Shoestring Theory

NINE

The grand mage had always been a nebulous position. They were a courtier, yes, but they were a separate entity altogether as well. They did not live with the other nobles, dine with them, partake in their daily lives. The fact that they were a servant to the palace as well had always led to a sort of pleasant kinship with the staff. Frankly, Cyril would rather spend his time watching knights in the sparring grounds or observing dinner preparations in the kitchens than attend any kind of formal ball.

Even the servants, who he had a better-than-average rapport with, seemed to turn on him. He was snubbed even as they helped him carry his essentials to the east wing. It really did sting. He had lived in these halls his entire life. He knew most these people on a forename basis, and now they would not look him in the eye.

There was some kind of poetic irony to how, just days ago, he was bolstered by the idea of connection, of working together to keep a shared secret, and now he was, as foretold, completely isolated. Cyril was beginning to really hate poetry.

Tigris had declared she would help him move out of the tower. Then, she had declared she had no hands to carry anything with, so she was lounging on his sofa pruning her claws on the upholstery.

“He wants to be close to you! Explain to me again why that’s so awful.”

“Predators want to be close to prey,” he said curtly. He was not in the mood to humour her about her brother. Tigris had not been there in the garden at night, in the hallway with the nobles, in the woods by the creek. The brother she held in her heart was sweet and tender. He wasn’t sure even twenty years witnessing his corruption would help her see differently.

“It’s like you did not hear how he spoke to you! He is the same as he ever was, Cy! He is beside himself with love!”

“He is certainly beside himself.”

Cyril was ordering and reordering his books. He was unsure if he wanted them alphabetically ordered by title or by author. And, also, if he tried to think about anything else, he would need powerful libations.

“Why can’t you even entertain the idea that he might have changed?”

Because he had me by the throat five days ago , he wanted to say.

“Because he hasn’t, Tig. Listen, I’m sorry, but your brother isn’t the same person anymore. And he isn’t coming back.”

“He is trying to make amends! We should tell him about me.”

“Do you truly think he would make so public a declaration to me? So clumsily ? Your brother?”

“You don’t realise how he is around you.”

“Oh. My mistake, it seems you were the one married to him for over a score. How very unusual. Is that not frowned upon?”

“You are being cruel, now. You won’t even give him a chance.”

Cyril slammed the book he was mindlessly piling away onto his desk and ground his nails into the lacquered wood.

“Fine. Fine ,” he snapped. “He is your brother. You have your doubts. We shall give him a chance .”

He left the books on the desk and stormed out of his rooms, pausing only to wait for the sound of paws clacking against stone floor to signify she was following him.

He had coddled her too much. She needed her eyes opened.

They made it to the east wing in the early evening, when the sun was dipped low on the horizon and the sky was the colour of blood. It felt appropriate. Cyril paused at the door to the room he had entered more times than he could count, looked down at his companion, who fixed her eyes on the brass knobs with a creased brow, and knocked.

“Enter,” was the response from within. So he did as he was bid.

It was the first time in years that he had entered Eufrates’s room again, and he was instantly awash with memories, very much against his will.

He had spent countless hours here in another life. It was a palladium for the aspiring artist. Bright and airy, with windows near as tall as the ceiling streaming light in all hours of the day. They allowed the inhabitants of the room to observe the romantic outside gardens to their hearts’ content. Bookcases tall enough to need a rolling ladder flanked the walls on the half of the space not occupied by windows and they were overfilled with poetry, anthologies, novellas and epics alike. A reading nook took its place somewhere between those shelves, in a spot where Cyril knew the sunlight shone comfortably. There was shelving dedicated to instruments and another to writing, composition, draftsmanship.

Compared to how much room Eufrates dedicated to his hobbies, his actual living space seemed impoverished. There was a medium-sized armoire where he kept his leathers and silks (though Cyril knew if Eufrates was lacking in clothes, all he needed to do was have a new outfit commissioned as the town’s finest tailor had his measurements memorised) and a double bed, sparsely made, where Cyril had sat endlessly and watched the prince debut a new idea for a play or a song or simply regale him with a melody. He had not felt so adored as he had in those moments, where Eufrates’s hot gaze bore a hole through his chest and the silk in his words wrapped around his heart, so even if he had wished to (he had not), he could not give it away to anyone else.

