Chapter 29: —Five, Six—

Chapter 29: —Five, Six—

The fifth week.

Mrs. Summers caught them on their way back from practice. Him, Rose, and Connor, with Lochlann bringing up the rear. Connor was saying something, and Rose was laughing. Strands of red curled wildly around both their faces, sprinkled over with melting snow. There was a storm starting. The sort with large, heavy flakes that would turn the entire city to white before the hour was out. The housekeeper was carrying something red and bulky bundled in her arms. When she spotted them coming through the door, she lumbered her way through a perfunctory curtsy, then promptly snapped:

Wipe your feet, boy. Lieutenant. Your Highnesses The old woman paused, then nodded briskly. Thats a good look for you, Princess. Its nice to see that pretty face of yours.

Rose flushed. Her right cheek turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, and her left a deep shade of mauve. Her hood was down, and her scarf shoved deep into a pocket for safekeeping; even her hair was drawn back. Thank you, she said, ducking her head.

And who was it that did your hair? the housekeeper cooed, running a finger over the smooth braid. It was somewhat worse for wear after their practice, but still holding strong. Connor sported a matching one. One of the maids?

You could say that, the younger prince said, with a smirk.

The housekeeper followed his gaze to Aaron, who was standing quietly to the side, his boots properly wiped off on the entry rug. She quirked an eyebrow. Well now. Arent you just full of talents.

Hes teaching us to knife fight, Prince Connor said, with great enthusiasm.

Full of talents, Mrs. Summers repeated, narrowing her eyes. Aaron wiped at the snow on his jacket, too, so as not to possibly drip on the castle floors. Here. For you.

She shoved her bundle towards him without ceremony. Aaron took it, and carefully shook it out. It was a coat. An incredibly thick, incredibly warm coat. There were no tears or stains, and the color was not faded in the least. It was dyed a deep red, like banked embers; the buttons were polished gold, worked so that each was in the shape of a dragon.Updated from novelb(i)n.c(o)m

Am I allowed to wear this? Aaron asked.

I did say it was for you, didnt I? Mrs. Summers said. One of the nobles took offense with how ratty your coat looks. They donated this to a lost cause.

But really am I allowed to wear this? Its the royal colors. And its new.

Connor tugged at one of the arms, examining the cuff links sewn to the sleeve. It looks like one of Orins.

The gentleman wished to remain anonymous, Mrs. Summers said.

No, its definitely Orins, the boy persisted. See? He likes this gold trim. Its on all of his things.

Mrs. Summers may have tried to defend the donors identity further, or she may have given up the fight. They were not to know. For at that moment, the princess tried catching a scream behind her teeth. The sound that came out briefly sent Aaron and Lochlann reaching for their weapons, until they caught sight of the look on her face. Her shoulders were hunched as high as her neck. Her hood was up. There was a slow trail of water making its way down the side of her face.

There is a snowball in my hood, she said, softly, her voice coming as if from across the ocean; as if from the peaks of the dragons mountains, in the heights of the western isles. There is a snowball. In my hood.

I knew youd put it back up! her twin chortled.

The look that came into her eyes was one of sheer fratricide. Then they were off: the prince running as if the Wild Hunt itself were baying at his heels, and the princess leaving a trail of melting snow behind her.

Mrs. Summers watched them go, then wordlessly limped in the direction of the nearest mop closet.

Aaron grinned after them all. Then, when the hallway was quiet again, he held up the red coat at arms length. His coat. His entirely new, actually-for-him coat. It took him a moment to recall that Lieutenant Varghese was still behind him; behind him, and watching him.

I have a new coat, he told the man.

How very nice for you, the lieutenant of the guard replied.

* * *

The sixth week.

What, no princess today? Lochlann asked, stepping into the courtyard uninvited.

No, Aaron said, continuing his practice. Real steel shone in his hand. No practice blade, not when he was alone.

Did she finally get sick of you?

Dont you have something better to be doing? Aaron asked. Or are you still too injured for real work?

Yes, the lieutenant replied tersely.

Good. He counted to ten in his head. Can I get up now?

Lochlann grunted, which Aaron took for a yes. He rolled back to his feet, and took a seat over on the crates, nursing his eye. Lochlann sat as far from him as possible.

Whos trying to kill them? Aaron asked.

You tell me.

Not helpful. Im going to say this once, Lochlann. You can believe me or not: Im no assassin.

Really. Then explain how you fight.

No thank you. He tugged the sleeve of his sweater down until it covered his hand, then scooped snow up into it, and set it over his eye. It was already swelling shut. You gave me four weeks. If youve changed your mind, Id like to know.

If you dont like my hospitality, feel free to leave early.

You think I like being here? It makes me feel like a kid again.

Coddled? the lieutenant sniped.

Aaron looked at him long and hard through his good eye. You and I had very different childhoods, he finally said.

Children depended on those around them for food, and warmth. For safety. They had no choice, no matter what came of it.

Theyre kids, Aaron said. People shouldnt hurt kids.

The lieutenant met his gaze. I dont think the world works that way.

Aaron broke the look first. He took the snow away from his eye, and balled it up. It left a white impact mark on the opposite wall.

Rose heard a banshee last night.

Lochlann straightened. Are you certain?

Aaron slumped back against the wall of the hawkery, and nodded. It was a few hours before dawn. She crawled into bed with me, and cried herself back to sleep. Thats why shes not training today; shes been with her father. I think Connor is, too.

Lochlann looked at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Finally, he settled on: You shouldnt let her do that. She should have gone to her nurse, or her brothers.

Im not going to hurt her, Lochlann, he said tiredly.

The guardsman shook his head. Its not that. Its Shes a princess, Aaron. Her going into your room without a chaperone, it has to stop. Youre not on your deathbed anymore. We cant afford rumors. Not now.

Shes just a kid.

She knows better. And if she doesnt, you need to.

She was crying.

Lochlann ran a hand through his hair. God. Youre the kid. How did you ever survive as an assassin?

Im not an assassin, Aaron repeated. He looked over at the guardsman, but Lochlann was staring elsewhere; at that nowhere-place where thoughts lived.

She just heard the one?

Aaron nodded.

Lochlann sat back. Theres still some time, then. When an OShea dies, they all keen.