Page 38 of The Prince's Curse

His mother let out a derisive snort. “You needn’t pretend, Benjin. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the fancy foods they’ve been feeding you at the palace.”

“Perhaps not. But I still have no idea how you squeeze as much flavor as you do out of the ingredients you have.”

She chuckled and rose to tend to their dishes, waving him away when he tried to help. “Like they say in Vantor, necessity is the mother of invention. And even with those gallants of yours, meat is too exorbitant a luxury right now to afford. Not when the coins are better spent on firewood or saved for a rainy day.”

Frowning, Benjin surveyed his mother’s cramped apartment. The room had always seemed small to him but never as suffocating as it did in that moment. Perhaps the palace really was spoiling him.

Reluctantly, he stood. “I should get back.”

His mother gave him a sad smile. “I figured. That master of yours got more work for you?”

“First thing tomorrow morning. Once the Summit’s over, there will be a good deal of clean-up to perform, not to mention my regular deliveries. Honestly, I think you’d like Dexil if you met him. He grew up a commoner like us, and he spends practically all his free time helping others.”

Her voice was doubtful when she replied. “Well, perhaps someday I will.”

She walked with him to the door, then wrapped him in another tight embrace. He rested his head against her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent.

“You be careful now, you hear?” She gripped him tighter, almost clinging to him. “Things have always been rough in Revesole, but they’re only getting worse. There’s not enough food or work to go around, and the king’s declining health is no secret. Once he goes, there’s talk—dangeroustalk—of whatmight happen next. Rumbles of something brewing. The palace might be safe now, but that doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way.”

Tension squeezed his spine at what she was implying.Revolt. Rebellion.

“I’ll be careful.” He started to pull away, then hesitated. “You know, you could come with me. I’m certain if I asked, Dexil could find a room for you, maybe some work as a palace servant.”

She shook her head with a snort. “After Baroness Simea? Thank you, but I’d rather take my chances out here.” She jingled the coin purse he’d given her. “Besides, you help me too much as it is. I’ve been saving what I can from what you send. Soon enough, I should be able to afford a better place outside the city. Might have to take Gertie with me, though. Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Chuckling, Benjin leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Take care, Mom. I promise, I’ll be back to visit again as soon as I can.”

“You’d better!”

With one last parting grin, he tugged his cloak tighter about himself and slipped out, making his own way down the hall and out the front door. Now that night had fallen, he walked the streets even more cautiously, keeping to the major roads and larger crowds.

Sure enough, he saw signs of his mother’s dire warning all around him. More urchins and beggars than usual huddled in darkened alleys or crowded the street corners asking for handouts. He caught plenty of eyes sizing him up, likely deciding if he was worth the risk to rob. Thank the Goddess he’d worn his older tattered cloak and not one of the newer ones Dexil had gifted him.

Fresh anger gripped him. Why weren’t the king and other nobles doing more to help their people? Revesole was in rough shape—that was plain to see. And if things were this bad herein the capital, how much worse must they be elsewhere in the provinces?

He didn’t relax until he’d climbed the hill and reached the palace gates, slipping in past a pair of royal guards who recognized him, even if they did curl their lips up. Everyone here might respect the Grand Magus despite his birth, but Benjin remained nothing but a lowborn risen above his station in their eyes.

No wonder he felt like he didn’t belong.

Trudging back to his quarters, he found himself desperate for rest. While it had been nice to see his mother, her parting words had left an anxious pit in his stomach. As he huddled in bed, drifting off to sleep, his tired thoughts twisted back to Haldric, some part of him actually sad that his lessons with the arrogant prince had come to an end.

fourteen

Haldric

Nerves racked Haldric, twistinghis stomach into knots as he followed his father into the banquet hall. Royal guards stood stationed around the chamber, intermixed with the personal retinues of the other governors. Aides wearing all manner of color and crest streamed past, carrying messages and important-looking documents.

“Don’t let them sense your fear,” his father murmured. He leaned in closer where he gripped Haldric’s arm to steady himself. “It will only encourage them to pounce.”

Swallowing, Haldric nodded. He took a deep breath. He had spent the past two years since Melisie’s death preparing for this moment. If he was to become king himself someday, he had to be able to rise and meet these men and women as equals. At least today, he’d have his father with him, along with his aunt and Dexil.

And Benjin.

A slight frown marred Haldric’s lips. The apprentice’s presence shouldn’t matter so much to him—it’s not as if Benjin would be aiding with any negotiations, and they hadn’t exactly ended their last runeflame lesson on the best of terms.

Still, Haldric found himself unreasonably soothed by the knowledge that Benjin would be there. Perhaps he was that desperate to see another semi-familiar face.

The central table appeared surprisingly small with the other governors’ retinues positioned nearby. Eighteen seats surrounded it—six for the king and the other five governors, along with room for two advisers apiece. More chairs and stations encircled the main table for additional clerks and servants.

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