Escape to the Sea (Tangled Hearts #1)

Chapter 25 Finally Home

Ephraim

The world swims around me as the castle learns I’m finally home.

For a few moments, I’m happy, but it’s still bittersweet. That last kiss with Tomlyn, it felt…

Well. I suppose there will be time for that later.

For now, The aches and pains that my body has accumulated over the past five days are taking most of my attention. Arlen always told me that a real fight would be different to the sparring matches we conduct, or the tourney matches I compete in during summer court. But now I get to experience that difference everywhere… in my shoulders, my arms, my legs. Hells, even my teeth hurt.

The doors slam open and a number of guards come in, with Bertrand in tow behind them.

It takes me a moment to decipher what, exactly, they’re trying to ask me.

I hold up a hand and all of them fall silent. “Everyone, please. You’re going to have to be a little bit patient with me. It has been an exhausting day.”

“Exactly what we wanted to speak to you about, Your Highness,” one of the guards says, pulling out an old notebook and a pencil. “What happened?”

“Are my footmen all right? Simon and Martin? I want to make sure they were found first.”

“They are safe and recovering from moderate injuries in Yaventown as we speak,” Bertrand says. He’s gone in another flash, back out into the hallway to fetch gods-know-what or -whom.

“We need to talk to you about the people who kidnapped you,” the other guard says, her expression stormy.

“Of course,” I murmur, my head starting to pound. How long have I been awake? The Wyrd Sea was last night, wasn’t it? And we definitely did not sleep for long. Everything about that night is like a fever dream. “It might take me a while to get through it. There are some interesting diversions in the middle. Were either of you around when my mother was here? And traversed the Wyrd Sea? I’d never been, it’s a fascinating place, full of color and sound. I’m sorry, I’m sure that’s not very helpful. I should probably start at the beginning.”

The guard with the paper and pencil nods. “That would be for the best.”

I take a sip of the water someone has placed next to me. I try to put my thoughts together. None of it seems to work. “I was kidnapped about a half a day out from Yaventown. I don’t think they knew who I was. They were termites from the Trunk.”

Is that even a fair nickname? Tommy is no termite.

I can’t forget the way that his eyes glowed in the starlight, his gaze awe-struck at the night sky as I pointed out Danna’s Axe, Karesh’s Fin, The Twin Goatherds.

How did someone like him end up in a criminal life? It makes little sense to me. He has a talent for magic, is a highly skilled fighter, and makes decisions on the fly before I can even figure out what is happening. But to them, he’d simply be another termite and thug of the Trunk.

I then realize that I’m still sitting in the room, with multiple guards around me. Oh dear. I’ve never been particularly good at lying, but being at court has given me an excellent opportunity to learn how to omit creatively. When they ask me why I chose to follow Tommy through the woods, I state it was the best option presented to me. I emphasize the fear and terror of how Benny’s Dozen terrorized us. I talk about our daring escape through the Wyrd Sea.

My mind keeps drifting back there, even during the parts where I’m still supposed to be in the forest. Every time my story shifts, the guards bring me back to the start.

The longer they keep me in this room, the more my mind starts to drift. The dull throb now turns into sharp jolts of pain each time I move and I rapidly climb towards my limits. The first time I start to sway, the guards don’t seem to notice. The second time, one of them stands and goes to call for Bertrand.

“Start at the beginning again, please,” the guard says. Bertrand enters a few moments later, before I have time to start speaking, with the castle’s cleric, Caryn, in tow.

With five or six people in the room, it makes it even harder to focus. Another guard joins, Dominic a blue demonkin, who announces that they’ve apprehended ‘one of the vagabonds’ who kidnapped me. They aren’t specific on names, or features, or anything, really. My stomach drops like a rock and I nearly pitch off the bed.

Caryn steadies me, worried. “When’s the last time you had water?”

I think about it for a moment and give a small laugh. “I honestly can’t remember. A little earlier today, while on the run. Before that, two days ago, perhaps?”

The cleric frowns and gets to her feet, her expression clearly annoyed as she turns to the guards. “You’ll all have to wait. He’s nearly delirious.”

