The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [107]
Aryn pressed a hand to her chest. A shadow separated itself from the dimness of an alcove and stalked toward her.
“Prince Teravian!” she said, and surprise gave way to annoyance.
A smirk crossed his face, marring its handsomeness. “That was fabulous. I thought you were going to faint.”
She gave him a stiff bow. “Anything to please you, Your Highness. Shall I fall and crack my head open on the stones for your further amusement?”
He rolled his eyes. “Gods, Aryn. I thought you had learned how to take a joke.”
“Perhaps it would help if you actually learned how to tell one, Your Highness,” Lirith said, moving closer. “You seem to subscribe to a rather abnormal definition of humor. I can mix a potion that will cure you of that affliction, if you like.”
Teravian grinned. “Now that's funny.”
Aryn gave Lirith a grateful look. The dark-eyed witch had a deft way with the prince. Of course, the fact that he had a crush on her certainly helped. Aryn wished she was as good at dealing with him, especially since he was soon to be her husband. True, they had made strides in their relationship—Teravian had even helped her on one occasion. However, conversations like this were still the norm rather than the exception, and in the last week he had seemed more sullen and solitary than usual.
Aryn decided to start over. “What are you doing here, Your Highness?”
He scowled. “You know perfectly well why I'm here. Queen Ivalaine will ask to see me—she always does. I was fostered at her court, after all.”
Mirda gave him a sharp look. “And how did you know the queen was coming?”
A startled look crossed his face, but it was replaced so quickly by anger that Aryn wasn't certain she had seen it.
“Why bother asking me?” he said, glaring at the elder witch. “Can't you just use a spell to pick apart my brain and find the answer for yourself?”
Mirda gazed at him with her wise eyes.
Teravian looked away first. “I'm going to wait with my father.” He turned and strode into the great hall—so swiftly he didn't notice as something fell to the floor. Aryn bent to retrieve it. It was a glove; he must have had a pair tucked into his belt. Except why had he been carrying gloves inside the castle?
Aryn didn't care. She would return it to him later. “Every time I think maybe he's not so awful as I thought, he does something to prove me wrong.”
“Do not judge him too harshly, sister,” Mirda said, touching Aryn's shoulder. “There is much that troubles him.”
“Yes, but what? He's been acting strangely lately. More strangely, I mean. I often see him riding out of the castle alone. I think he's up to something.”
Lirith gave a rich laugh. “I believe the prince is always up to something. It's his nature.” She glanced at Mirda. “But Aryn is right. He is changed of late, and his power is growing. He seems able to disappear into shadows at will, and I would wager a month of maddok he's weaving a spell of illusion to do it.”
Mirda gazed after the prince. “In the end, he may be stronger than all of us.” She glanced at Aryn. “Or nearly all. However, he will not come into the true fullness of his power until he is a man.”
Aryn frowned. “But the prince is eighteen now. Surely that's old enough to be considered a man.”
“I do not speak of his age,” Mirda said.
Lirith raised an eyebrow. “I see. But he is a prince. Any number of bold young women in the castle would be glad to make themselves available to him. I'm surprised he has not already lost his maidenhead.”
“Perhaps he knows what it will make of him,” Mirda said.
Before Aryn could ask what that meant, one of the king's guards pounded down the corridor and dashed into the great hall. Moments later, Queen Ivalaine appeared around a corner, accompanied by a pair of knights. She still wore her mud-stained riding gown, and her flaxen hair was tangled from wind. Whatever her business here was, it must be urgent indeed.
Ivalaine strode swiftly down the corridor, her pale eyes fixed on the doors of the great hall. It seemed she would walk