Page 61 of Kingdom of Feathers

Basil gave him a weary smile as he tugged on the stiff fabric of his sleeve. “Pressing matters to return to, My Lord? It’s inconsiderate of me to keep you away from your lands for so long without fair warning.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” said Lord Baldwin hastily. “That’s not what I was getting at. I just had the impression when we were leaving Tola that you were determined to finalize the matter with all speed.”

“I was,” sighed Basil, rubbing at his chest, over which his tunic was tightly laced.

He still wasn’t convinced by the cultural advisor who’d insisted he would make a better impression if he donned the clothes favored by his hosts. The weather was growing far too warm for these restrictive Mistran garments.

“And I didn’t plan to be here nearly this long either, ifI’mhonest,” he went on. “But it’s been borne in upon me that my attempts at efficiency were a touch…naive.” Plus he’d begun to pin his hopes on the dragons providing him with answers, and was trying to linger long enough to coincide with their promised visit. Not that he intended to tell Lord Baldwin that.

“But you also seem quite happy to linger here,” said Lord Baldwin carefully, looking sideways at Basil. “You and the princess seem to be on excellent terms.”

Basil shot him a searching look, wondering what was behind the question. It wasn’t that he was surprised Lord Baldwin had noticed the easy friendship that had so unexpectedly developed between him and Wren. But Lord Baldwin was so uncomfortable whenever the princess came up, Basil was taken aback to hear the nobleman raise the topic himself.

Basil hesitated, not sure how to answer. If his reasons for staying in Myst so long were easy to explain, he would have answered the irate letter on his desk long before. But he hadn’t wanted to articulate to himself, let alone to Lord Baldwin or the nobleman back home, that his growing enjoyment of Wren’s company was a substantial factor in his willingness to extend his stay. He wasn’t usually one to shy away from confronting truths, but he had a vague sense that if he looked this one in the eye, the whole precarious balance of his and Wren’s relationship would collapse very quickly. And he didn’t want that.

Before he had figured out what response to give, an urgent knock sounded on the door, and both men turned.

“Enter,” Basil called calmly.

One of the servants from his delegation threw the door open, almost falling into the room in her haste.

“Your Majesty!” She bobbed a hasty curtsy. “Have you heard what happened to the princess?”

“What do you mean?” Basil demanded, a potent shot of fear racing through him. “What happened?”

“She was just pulled from the garden pond by her guards, sopping wet and half-drowned!”

“What?!” Basil was barely aware of his movements as he stepped toward the door. “But we were just with her!” He glanced at Lord Baldwin, whose face was frozen in horror at the news. “Moments ago!”

“I know,” the maid breathed, her eyes wide. “I heard one of the other servants say the king isn’t convinced it’s an accident, and I thought I’d better come and warn you, in case anyone accuses…”

She trailed off, but Basil didn’t need her to finish her sentence. Anyone could predict that at the first suggestion of foul play, King Lloyd’s mind would turn immediately to his unwelcome guest.

“Surely they couldn’t accuse us,” spluttered Lord Baldwin. “She was fine when we left the garden!”

“And nowhere near the water,” said Basil, still too alarmed by the news of Wren’s accident to care much about any accusations. “What happened?”

“I don’t rightly know, Your Majesty,” admitted the maid. “Someone told me she fell from a cliff, but I didn’t think there was a cliff in the garden.”

Basil cast his mind hastily over the layout of the pond. There was a small ridge there, with a waterfall. But it wasn’t high enough for a fall from it to be dangerous. He relaxed slightly. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t know that either,” the maid said apologetically. “She was taken to her rooms, and her maids have been bustling in and out warming water and bringing towels.”

Basil nodded distractedly. That sounded like she’d suffered nothing worse than a dunking. But still…how had it happened? He’d never seen her climb that ridge before. And why did her parents suspect foul play?

With a great effort of will, he curbed his first impulse, which was to rush to her immediately. Something told him King Lloyd would not take well to Basil presenting himself at Wren’s suite, demanding to see for himself that she was unharmed.

He had little choice but to wait. Any ability he had to think strategically about Lord Baldwin’s information had fled, however, as had his desire to respond to his various urgent correspondence. Once the maid had bowed herself out, Lord Baldwin hurrying to do the same, Basil found himself pacing his room for almost an hour. He remembered when his sister Violet had fallen from a horse and broken her arm. Given that she’d been in no danger of lasting injury, he’d surprised himself with how much it had distressed him.

Eventually he’d realized that logical or not, he felt responsible, as though he should have been there and somehow prevented it. He knew his parents didn’t have the time or attention to properly supervise all their children, and as far back as he could remember, he’d felt a flicker of guilt every time circumstances prevented him from filling that gap. It was a feeling he’d striven to overcome as his duties increased. Now that he was king, he needed that detachment more than ever—there was no way he would be at liberty to play father to his sisters.

The impotent frustration he felt now, knowing Wren had suffered an accident moments after he’d left her, was similar to that old feeling. But at the same time it was different, and alarmingly intense. He knew she was fine, and that whatever happened hadn’t been his fault. But he was still filled with a restless energy that would allow him to think of nothing else.

He was disappointed but unsurprised when the princess made no appearance either at lunch, or for their afternoon rendezvous. He was perfectly content for discussion of their new information to wait, but he wished he could have spoken to her, assured himself that she wasn’t in any danger. Thankfully the weather had become considerably milder since his arrival in Myst, and he didn’t think she’d be in danger of illness from submersion in the pond.

When she didn’t attend dinner either, Basil gave up on the evening altogether and retired to bed. He lay awake for some time, trying to reassure himself first that her prolonged absence just meant she was tired from her ordeal, not that her injuries were worse than reported, and second that his own overblown reaction was no cause for concern.

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