“But-—”

“You heard her!” Bertrand says, clearing the room. “Out! I will call you once His Highness is better rested.”

They take all the air with them out of the room, and I find myself short of breath. If they captured one of the Dozen, that’s wonderful; I can still feel the foot of the monk, Sinclair, in my back. If there are others like him out there, I want them behind lock and key as soon as possible.

But what if it was Atrea? Or Tommy? I can’t take that risk. I move to get up, to go follow the guards and to tell them to bring me whichever vagabond they’d managed to capture at once, but I never make it—instead, I hit the floor.

~*~

When I come back to myself, days or hours later, who knows, I’m draped up to my neck in bed sheets, like I’m a young child with a cold.

“This is ridiculous,” I croak, and try to sit up. I don’t make it very far, just enough to find Bertrand sitting at my desk, preparing a cup of tea.

“Bertrand… Really?”

“I hope you’re not expecting an apology, Your Highness,” he says, pouring a measure of milk in the tea and walking over with that and a full pitcher of water. “You will not get one.”

I sigh, leaning against the headboard and running my hands through my mop of curls. “How long have I been out?”

Bertrand looks out the window for a moment. The first drops of sunlight are starting to spill out onto the floor. The palace cat, St. Giuseppe the Magnificent, who most certainly predates me, hops off a ledge and slinks back down and away from the desk now that it’s noisier. He reveals my satchel; it remains unmolested, and sits off to the side, still closed. Thank the gods that Bertrand wasn’t overly curious.

“Probably five or six hours. I think you needed the rest,” he replies.

“I cannot believe you let me sleep that long. I have so much to do and—”

“And that includes having a cup of tea and eating breakfast, Prince Ephraim. You were traipsing around in the forest for half a tenday. You’re going to sit in that bed for at least another hour.”

I raise my chin and give him an imperious look. He dismisses it and sets a platter on my lap before pouring me a glass of water.

I let out a huff and look down at the platter, absentmindedly straightening the cutlery. “Did I miss anything else?”

“Nothing important. Your uncle will be here shortly—the courier should have arrived overnight to alert him that you have returned. I’m sure he will also want to be involved in the next stages of this process.”

I’ll have maybe a day or two before he arrives from Castiglione. It’s plenty of time to get my story straight.

“Can I see the notes from last night?”

Bertrand hands me some of my attempts at an account last night. Frankly, I understand why the guards kept pulling me back through them again and again. “I must have been tired.”

“Quite,” Bertrand says dryly, sitting at my bedside.

“I’ll need fresh parchment and a quill then. This will take some time.”

“I’ll get what you need, but you need to eat first.”

I wave him off dismissively and pick up a biscuit.

Over the next hour or so, I try to piece together my recollection of the events; I can be more careful with my writing than I can be with my tongue, especially my tongue after a few days of hard marching through the forest.

Once I put it to paper, the events in the forest—the kidnapping and return from the Wyrd Sea—become clearer and more distinct. As for what happened in the Sea, everything is a blur. I remember the big monster with the ever-changing horns, a dark shadowy figure, singing zinnias, and then being entangled with Tommy and Atrea in quite passionate lovemaking. But anything concrete about those moments is fuzzy—I’m mostly left with hazy images of wonder and lustful desires.

I write it all down anyway. Then I think better of it and burn the page. I have to leave Atrea out of the account, that much, I do know. As for Tommy… Bertrand informs me that the guard weren’t particularly forthcoming about the vagabond, but mentioned a Karstian.

I will have to speak with my uncle about him as well. When I’m done, I hand Bertrand my final statement before walking to the far windows and looking out over the Dhanian Sea. The tide is coming in and the heat is already building, despite it only being six or seven in the morning.

“I wish I could write more about the Wyrd Sea, but honestly, it’s all started to blur together. Do you think I should call for Caryn?” I ask.

