood to create fanciful lies to dazzle stableboys. The truths were too sensitive to talk of. He found master Cleon's stash of apples while the boy was in search of the stablemaster, and used his belt knife to slice them up, delivering tidbits to his favorites. He ate a slice himself to quell the rumbling in his stomach.
He glanced down the sun dappled stable aisle as the uneven gait of the old stable master broke the soft sounds of horse breath and shifting horse bodies. Master Cleon walked with a cane. Had for the last five years or so, since he'd been on the receiving end of a kick, from a particularly unsociable warhorse owned by a visiting lord. He had never recovered from the break fully and he'd never quite gotten over the indignation and the shame of letting a horse get the better of him. A man worked with horses for all of fifty years and a thing like that got to him. He had taught Ashe a great deal about horses, though. Had engendered in him a passion for them.
"So you're back." The old man said. "Where's Thurandy?"
"Ah, lost I fear." Ashe admitted, not taken back at all by the gruff welcome. It was master Cleon's way. He got along better with animal's than men. "Perhaps in the Seganny's hands for all I know."
The stable master snorted, much like one of his charges. "Waste of a fine horse, then." The old man hobbled down the row, looking into stalls critically and making comments to the boy that followed him.
"Broke his son to saddle this year. Started training him for warcraft. He'll be a fine mount for you, if you can keep possession of him, milord."
Ashe nodded, hiding a small grin. He followed along behind the boy, letting his hands graze over inquisitive muzzles. "Where is he?"
"Pastures at Summer Hall, as is his dam and a good deal of your other stock."
Ashe nodded. There was a good deal more space in the stables of Summer Hall than within the palace stables. He did his breeding there and a fair amount of training. The big horses would be brought back to the city though, for more extensive war training, where they would become accustomed to mixing with men and other horses.
"I'll bring him back next time I'm there." Ashe said, and the stable master grunted. Since he had very little to discuss as far as horses were concerned at the moment, Master Cleon had little use for him. He would have wasted more time if Thurandy's son had been here. As it was, his stomach demanded that he put lunch off no longer, so he strode out of the stables and back up the garden path towards the palace.
He could have been early or an hour late and the lady would still have made it seem as if he had appeared just as she was preparing to sit down and take her luncheon. She welcomed him with open arms, her soft hands taking his and her lightly rouged lips pressing lightly against his cheek. She smelled of delicate flowers, a scent not strong enough to be overpowering, but just enough to make one lean forward a bit to better capture the fragrance.
She had lunch served in her small, walled garden, and engaged in nothing but small, meaningless conversation while they consumed it. She knew his tastes. She knew he had little use for the light, exotic portions that might generally grace a lady's luncheon. She quenched his hunger and left him happily sated, while she picked daintily at her smaller portions. The Lady always knew how best to please him.
"Did I mention how much I missed you?" He sat back and swirled the light mid-day wine in his goblet.
Lurene smiled serenely. "I recall something of the sort. But you may say it as much as you please, my lord. It's good for a lady's ego. So, shall you tell me in more detail the trials and tribulations of your misadventure?"
He laughed. "All the dirty little secrets that I'll leave out when the court demands to hear of my deeds?"
"Of course."
"It wasn't that grand." There was very little he kept from her. It had always been the way between them. "I could hardly walk the first few weeks. I almost lost my leg, I'm told."
"Oh, Ashe. You don't seem lame from it."
"It healed well. I had assistance."
"That ranger? What was his name?"
He canted a look at her. She asked nothing idly and she was nothing if not observant. A brilliant, methodical woman, who if she had been a man, could have maneuvered her way into great power. As it were, she used the weapons at hand.
"Illya." He answered without inflection. "Yes, I owe him my continued good health. Perhaps for more. It would not have been an easily endurable situation without an ally."
"Tell me, Ashe."
So he did. Everything but his longing for Illya. All else he disclosed to her, his staunchest advisor. Drane's gift of Avahine's head. The taunts concerning his mother and brother's death. The Seganny betrayal and their subsequent recognition of Illya as the hand that took the life of Drane's general. He left out the part about the ghost, even though he did repeat the superstition about her existence.
