"Eyes on me, Welkley," Brigan said, swinging down from his horse.
Welkley, short, thin, impeccably dressed and groomed, cleared his throat and turned to Brigan. "Forgive me, Lord Prince. I've sent someone to the offices to alert Princess Clara of your arrival."
"And Hanna?"
"In the green house, Lord Prince."
Brigan nodded and held a hand up to Fire. "Lady Fire, this is the king's first steward, Welkley."
Fire knew this was her cue to dismount and give her hand to Welkley, but when she moved, a spasm of pain radiated outward from the small of her back. She caught her breath, gritted her teeth, pulled her leg over her saddle and tipped, leaving it to Brigan's instincts to keep her from landing on her backside before the king's first steward. He caught her coolly and propped her on her feet, his face impassive, as if it were routine for her to launch herself at him every time she dismounted; and scowled at the white marble floor while she presented her hand to Welkley.
A woman entered the courtyard then that Fire could not fail to sense, a force of nature. Fire turned to locate her and saw a head of bouncy brown hair, sparkling eyes, a sparkling smile, and a handsome and ample figure. She was tall, nearly as tall as Brigan. She threw her arms around him, laughing, and kissed his nose. "This is a treat," she said. And then, to Fire, "I'm Clara. And now I understand Nash; you're more stunning even than Cansrel."
Fire couldn't find words to respond to this, and Brigan's eyes, suddenly, were pained. But Clara simply laughed again and patted Brigan's face. "So serious," she said. "Go on, little brother. I'll take care of the lady."
Brigan nodded. "Lady Fire, I'll find you before I take my leave. Musa," he said, turning to Fire's guard, who stood quietly with the horses. "Go with the lady, all of you, wherever Princess Clara takes her. Clara, see that a healer visits her, today. A woman." He kissed Clara's cheek hurriedly. "In case I don't see you again." He spun away and practically ran through one of the arched doorways leading into the palace.
"He always has a fire under his tail, Brigan," Clara said. "Come, Lady, I'll show you your rooms. You'll like them, they overlook the green house. The fellow who tends the green house gardens? Trust me, Lady, you'd let him stake your tomatoes."
Fire was speechless with astonishment. The princess grabbed the lady's arm and pulled her toward the palace.
Fire's sitting room did indeed overlook a curious wooden house tucked into the back grounds of the palace. The house was small, painted a deep green, and surrounded by lush gardens and trees so that it seemed to blend in, as if it had sprouted from the ground like the growing things around it.
The famous gardener was nowhere in sight, but as Fire watched from her window, the door to the house opened. A young, chestnut-haired woman in a pale yellow dress stepped outside and passed through the orchard to the palace.
"It's Roen's house, technically," Clara said, standing at Fire's shoulder. "She had it built because she believed the king's queen should have a place to retreat to. She lived there fully after she broke with Nax. She's given it to Brigan's use, for the moment, until Nash chooses a queen."
And so that young woman must be associated with Brigan. Interesting, indeed, and a very pretty view, until Fire moved to her bedchamber windows and encountered a sight she appreciated even more: the stables. She stretched her mind and found Small, and was immensely comforted to know he would be near enough for her to feel.
Her rooms were too large, but comfortable, the windows open and fitted with wire screens; a consideration someone had taken for her specially, she suspected, so she could pass her window with her hair uncovered and not have to worry about raptor monsters or an invasion of monster bugs.
It occurred to her then that perhaps these had been Cansrel's rooms, or Cansrel's screens. Just as quickly she dismissed the possibility. Cansrel would have had more rooms, and larger, closer to the king, overlooking one of the white inner courtyards, with a balcony outside each tall window, as she'd seen when she first entered the courtyard.
And then her thoughts were interrupted by the consciousness of the king. She looked to the door of her bedchamber, puzzled, and then startled, as Nash burst in.
"Brother King," Clara said, much surprised. "Couldn't wait for her to wash the road dust from her hands?"
Fire's guard of twenty dropped to their knees. Nash didn't even see them, didn't hear Clara, strode across the room to the window where Fire stood. He clamped his hand around her neck and tried to kiss her.
She'd sensed it coming, but his mind was quick and slippery, and she hadn't moved fast enough to take hold. And during their previous encounter he'd been drunk. He was not drunk now, and the difference was marked. To avoid his kiss she dropped to her knee in an imitation of subservience. He held on to her, struggling to make her rise.
"You're choking her," Clara said. "Nash. Nash, stop!"
She grabbed wildly at Nash's mind, caught hold of it, lost it again; and decided in a fit of temper that she would fall unconscious before she kissed this man. Then, quite suddenly, Nash's hand was wrenched from her throat by a new person she recognised. She took a great, relieved breath and pulled herself up by the windowpane.
Brigan's voice was dangerously calm. "Musa, give us the room."
The guard vanished. Brigan took a handful of Nash's shirtfront and shoved him hard against the wall. "Look at what you're doing," Brigan spat. "Clear your mind!"
"Forgive me," Nash said, sounding genuinely aghast. "I lost my head. Forgive me, Lady."
Nash tried to turn his face to Fire, but Brigan's fist tightened around his collar and pressed against his throat to stop him. "If she's going to be unsafe here I'll take her away this instant. She'll come south with me, do you understand?"
"All right," Nash said. "All right."
"It's not all right. This is her bedchamber. Rocks, Nash! Why are you even here?"
"All right," Nash said, pushing at Brigan's fist with his hands. "Enough. I see I was wrong. When I look at her, I lose my head."
Brigan dropped his fist from his brother's neck. Took a step back and rubbed his face with his hands. "Then don't look at her," he said tiredly. "I have business with you before I go."
"Come to my office."
Brigan cocked his head at the doorway. "I'll meet you in five minutes' time."
Nash turned and slumped out of the room, banished. A puzzle of inconsistencies, this eldest of Nax's sons, and the king in name; but which of these brothers was the king in practice?
"Are you all right, Lady?" Brigan asked, frowning after Nash.
Fire was not all right. She clutched her aching back. "Yes, Lord Prince."
"You can trust Clara, Lady," Brigan said, "and my brother Garan. And Welkley, and one or two of the king's men that Clara can point you to. In the absence of Lord Archer I'd like to escort you home myself next time I pass north through the city. It's a route I travel often. It shouldn't be more than a few weeks. Is this acceptable to you?"
It was not acceptable; it was too long by far. But Fire nodded, swallowing painfully.
"I must go," he said. "Clara knows how to get messages to me."
Fire nodded again. Brigan turned and was gone.
She had a bath, and a massage and warm compress from a healer so skilled that Fire didn't care if the woman couldn't keep her hands out of her hair. Dressed in the plainest dress of the many choices a wide-eyed servant girl had brought to her, Fire felt more like herself; as much like herself as she could, in these strange rooms, and not knowing what to expect next from this strange royal family. And deprived of music, for she had returned her borrowed fiddle to its rightful owner.