Bertrand nods. “I had one of your clerks pull some accounts that your parents wrote. Prince Eren had similar complaints. It took several trips to before he was able to retain clear memories from the Wyrd Sea. Events with important emotional impact were clearer, but only so much. If you’d like to speak to Caryn again, that’s fine, but she may not be able to clarify anything for you.”

We lapse into silence as Bertrand tends to some other paper work. The quiet is all encompassing. It’s different from the last several days, full of noise and ruckus and danger. It was full of life too.

I stare out into the waves, and my mind wanders to Atrea; if she’d like it here. I can’t help but drift back to the way she moved in step with me with rapt attention as we moved through the forest in the Sea. The way her eyes brightened with wonder as we strolled through the meadow. All of that wonder and companionship and then…

I can’t get her last look, the still emptiness, out of my head. I can’t understand it.

Tommy begged her to stick it out, to see our excursion through. Despite how quickly we got under each other’s skin, she agreed. She’s strong, intelligent, and competent. Tommy must have given himself up; he’s far too clever to be caught.

Even though I felt utterly and entirely alone, those two scoundrels from the Trunk took me into their cluster , a part of their team.

I look over to the bag on my desk, ruminating on the necklace stowed away inside. My mother only used it once every so often, so I’m sure it will take some time before it can be used again. The last remnant of a decaying relationship.

It means my plans to pull information out of Desire will go unanswered for quite some time, I think. But perhaps that is for the best. Atrea told me more than I needed to know.

This elf, this she-wolf, came into my life with blood and fury, and left it with scorn and derision. So why was she the first one to let me know about my lack of status in the consortium? That I meant so little to my mother?

Slowly, I turn around, leaning against the balcony. “Bertrand, may I ask you a question?”

Bertrand pauses, pulling his spectacles down as he waits on my next words. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“What was my mother like? When she first met my father?”

Bertrand stares at me. “I admit I was not expecting this particular line of questioning.” He sets his work down on the small table to his side. “Your mother?”

I look out to the waves. “I want to know how different she was. She was so distant with me, but that couldn’t have won over my father.”

“Permission to speak plainly, Prince Ephraim?”

“Of course, Bertrand. You don’t need to ask.”

He nods, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “She was intelligent. Cunning. A bit of an ethereal sort. She would roam the halls with your father. They would talk sometimes, but other times they would be in each other’s presence, your mother doing some sort of writing as your father attended to the needs of the estate. They would eat together rarely, as your father typically used that time to treat with other nobles. She didn’t tend to have much in common with other members of the branch, and would often seclude herself. It wasn’t malicious, she never felt like she had anything in common with anyone else.

“She was good to you, when you were young, but she never seemed very passionate about you or your father. They were cordial, but…” Bertrand stumbles over his words for a moment, trying to finish that sentence as nicely as possible.

“Doing her duty to the empire, then,” I fill in, unable to help the bitter edge in my voice.

Bertrand quiets, as if trying to muster a defense and finding himself unable.

I force a smile, trying to brighten. “I’m all right, Bertrand. Really! Thank you for the memories. Sometimes it gets lost in the haze of my childhood.”

My memories of her are so distant. To me she was so closed off, as if she was simply biding her time.

“Princess Braelynn was decent. But you would know more than I would about your relationship with her, Your Highness. Still, it did not surprise me that she left once your father grew ill.”

I don’t know whether I am more upset about the fact that Atrea was right or the fact that I had been so ready to defend someone I barely knew. Despite Atrea trying to wound me with the information, she accomplished quite the opposite. But regardless, it ended the same. She was right. I turned twenty a few months ago and came of age two years before that. If my mother wants to reconnect with me, it’s not as if I’m hard to find: I’m right where she left me.

I finish the now-cold tea on my nightstand and sit down on the edge of the bed, gathering my thoughts.

There’s not enough time to sit and be melancholy. As painful as it is, the door has closed. I can’t be the boy asking after his mother to every new stranger. That time is gone.

“I think I need to get out of this nightgown and into something fresh.”

Bertrand nods and moves for the door. “Would you like another pot of tea, Your Highness?”

“Coffee, I think. I’ve got a lot of writing to do.”