She sat very quietly after that, mid-day shadows melting into early afternoon. "You don't believe him, do you Ashe?" she finally asked.
He knew what she referred to. He looked away from her, to the twining branches of a late flowering ornamental tree. A chime gently swayed there, releasing the occasional tinkling of sound.
"Honestly? I don't discount it. I'm told I'm being rash and gullible even. I never thought of myself that way. Its possible, Lurene. You know it is."
"Perhaps." She agreed softly. "But does it matter? Can it matter anymore?"
"What?" His voice rose a little. His eyes flashed at her, expecting anything but that question. "How can it not if he knew mother was being poisoned and did nothing. If he even set his mistress to do it."
"He's the king."
"Even the king cannot commit murder."
"Ah, but he does and calls it justice. And could you prove it even it if it were so? His word against the word of a mad enemy? Ashe, its over and done with, whatever the circumstances. To make an accusation -- would be damaging only to this kingdom. It would gain you nothing. It would harm you more than likely."
He glared at her. "From you at least, I expected support."
"I am supporting you." She said calmly. "I'm advising you against stupidity. Forget it, my lord. No good can come from it."
"I can not forget."
"All right, then bide your time. Rash accusations will achieve nothing. If you do not possess evidence then there is nothing to support your beliefs. Nothing not to make you a laughing stock in court. To pit the king against you. You may be irrefutable heir to the throne and none other may assume it while you live --- but believe me there were those who were quite happy when rumor of your death abounded. A life is not a hard thing to take, my lord."
"Yes. I'm aware. I'd heard he was lining up possible replacements. Looking for a better candidate to succeed him."
"There were bargains being struck. Your return has dashed quite a few ambitions."
"I feel terrible." A taught, humorless smile touched his lips. Lurene's mouth curved up into a similar one.
"I thought you might. Shall I name the most eager contenders?"
"I can guess. But go ahead, let me know the names of the loyal."
She rattled them off, spicing up the list with political motivations and personal ambitions. The court was her canvas and she a master painter. She knew what everyone was about, and who they were about it with. He sat back and listened and in the process found himself caught up with what had been going on in Rhu court during the year of his absence.
"So when will you meet more privately with your father?" she asked finally.
He didn't know. None of his father's legion of sycophants had come delivered an invitation. He supposed he could show up unannounced if he wished badly enough to instigate an interview. They might not turn him away. But Lurene's reasonable warnings made him hesitate. If not to confront the king, he found he had little he wished to say to him.
"And Davad? Have you seen him?" there was the sweet edge of malice to her voice. There had always been a sort of civil competition between the two of them, his favorites in court, for his affections. He sometimes thought her show of jealousy was just that -- a show to bolster his ego -- for she certainly claimed his confidence more than Davad, who had always proved a better bed partner than coconspirator.
"No. I'd heard he was taken with a fit of the seasonal malady."
"Yes. Its a wonder he opens his windows at all. I had thought perhaps he came to see you last night."
"Ah, in other words you were wondering who warmed my sheets."
"Did anyone?' she lifted an elegant brow.
He laughed. "Unfortunately, no."
"Oh? I might have thought from the way you looked at him that the ranger ----"
"No. He didn't."
"Really?" This time her smile was completely curious. "He's quite lovely. Unusually so. Knowing you, I would have thought you might have found uses other than that of nursemaid."
He stroked a knuckle along his cleanly shaven chin, meeting her luminous eyes from under his lashes. She did know him. Frighteningly well. She wasn't the only one aware of his preferences. She wasn't the only one to have laid eyes upon Illya.
"He's not up for discussion. I don't wish his name or his reputation bandied about the court and I don't want the vultures to start circling him. I would take offense. Spread that bit of rumor for me, would you?"
She inclined her head thoughtfully. "I'll see that it reaches the right ears. But it may be more of a stimulant that a deterrent. If you show enough interest to warn them off, they'll start thirsting for blood."