He did not want to remember this. It pulled at his temples and beset him with a headache.

Eufrates was sitting at his desk, reading through one document or another on kingdom affairs. Again, completely unwanted, he remembered how the prince (the freshly crowned king) would whine and cling to him like a spoiled child that he did not want to know about state matters.

Bathed in this dusk light, though, the room looked more like a lair . It helped him centre himself.

Cyril cleared his throat in way of drawing attention. “You wished to see me.”

Tigris was trailing two steps behind him. He had instructed her to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. To observe .

Eufrates turned and stood, and his smile dripped with sarcasm.

“The man of the hour! Everyone is talking about you, you know? Dare I say you’ve overshadowed my own coronation.”

“ You’ve overshadowed your own coronation,” Cyril snapped. He was not here for them to dance around one another. “You dismissed Tantie!”

Eufrates’s brow dipped in mock concern. “Aunt Heléne is to die within a year. You do not think she deserves the respite?”

“Do not pretend to care for her!” he fumed. For the first time since they had found themselves in this strange old life, Cyril was the one to approach Eufrates, taking quick steps towards him. He was furious.

Eufrates looked suddenly very tired. He flashed him a look as though struck, but it was wiped clean the very next second. Spotless as if it had never been.

He looked past Cyril, over his shoulder, and finally seemed to notice the third party.

“Why, I’ve not seen that cat in weeks. I was starting to wonder if you were afraid I might skin him.”

Cyril betrayed nothing. He hoped Tigris would do the same.

“You asked for the grand mage. What is a mage without their familiar?”

“Mm…” He examined Shoestring’s figure, standing very tensed. “I did miss Shoestring. He’s always liked me quite a bit.” This was, unfortunately, true.

“But I thought he despised accessories. You once tried to give him a collar and he nearly bit your finger clean off.”

“Shoestring has mellowed out in his old age.” The lie fell out of his tongue so smoothly he was almost proud of himself. “Did you summon me here to see my cat, Your Highness?”

“No.” He shook his head and drew closer. Within touching distance, but Eufrates stayed his hand. “I am once again going to ask you what you are plotting, my love. I hope to hear an answer this time. You’ve little resources left at your disposal save that charming stubbornness.”

The corners of Cyril’s lips curved. “I am sorry to disappoint.”

Eufrates clicked his tongue. “You’ve not realised the position you are in, then. I am all that you have . Now you’ve spirited my sister away and Auntie is relegated to the tower, you’ve no allies in this place. Nowhere left to hide now that I’ve wrenched you away from your precious tower.”

“And yet, my lips are sealed.”

A grimace. His husband was beginning to crack. “I’m not sure you understand the position you are in, Cyril. You are reviled . I have given you the worst black plague a courtier could catch: a reputation .”

“I am used to isolation. You will need to try harder.” Even as he said this, he took a step back. He did not wish for Tigris to see violence if it came to it. “What will you do next? Perhaps you will wed me again. That will really rile up the courts. All those suitors might riot.”

Eufrates followed, step by step, stalking him like an animal. But he no longer looked frustrated. Instead, amusement bloomed in his features. He looked entertained, like he had the upper hand again.

Which, unfortunately, he did.

“ Marry you? Oh, beloved, you are too narrow-minded. The protection a wedding would offer you, the power . Not to mention I am loath to make that same mistake again. No. I will keep you here, in the intimate confines of my wing, close to my room, and without ever needing to put a second ring upon your finger, the courts will rile themselves up.”

Cyril was beginning to follow, and his bones were chilled. It was not as though he had not thought of this himself, had not been warned about it by the courtiers mere days ago. It was that, somehow, some way, he still did not expect Eufrates Margrave to sink so low as to tarnish the reputation of the man he’d once claimed to love.

It was quite the blow.

“What is keeping the regent’s attention?” Eufrates continued. “Why is he not entertaining marriage? Even if it is temporary, it is natural for a sovereign to want to wed. It must be the boy he keeps at his heel. The fresh-faced enchanter who had no business rising up in favour like that. What else has he done to our dear Eufrates?”

