Page 28 of The Prince and the Ice King

Reardon tripped, face red and hot in an instant.

Shayla laughed but didn’t take back her statement.

“Y-you have someone?” Reardon stuttered. “I didn’t see you and Nigel with anyone. Unless….”

“It’s not Nigel,” she said as though the idea was preposterous—and it certainly seemed to be from their lack of romantic chemistry. “Keep on as you are, Reardon. You’ll discover all the castle’s secrets eventually.” Without elaborating, she kept on up the hill, her bag full and her steps sure.

Reardon’s potionwaswearing off, he decided, as he shuddered beneath his doublet, wishing for a warm fire when they returned.

Shayla noticed. “There should be a cloak with your new clothes.”

“It’s too short. Which is a shame, because it’s lovely. I can use the one I came in. Though that was taken away to be cleaned….” He stopped short, thinking of his dagger again. “I’m not getting it back, am I?”

Another warm laugh bubbled out of her. “I can take you to your cloak later. Clean it yourself and you might get to keep it. Does that mean you’re enjoying your new clothes?”

“Very much. The colors, the simple but flawless craftsmanship.” Reardon returned to her side, picking at the brilliant blue and green of today’s garments. “I honestly think this is better than any of the frilly noble wear I’ve had to endure. And the quilt! Does everyone have a quilt like that? It’s like a rainbow of patterns, and so warm.”

“Flatterer,” she said, opening the gate for them with an extra-wide smile. “I was rather proud of yours, but not everyone has a quilt yet. I started with the newbies and have been trying to backdate. Nigel was jealous you got one before he did.”

Reardon stood for several moments inside the archway before he realized what she meant. “You’rethe tailor?”

“Not the only tailor, but I did make your doublet, the one you wore last night, and your quilt. Why? Do I not look like a tailor?” She planted her hands on her hips, which only accentuated the presence of her daggers.

“More like a….”

“A…?”

“A cutthroat,” Reardon said honestly, not surprised when this seemed to please her.

“Then I haven’t lost my touch,” she said, spinning about to continue toward the castle—past the guardian ice statues that didn’t falter her steps in the slightest. “Come on. I’m not abandoning you yet. Time to deliver these components to our wizard.”

The castle would still take Reardon weeks to learn in full, but he memorized as best he could the path Shayla took him on to travel from the main doors to Liam’s laboratory. She explained that he had his own wing of the castle, partially for storage and experiments, but also to accommodate living quarters separate from others, like all the cursed had, as well as space for his apprentices to work.

Caitlin was beyond a mere apprentice now, really Liam’s second, standing in where he was limited by touch. Barclay was the one learning, a rare breed, apparently, since Caitlin had been the first in a generation to hold up to Liam’s standards for alchemy.

Much of the castle had high ceilings and open space, but Liam’s lab felt immediately stifling, like an overstuffed library, closed in by shelves filled with a combination of books, equipment, and messily labeled bottles.

The smell was also… interesting, like bread and sour fruit. Once Reardon saw the setup for fermentation, he realized why.

“You make ale and wine in here?”

“Reardon!” Barclay exclaimed upon seeing him enter behind Shayla. He and Caitlin were huddled together over a cluttered worktable making a large batch of some potion or another in a cauldron, just like Reardon had seen Barclay and Master Wells do many times back home.

Liam was there too, though standing farther away, choosing ingredients that he set on the table. “Where else did you think it came from?” he grumbled, sparking jolts of lightning from his body.

Reardon hoped an errant spark wouldn’t have the same effect as his touch.

“Behave,” Shayla chided him. “I did your grunt work, and I expect compensation.” She set her bag on another table along the wall.

“You let the prince help you?” Liam sneered, eyes glowing brightly like two pinpricks of stars in a night sky. “Am I going to be picking weeds out of those bundles?”

“Only what you’ll be picking out of your ass.” She extracted a bundle to show him, which easily could have been hers or Reardon’s, since their finished work had ended the same. “Relax. He’s a good kid. Fended off a hungry dire wolf without getting so much as a scratch.”

“What?” Barclay abandoned his work to rush to Reardon’s side, causing Caitlin to scramble to pick up the slow stirring he’d been doing with a ladle, her lips pursed but silent.

“I’m fine,” Reardon said. “Just a reminder to watch my back. Outside if not in,” he added with a smile at Shayla—though Caitlin and Liam both shot him steely glares to remind him that he hadn’t won over everyone just yet.

“Did things go well with the king this morning?” Barclay asked, hurrying back to Caitlin to reclaim his ladle, which allowed her to add another ingredient to the bubbling pot.

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