"They may get it."
"His or theirs?"
"Lurene." Warningly.
"You won't tell me, will you, Ashe? Interesting."
"Lurene, I can't tell you what I don't know -- so don't press."
She was wise enough not to. Her company very rarely ever grated. She very seldom tweaked his ire.
"There's a party tomorrow night, to celebrate your safe return, thrown by lord Hertwilder. The first of many I'm sure. Will you attend?"
One supposed he had an invitation waiting for him in his suite. One supposed a pile of like requests was growing. Everyone wanted to garner the prince's favor. Everyone would be bitingly curious.
"Hertwilder? I don't know. His company never thrilled me."
"I'll be there. As a favor to lady Hertwilder. She begged me."
"What, thinking your presence would draw me there?"
Lurene shrugged. "You've been known to appreciate my company, my lord."
"I'll think about it."
"Are you engaged tonight?"
"I don't know. I'll inquire of Ven."
"If you wish, a private dinner might be arranged." And afterwards other private things.
"Perhaps. I'll send word if I'm so inclined." He did not wish to commit himself so soon home. Did not wish to play favorites this early in the game of survival in court.
She nodded, understanding.
He went on his way then, half the afternoon idled away. There was nothing pressing upon his time. Ven, who kept track of all his appointments and obligations had announced no schedule for today. He ought to go back and rest. Let his body recover from the past months, but he could not convince himself to take the path back to the prince's wing.
He went back to the stables instead, this time with a purpose. Asked for a horse with the intention of riding out into the city, to see a bit more of it than he had on the trip in. To see what had changed in a year. To see if his favorite haunts still existed. To see the preparations for Fall Festival.
Of course, they didn't want to let him out of the gates without escort. He could see the worry in the gate sergeant's eyes. They'd just gotten him back for him to so soon go riding off into danger again. And Rhu city had its share of dangerous places. It was too large not to, but he had never feared them before, and never begged protection from whatever troubles he managed to get himself into.
The gate sergeant had heard just such a statement before. The gate sergeant knew him. Fortunately the sergeant was saved the dubious task of arguing with the crown prince by the appearance of one of Ashe's close cronies in the guard. A young lieutenant of good family that was a regular sparring partner of his. Who just happened to be off duty and about to venture into the city himself.
It worked out well for all parties. The gate sergeant's worries were alleviated. Ashe had a companionable escort, who had the same tastes in gaming houses and taverns, and Ashe got to wriggle out from under the eye of authority. He spent the remainder of the day pleasantly reacquainting himself with the charms of Rhu City and it was not until well after dark, when he returned to his chambers that he received the second informal welcome of his return home.
The barracks in the inner bailey were clean and orderly and scrupulously maintained. But they were comfortable and warm and the men that occupied them a friendly lot. Almost the whole of the city guard was housed within the vast inner bailey that surrounded the grounds of Rhu Castle. The broad bailey contained countless barracks buildings, supply dumps, stables, practice yards, its own kitchen, its own medical building and blacksmith, everything to keep the small army of men living within its boundaries fed and clothed and armed to defend the capital city. It took almost an hour to walk the entire circuit of the inner bailey and longer to familiarize one's self with the various gates that lead to the outer bailey and the inner demesnes of the royal grounds. There were six gates leading into the palace and a mere two leading out from the outer bailey into the city beyond. It made a formidable barrier between the outside world and the sheltered gardens of the royal family.
Illya much preferred the cobblestone paved, utilitarian domain of the city guard. He had slept a good night's sleep in a simple wooden bunk, with the snores of Kenthy and the other Rangers that had accompanied the prince back to Rhu a comforting cacophony in the background. He was given new gear and back pay, several months worth, and the freedom of a week's leave from duty, as were all the men that had come back with Ashe, to spend it.
He'd slept that first afternoon, after Ashe's manservant had shown him the way back to the inner bailey. Had simply fallen into the bunk the master sergeant had shown him and let himself be swept away by the void of deep sleep until the early morning sounds of a regiment rising to the dawn light had roused him.
