Page 37 of The Prince's Curse

“What’s this, then? Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Gertie.” He stepped forward, pulling back his hood. “Benjin.”

The old woman squinted at him, then bared her teeth in a crooked grin. “Aye, so it is. Good to see you, lad. And looking rather haler and heartier than I remember. That palace life treating you good, eh?”

His breath caught. “How do you…?”

Stepping back from the doorway, she cackled. “Not to worry, lad. I’m not the type to go spreading rumors like that around. Your mama told me what you’ve been up to—proud as a griffin she was.”

The thought warmed him. He followed Gertie’s hobbling gait into the dank hall and up a creaking set of stairs, pausing on each step so she could catch her balance.

“My mother’s doing well, then?”

“Hmph. As well as can be, I reckon. Those coins of yours certainly help. Still, you know how she worries. And things haven’t been all sunshine and rainbows round these parts lately. I’m sure she’ll tell you more herself.”

He nodded, a hint of trepidation twisting his gut when they ascended the final steps and turned down the twin of the hall below. They stopped at the third door on the left.

“You take care now.” Gertie fixed him with another gap-toothed smile. “And tell your ma I expect to see her tomorrow evening for dinner.”

“I will,” he promised.

He watched her hobble several doors further down to her own room. Then, taking a deep breath, he knocked.

“It’s open,” a voice within called.

A wave of déjà vu washed over him when he stepped inside. Though the space was barely larger than his room at the palace, simple wooden partitions divided it into different areas and lent the illusion of more space than there really was.

He found his mother in what passed for the living room. A pair of beaten stools sat beside a scavenged table near a standing stove letting off heat. Her faded dress was neatly patched, and her blonde curls—a longer mirror to his own—hung loose about her face.

She glanced up from the dress she was mending. When she spotted him, her eyes widened, the fabric falling from her limp fingers. “Benjin! By the Goddess!”

“Hi, Mom.”

He’d barely gotten the words out before she was surging to her feet and wrapping him in a tight embrace. Her familiar floral scent washed over him.

“Goddess’ mercy, it’s good to see you,” she whispered. “You said you were doing well in those letters you sent, but words are a poor substitute for seeing with my own eyes.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom.” He was surprised to feel a tightness in his throat. Blinking, he swallowed and forced a smile. “Here, I brought something for you.”

Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out the sack of coins.

His mom hesitated, biting her lip. “You know you don’t need to do this. I get by just fine on my own.”

“I know, Mom.” He jingled the pouch. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t do even better with more.”

When she still hesitated, he sighed and pressed the pouch into her hand. “I’m serious—take it. Please. It’s more than I know what to do with, and besides, they provide everything I could possibly need up there anyway.”

His mother relented, pocketing the pouch even as she scowled at his words. “Proud as I am of you for landing that apprenticeship, I don’t like the thought of you up there on the hill with all those unsavory lords and ladies. They’re not like you or me—they don’t think the same way, have the same values or priorities. You can’t trust them. Remember what happened with Baroness Simea?”

Benjin tightened his jaw, recalling the baroness’ beet-red face when she’d tossed them out with nary a second thought. “Of course I do. And don’t worry—I’m being careful.” An image of Haldric flickered before him, and he squashed it down. “I know better than to put my faith in any noble.”

“That’s my boy.” Retaking her seat, his mother patted the stool beside her. “Now, come. Tell me all about your time up there. I want to heareverything.”

Feeling another wave of welcome nostalgia, he did just that, settling in while he related his first encounter with the Grand Magus and the work he’d been doing since. Though he mentioned Prince Haldric in passing, he found himself minimizing his encounters with the prince, skipping over their lessons together. He couldn’t say exactly why—only that those moments felt private in a way he didn’t want to share with her.

Soon enough, afternoon had bled into evening. His mother cooked a simple vegetable stew for them, serving it with hunks of bread almost hard enough for Benjin to crack a tooth on. Sopping up the last of the broth with his bread, he leaned back on the stool with a contented sigh, patting his stomach.

“Your cooking brings back fond memories.”

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