Page 23 of The Uncrowned Prince

“Never fear,” Vaniell returned, attempting to lighten the mood with a teasing wink. “I would never drape you in silk and velvet. Someone might decide you’re prettier than me.”

“There is little chance of that,” Karreya noted matter-of-factly. “You are sufficiently pretty and would not suffer for the comparison.”

And suddenly it was his turn to be completely stunned by her unselfconscious compliment. By a sentiment that he’d heard a thousand times and never taken seriously.

Vaniell had received no shortage of flattery in his life, and was under no illusions about his appearance. His face was as much a weapon as a dagger or a well-honed enchantment, but never had another person’s acknowledgment of it left him so entirely bereft of speech. Nor could he recall ever before feeling as if such words were more a gift than a burden.

“It seems compliments are the best way to prevent you from talking,” Karreya observed after a few more moments of silence. “I will be sure to take note of this for the future.”

She shot him a quick sideways glance that looked almost amused, and as a smile tugged at his lips, Vaniell began to wonder whether for the first time in his life, he might have fallen just a tiny bit in love.

* * *

For the present at least, it seemed the best way to keep Karreya safe was to keep her as close as possible, so Vaniell elected to make his rounds with her in tow, hoping that she would be unlikely to recognize the significance of his conversations.

Because there were a number of those conversations he needed to have without further delay. The pigeon lofts should be open again, and two of his couriers ought to have returned by now. Plus there was Etienne, Martine, and Greshen…

In the midst of his planning, a tug at his coat caught Vaniell’s attention, and he looked down into the elfin features of little Pren—a blonde sprite of a street urchin who lived in the alleyway behind an inn, two streets over.

“Can you come, Master Niell?”

Vaniell crouched down to ruffle her tangled curls and smile into her worried brown eyes. “What is it, Miss Pren? Have you had breakfast today?”

She nodded. “Cobber gave us bread. It’s Petrin. The guards chased him this morning and now he’s bleeding. It won’t stop. Everything is all red, and he’s crying.”

Vaniell’s jaw clenched with anger, but he kept his expression light and gave the girl an encouraging nod. “Of course we’ll come. Why don’t you show us the way?”

Not that he didn’t know where they lived. Pren and Petrin had been orphaned two years ago and taken up residence behind The Spinning Dolphin, a few blocks off the wharf. They were reasonably safe there—the proprietor, Cobber, was a decent man who gave them leftover food and allowed them to sleep in the kitchen whenever the weather was bad. They had no need to steal, which meant they remained unbothered by the tougher gangs of older children that often terrorized the younger.

But like so many others in this city, they were on their own. King Trevelian had been wise and just in many ways, but he could have done more to protect the most helpless of his citizens.

Vaniell knew he could not fix everything. There were so many problems in his own life that he could find no answers for. But this… This one small thing he could fix, and these small things sometimes seemed like the only reason to keep moving forward.

With Karreya’s watchful presence at the tail of their little procession, Pren led the way to a narrow alleyway stacked high with empty crates and cluttered with refuse bins. In a dark corner, lying on a heap of ragged blankets now stained red with blood, was her brother, Petrin. Probably eight years old, with shaggy brown curls and an expression of panic in his hazel eyes.

“Well now, what have you done to yourself, Master Petrin?” Vaniell was careful to keep his voice and his manner calm as he crouched down to meet the boy’s eyes.

“I fell,” Petrin said hoarsely. “Was runnin’ from the king’s men and took a shortcut through a warehouse. Fell through an old crate while I was climbin’ out the window.”

Vaniell could see his lips pinching together against the pain, and even beneath the grime on his face, he looked paler than normal.

“May I have a look?”

Petrin nodded tightly, so Vaniell pulled back the edges of the boy’s torn trousers to reveal a deep, ragged gash in his lower leg. Blood still oozed, and there was visible dirt in and around the wound.

This was going to require more skill than he possessed.

“I propose a bargain,” he said, careful to keep his concern from appearing on his face.

“What sort of bargain?” Petrin was instantly suspicious. “You know I got no money.”

“No, I don’t need any money, but I do need your help with something. I’ve been working on a new bit of magic, and I require some opinions. I can take you to a friend of mine who can fix up your leg, but only if you promise to tell me what you think of my new trick.”

Pren gasped in excitement, then clapped a hand over her mouth when Petrin shot her a quelling look. “Please, Petrin?” she whispered. “I want to see the magic.”

Vaniell grinned. “It’s not far, and I can carry you so you don’t have to walk.”

Had Petrin been much older, or an only child, his pride might not have allowed it, but he was young and in pain, and had his sister to think of.

---