He felt better. He still ached a bit, here and there, but the hurts were fading. Kenthy was gone when he woke, out to spend his own allotment of gold no doubt, and without the older ranger to draw him out into the vast environs of the city, Illya had little desire to venture there alone. If the crowded buildings of a small town daunted him -- the twisting, maze-like streets of Rhu, which seemed to go on forever -- were not a challenge he felt up to meeting, so explored the baileys and the battlements, a quiet observer that no one questioned. If the bailey was vast, then the battlements were a warren of close stone passages with tiny slits on the outside walls for archers to hail missiles down upon invaders. There were underground rooms that held supplies, things that kept for the long term, waiting for a siege that had not come to Rhu in centuries. The subterraneous passages made him edgy, reminding him of the crypts under Gunthar castle. His exploration there was brief, before he made his way up the rough cut stairs to the crenulated top of the outer battlement wall to look out over the city.
It spread forever. It was hard to see anything beyond the sprawl of rooftops. From the height of the battlement it was hard to see the streets and impossible to discern the people, but the low clamor of city life could be heard. It was an invasive sound that never went away save for the veriest depths of night when the city slumbered. And even then, he was told, there were always places were the lights never went out and people never slept.
He would become used to it, in time, the constant hum of civilization, but he never would find comfort in it. He went to the archery range and lost himself for a time firing bolts at a faraway straw target, only stopping when his ribs began to protest. When Kenthy came back, late into evening, Illya was sitting cross legged on his bunk, rubbing oil into the supple wood of his bow. The older ranger had a smile of contentment on his craggy face and one might assume a considerably lighter purse.
"So what do you think of our illustrious capital?" Kenthy lay back on his bunk, hands behind his head.
"It looks very large." Illya said, proceeding to wax the bow string.
"O'course its large. There's no place better to live than Rhu."
Illya could think of better places. Quieter places. "Its loud."
Kenthy let out a snort of laughter. "Ah, that it is. Did you go to one of the markets yet?"
"No."
"There's a park outside the main gates that's nice."
"Is there?"
Kenthy cast him a suspicious look. "Did you venture out at all?"
Illya strung the bow and tested the tautness of the string. "There were things to do here."
"Ah, Saint's tears, lad, you mean you never left the bailey?"
Illya finally looked up and met the older man's eyes. It was not so horrible as all that, he thought, dourly. The bailey was very large. And there were a great many things going on within it. He thought repeating the fact that he disliked cities and large ones more potently than most, would be redundant.
"And you with four months pay weighing down your pockets." Kenthy shook his head mournfully. "We'll need to remedy that, lad."
The old ranger swung his legs over the side of his bunk, a grin of anticipation on his face. "I've just the place in mind for a spot of dinner and a bit of entertainment."
"The barracks food is not bad . . . ."
"Its hog swill. C'mon, you'll need to learn the way of the city eventually."
"I don't see why."
"Because if you're going to live here and work here, you'll have to find your way about. The forest isn't the only place a ranger needs learn the byways off."
Kenthy practically took the bow out from Illya's hands and urged him up. Reluctantly Illya followed him out into the cool night and along the outer wall to the small gate beside the main postern that allowed single men to pass without hauling the great portcullis up. They were allowed out by the gate guards and Kenthy immediately led him past a triangular shaped park down a street where lanterns burned outside of every building and quite a few people strolled the sidewalks. A few uniformed soldiers, but mostly citizens of Rhu out to enjoy the night. The strains of music drifted out from a few of the buildings and the hum of conversation from others. Not too rowdy. Kenthy said this was not that sort of neighborhood. Not so close to the palace. This was a very respectable district. Not one of the ritzy one's that catered to the nobility, but a nice clean, middle-class section of town.
His destination was a tavern. The sounds of music wafted out onto the street. A small stone fenced patio seated a few customers who preferred to drink under the night sky. Inside it was a clean, modestly decorated tap room. A fair crowd sampled its wares. The smell of wine and ale and roasted meats permeated the air. The buzz of talk and laughter competed with the music for dominance. Quite a few of the patrons were in uniform. It was apparently a popular haunt for the enlisted men of the city guard.
