Page 101 of A Game of Veils

To be sure I’m not obvious, I wait for a few excruciating minutes before I get up from the sheet and walk around the other side of the fountain. I wander on through the gardens with no sense of urgency, just happening to end up by the rows of herbs outside the kitchen door.

No members of the court have ventured this far from the others. I pluck up a few leaves and then continue on to one of the proper back entrances.

On my way to my bedroom, I catch a maid in the halls and ask her to bring me a pot of hot water. By the time she arrives, I’ve already mingled the herbs that revealed themselves to my mind’s eye in the bottom of the teacup.

I pour the water over them and a brew for myself for focused calm before lifting the small tray. They’ll steep on the way over.

I face the slight conundrum that I don’t actually know where Prince Bastien’s bedroom is. But it seems likely the emperor will have his foster sons roomed close together. I head toward the hall where I know both Raul and Lorenzo have their chambers, my steps soft and my ears pricked.

I’m three doors down from Lorenzo’s room when I make out faint coughing filtering from the one next to me.

As soon as the fit has passed, I knock on the door. “Prince Bastien?”

There’s a pause and then a creak of the floor. He opens the door a few inches and peers out at me, his face still sallow, his slender body rigid with tension.

I point my chin toward the tray I’m carrying before he has to waste breath asking me why I’m here. “I made you some tea that should help soothe your throat and lung. If you’ll accept that kindness.”

Bastien’s jaw twitches. I don’t think he likes the idea of being pitied any more than Lorenzo did. But considering that he’s seen me laid low more than once, he must feel his pride can stand one turnabout.

He motions me inside with a jerk of his head.

Like Lorenzo’s, the room is only perhaps two thirds the size of mine. The curtains have been drawn back from both of the tall windows, the panes raised to let in the afternoon light and as much breeze as the late spring day offers.

Between them and on either side stand floor-to-ceiling bookcases packed with texts—whether ones Bastien borrowed from the imperial library or his own collection, I can’t tell. They stand in much more orderly fashion than Lorenzo’s haphazard collection.

A few more books and a sheaf of papers sit in neat stacks on the desk next to the doorway to the bathing room. Nearby, a narrow sofa faces a small, low table. Across from them, a four-poster bed fills the rest of the space.

The room is a little cramped, but the atmosphere is calm and orderly, as if everything has a place and could be found in an instant. From what I’ve gotten to know of the prince of Cotea, I’m not surprised.

I bring the tray over to the table and sink onto one end of the sofa. Bastien takes the other end, muffling a few more coughs with the back of his hand against his mouth, and contemplates the tea.

The corner of my mouth quirks upward. “If you’re concerned that I might have decided to repay you for your trick with the stew, I’ll happily take the first sip.”

His gaze darts to meet mine, accompanied by a swift grimace. “I wasn’t thinking that,” he says, a bit hoarsely. “I just wasn’t expecting you to go out of your way…”

I wave off his objection and pick up my own cup. “This is what my gift is for. I’d rather make use of it to see you feeling better than offer my talent to most of my other company in the palace.”

A hint of a smile crosses the prince’s lips. He picks up the other cup without hesitation.

“It’s good to inhale the steam as well as drinking the liquid,” I tell him.

He takes a deep breath and a tentative swallow. Immediately, his shoulders come down. With his next sip, some of the rasp in his chest smooths out.

Bastien smiles at me a little wider, if crookedly. “It does feel as if it’s loosening things up. I shouldn’t have doubted after seeing you at work before.”

I shrug, absorbing the comforting scent of my own tea. “I’m glad I could help somehow.”

He looks down at his cup. “It was stupid, challenging him like that. But I’m so tired of keeping my mouth shut and kowtowing. Gods smite me, I’d have been making his goals easier and I was fine with that if he’d just listen to me.”

“He doesn’t give you much of anything to do, and you obviously have a sharp mind. I can only imagine how stifled you feel.”

Bastien rubs his temple. “I don’t really want to assist him in anything that strengthens the empire. So it was doubly stupid. But I suppose I got a very concrete reminder of why.”

Is this a glimpse into my future: always unheard, always ineffectual?

I squash down the flicker of despair. “How much longer do you have to remain here? I’ve gathered Emperor Tarquin doesn’t plan to keep fostering the four of you for your entire lives.”

“I believe the plan is that once our older siblings—the ones who inherited our kingdoms—have a second-born child of acceptable age, Tarquin will call them to court for fostering and send us home.” Bastien sighs and leans back in the sofa. “My younger nephew is four. So I have three more years? But it’s hard to look forward to leaving when it means him being dragged here in my place.”

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