Cyril felt as though he was speaking through a mouthful of tar. “You are making me your courtesan.”

“Precisely! Very clever , Cyril!” Now Eufrates was upon him. He placed a hand on the crook of his neck and stroked upwards to his cheek, the caress of a lover. “What a good boy…”

Cyril was, at his core, very weak. He shuddered.

“Cy,” Tigris said into his head. He had truly forgotten she was even there. “That’s enough. We should go.”

He ignored her outright.

“ Why ?” he croaked.

“Because I am torturing you, my love. That is how information is withdrawn, is it not? I will get you to spill yourself onto me if it’s the last thing I do.” With his other hand, he traced lazy crosses over Cyril’s heart. The intimacy was scalding. “If I have to carve it out of you with my bare hands…”

“I have said, Your Highness.” Cyril’s voice sounded so much like a whisper to him he wondered if he was hearing it only in his own head. “I’ve nothing to tell.”

Eufrates pursed his lips into the mimicry of a pout. “Not to worry. It is only our first night together.”

“Cyril!”

He decided Tigris had seen more than enough, once his fogged mind remembered she was there. He pushed Eufrates away in a frenzied, jerky motion and, remembering who he was and what he was capable of, tugged the edges of the pattern in Eufrates’s room so it went completely dark.

“Good night, Your Highness.”

As Eufrates was gathering his bearings, he turned on his heel and, quick as a phantom, scooped Tigris into his arms and ran out. It took him getting all the way down to the end of the hall to realise he was not being pursued.

He felt suddenly impossibly tired. He put the cat down and cast her a weary, pleading look.

“Satisfied?”

Tigris had nothing to say for herself, but she shook her head.

They walked together in silence for a while, wandering the empty halls of the palace before Cyril murmured, “I did not expect it to get that bad…”

Tigris stopped and looked up at him. “You do not need to coddle me. I am his elder sister.”

“Well. He’s actually–”

“Shut up, Cyril.”

He shut up. A beat passed between them.

“…What will you do now?”

“Well. I don’t have much of a choice, truly. I shall stay in my new room and make sure to keep you safe as promised.”

“And Euf– Eufrates?”

Cyril thought on how to answer this. He wasn’t going to start lying. Not about this. She had seen more than he had wanted her to. It was a depth of cruelty and mocking he had not expected his husband to resort to. But Eufrates was desperate to get him to talk, so Cyril wasn’t sure how far he’d take it.

“He will attempt to break me. But I do not think he will go very far with it. He cannot. I think the rings prevent him from killing me outright.”

“There is a long road between breaking and killing, Cy.”

“…I also do believe he is desperate to see what has become of you. He would need me willing to talk.”

“I don’t want you doing this.”

“You’ve no say, Tig.”

“I do. I order you not to stay in those rooms. I am your queen, am I not? You are a humble servant?”

Cyril rubbed circles over his temples.

“What would you have me do, my queen?” he drawled.

“I… you should run. Hide somewhere.”

“If I return to the tower he will know instantly. I have no excuses for doing so. If I ask Tantie for aid, she risks being cast out. I will not evict her from a home that is more hers than it ever was mine.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking Auntie. She’s helped too much already.”

For the first time that night, Cyril looked at her with genuine surprise. He had no more tricks up his sleeve. He couldn’t fathom what secret way of escape was going through her head.

He leaned his head down, as if maybe then he could hear her better, even though everything she said echoed crystal in his mind.

“What were you thinking, then?”

“Not what. Who.”

Cyril blinked in confusion, until the answer became apparent to him. His brow rose near to his hairline, vanishing within his fringe.

“Surely not.”

“You’re the one who sounded so keen on it. I thought you’d be happy.”

“‘Happy’ isn’t quite the word I’d describe.”

“Are we going or not, Cy?”

“Wh– now?”

“Yes. Do you want to give my brother more opportunity to get you to betray me?”

“No, I just – I do not even know where he is staying.”

“Near my quarters. Obviously. We are to be married.”