Kenthy shouldered his way through the press of men at the bar to place an order for wine and food with one of the women behind it, then scanned the room for a couple of empty chairs.
There were some at the end of a plank table, at the outskirts of a large group of loud, drunken infantrymen. Illya would have preferred to settle in a quieter spot, but Kenthy shoved right in, slapping strangers on the shoulders jovially as he went, greeting the lot of them like they were old companions. It was it nature. Just as it was Illya's nature to sit quietly beside him and try to blend into the corner in which he found himself. Kenthy knew better than to try and drag him into the conversation to which he himself eagerly jumped. Kenthy had known him long enough to realize that Illya preferred to be a silent observer. That Illya was happiest that way.
The waitress brought them a picture of dark red wine and two platters of meat and vegetables. It did smell good. Quite delicious in fact, compared to the bland stew the barracks cook had spooned out for lunch. The amply endowed girl flirted with Kenthy, gave Illya a scrutinous once over as she bent to sit the plates down and kept looking at him from the corner of her eye while she laughed with men more willing to comment on her charms.
Illya sipped at the wine, concentrating on cleaning the fine fare from his platter, while Kenthy worked at making some assignation with the girl. One supposed all it might take was a few silver coins to win her affections. She seemed eager enough to display them.
"Will you bring your quiet friend?" she purred, having apparently been won over, and leaning down between Kenthy and Illya, her sly gaze regarding the younger ranger.
"I don't know if he's into threesomes." Kenthy laughed.
Illya blushed, embarrassed and glared past the girl at Kenthy.
"Oh," she purred, sounding disappointed. "He doesn't like me?"
"He's a ranger," One of the infantry men, miffed at the serving girl's interest in newcomers, barked. "He'd rather be in the woods humping critters of the four legged variety."
That got a chorus of amused chuckles.
"Hey!" Kenthy cried, mildly offended. "Better'n what infantry men do with their pikes."
Of course it deteriorated from there. The girl wisely scampered away, but a satisfied smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. The first blow did not land until someone insulted Kenthy's mother. Then he was up in arms, despite the vastly unproportinate odds. It began with Kenthy and the mother insulter, and drew in participants when the two of them crashed into the table behind them, scattering men, wine and food. Royal guardsmen cursed infantrymen as clods and fools and after a night of drinking, infantrymen were not likely to take such verbal abuse.
Illya cursed silently in the midst of it, taking himself and his mug out of easy range of the growing brawl. He avoided collision several times and joined the array of bystanders by the bar, idly watching the violence.
"Happen's all the time." A man reclining against the bar next to him commented. Illya glanced askance, distracted by the fighting. The man had the insignia of an officer of the royal guard. Young, clean cut, sporting a slight bruise along one cheek that looked achingly fresh. A small crusted line was smeared towards his sideburn. Illya stared at the cut and the man laughed.
"I just came from one myself. The company we keep, it seems."
"Won't the city guard come and break it up?" Illya had to ask, appalled that barfights were such a common thing in Rhu. His Grandfather would have had the heads of any man that regularly started such brawls at home.
"Eventually," the officer said. "A few of them are here already."
Kenthy staggered out of the melee, bleeding from the nose. He stumbled, went down almost at Illya's feet and looked up with a bloody grin.
"Call us deer fuckers will they?" that was barely out of his mouth as a large, wild eyed man came charging towards him, the remnants of a chair held over his head.
"Shit." Kenthy said, to haggard to nimbly leap up and out of the way. Illya stepped forward, quickly and smoothly and smashed the clay mug up against the side of Kenthy's attackers head. The mug shattered. The man's eyes rolled up and he let out a little surprised sound before he crumpled.
"I believe --" The young officer commented, still leaning against the bar. "That the gentleman you just floored was their garrison commander."
Kenthy cursed again and passed out.
