Several minutes later, someone knocked at the door again. Relam was half asleep at that point, dozing in his chair. He blinked away his exhaustion and looked around, trying to identify the source of the noise. Finally, he realized that someone was at the door again.
Sighing, he stood and went to the door, peering through the peep hole. He saw his father’s face on the other side, looking straight through the cunningly concealed gap.
“I know you’re there, son. Open the door.”
Relam stepped back, contemplating his father’s request. He was starting to turn away when his father spoke again.
“I could get in anyways, but I would rather not do it that way. Open up, Relam. We need to talk.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
Relam sighed and drew back the latch. The door swung open almost immediately and his father entered, his face lined with worry and pain.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
His father nodded and shut the door quietly. “I figured. That’s why you drove off Aven.”
Relam winced and looked away.
“You know I’m no champion of the lower classes,” his father grunted, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t hold with mixing with servants more than necessary. But that boy looks up to you, Relam.”
“Because I’m a prince.”
“No. Because of everything else that you are,” his father countered, looking into Relam’s eyes. “You are a fighter, but you are noble. You work hard though you are born to wealth. You do tasks yourself though others would gladly do them for you. You take time for those you are told are beneath you.”
Relam shrugged. “Well . . . I guess.”
His father snorted. “You also got him a position in the city guard.”
“With some help.”
“It was still your idea.” Relam’s father leaned forward earnestly. “Like I said, son, he looks up to you. Don’t let him down.”
The prince snorted derisively. “I just did, didn’t I? Running him off like that?”
“Not yet.”
Relam frowned and looked at his father, not understanding. “His trust in you is shaken,” Orram admitted. “But not beyond repair.”
“You’re sure?”
“Relam, I’ve lived a long time and been in many situations like this. Trust me.”
Relam moved quickly to the door. “Right. I’m off then.”
“Off to where?”
“The kitchens, maybe the banquet hall. Aven’s working there tonight.”
“The Assembly Banquet?”
“Yes.”
“Keep a low profile, Relam. Otherwise you’ll be plagued with questions about your mother’s health. I can’t have you telling off the Assembly the same way you told off Aven.”
“It would be fun.”
“Until they sought retribution.”
“True,” Relam admitted, pushing the thought aside. “Is mother doing any better?”
His father’s expression closed up immediately, his face stony and set in hard lines. “No,” he said finally. “In fact, I think she is doing worse.”
“What?” Relam demanded.
“She is fading, Relam.”
“No!”
“Son, listen-”
“You mean to say she’s dying?”
His father merely looked back at him. Relam stared into his father’s eyes and saw that there the barrier of hard resolve was shattered. In his father’s eyes was infinite sadness, a well deeper than the Southern Ocean. They were the eyes of a desperate and broken man.
“I’m sorry, son. We’ve done everything we can. But she’s slipping away.”
Relam leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “I know. It’s not Aven’s, either. It’s just so painful.”
“I know,” his father said softly. “Believe me, I know.” He stood and went to the door. “I’m going to stay with her until the end. Will you join me after you seek out Aven?”
Relam nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice. His father sighed and let himself out, leaving the door open for Relam to follow. The young prince quickly smoothed his rumpled clothes and finger combed his hair. He didn’t need to dress in court garb for this. He would use the back hallways and sneak down to the kitchens. He belted on his sword as a matter of habit, then moved out into the main room and locked his door. After a long look at the door that led to his mother’s room, Relam moved decisively towards the servant’s entrance in the dining alcove.
He shoved open the concealed door and followed the narrow hallway to the staircase they had used on that fateful night nearly a year ago. Relam wondered for a moment what had become of those assassins, if they still languished in the Eyrie Tower or if their master had caught up with them. The young prince had not heard anything regarding those prisoners in a very long time. Nor had he thought about the assassination attempt in months.
Relam moved quickly along the next corridor, approaching the kitchens. Delicious smells wafted from the entrance ahead, urging him onwards. His stomach rumbled alarmingly, reminding the prince that he had missed dinner when he had shut himself in his room.
When he finally reached the kitchens, Relam found that things were winding down for the evening. The feast had already been served, evidenced by the hundreds of dirty dishes and tubs full of silverware to be washed. A few apprentices were up to their elbows in soap suds, trying to keep up with the flood of dishware. One was standing on an upturned crate to reach the sink, a girl of twelve years or so.
Relam moved past the dishwashers without a word, looking around for Aven. The boy had not said where in the kitchens he would be working, Relam realized, and the kitchens were rather extensive. It took him a full ten minutes to search every nook and cranny, and still no results.
Finally, he was forced to admit defeat. He moved back towards the dishwashers and cleared his throat
