Chapter Ninety-Two: Mannerless Beast

He found Nicoleta and Ioana the next day, or rather they found him, on his way out of the dining hall where he’d been taking a light lunch. “Good morning, sir. My lady wonders if you’d do her a favor during the arranged meeting,” said Ioana without prelude.

“A favor?” Osmund frowned. It was tempting to point out that the last favor had ended with him getting walloped by a petite woman in full skirts in front of a crowd. He wasn’t eager to repeat the experience or its like. “What kind of favor, exactly?”

It was strange to realize that he didn’t know the first thing—literally, the first thing—about horsemanship. It had always come to him so naturally. He supposed a good starting place was to find a horse so tame and gentle that even the most skittish child couldn’t spook it.

With Ioana’s help, they located in the castle mews the most even-tempered and sweetest of the ponies. He was a shaggy little horse, white with dark grey spots. His tail swished idly as they approached. Absolutely adorable. Even Prince Luca would forget his fear.

He’d misjudged.

The prince stood frozen by the stables as the little pony was led out to him. He might’ve fled if Ioana hadn’t been standing behind him with her hands firmly on his shoulders. “It’s alright,” Osmund coaxed, though he knew the boy likely couldn’t understand him. He stroked the pony’s nose to show it was safe. “He’s perfectly friendly. See?”

Ioana translated. Luca just goggled back at him. “I’m sorry,” Osmund said, nerves already fraying selfconsciously; he could feel Nicoleta’s stare on his back. “I’m not suited for this. You’re better off finding someone experienced with children.”

“Don’t give up,” Ioana urged. “Give him a chance.”

Osmund tried a bit more to demonstrate the pony’s happy temperament, petting the animal down the side. Luca shrank further against Ioana’s skirts. He couldn’t be persuaded to reach out his hand, even though that very same hand had given life to horses on the page. They kept at it a few more minutes, but it felt a bit like tormenting the child.

Thwarted, Osmund barely clamped down on a frustrated sigh. The young prince didn’t speak, didn’t sport, didn’t do anything except sit in a room alone, and to cap it all off, he didn’t even ride. It was only Mirhan’s advice, and the emperor’s assignment, that prevented him calling the whole thing off. He needed to get on his hosts’ good side.

An idea came upon Osmund as he was tying the pony up in the stables. “Keep him there,” he called to Ioana. “We’ll have him just watch this time.” The interpreter nodded. Nicoleta folded her arms, her expression inscrutable, though her cheeks had pinkened prettily from the cold.

Osmund was aware this could backfire, but it was worth a shot. He brought out Banu next.

Luca’s eyes widened, but true to his word, Osmund didn’t lead her over, nor did he beckon to the prince and attendant. “Here’s my friend Banu.” Osmund introduced her. “I’ve drawn her a few times. Though not well, you may recall.”

As Ioana translated, Osmund saw Luca’s lips flick up briefly at the edges. It felt like a stunning victory. “She’s been at my side a long time,” he continued, encouraged. “She was Şehzade Cemil’s mount before she was mine. The Meskato treat their yearlings well so that they’re affectionate to their riders as adults. Ah, speaking of.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a few slices of melon, squirreled away for exactly this purpose. These he offered to an eager Banu, who immediately began snuffling his arm in search for more. “She’s like a mutt, you see, always hunting for treats.” He patted her nose and then her neck. “Off, you mannerless beast!”

Luca giggled, which so shocked Ioana that she jumped. “You can approach her if you like, but I won’t force you,” Osmund said. He was playing it by ear again. “Why don’t we spend another ten minutes just like this? Or if you’re brave enough to come give her a pat, you can be on your way afterwards. We won’t bother you the rest of the afternoon.”

The young prince didn’t react to this proposal even once Ioana had explained it to him. Minutes passed, and Osmund assumed he wasn’t quite ready to take that step. But Luca surprised them all. He took a tiny step towards Banu. Then another.

Ioana muttered encouragement. Osmund smiled, but otherwise ignored him as he had in the library until Luca was at his side. “Want to see if she’s still hungry?” He showed him how to hold the melon flat in his palm.

A pat would have been enough. Maybe he was pushing too fast. But Luca took up the fruit and offered it up to Banu. Banu similarly wasted no time snatching it from him. The girls erupted into cheers.

“That was marvelous, Luca! Well done!” Ioana cried.

Nicoleta called her own encouragement. Her young cousin’s shoulders were hunched, but he didn’t move his wide, wondrous eyes off Banu. Osmund knew the battle was already won.

They re-convened that very afternoon. The barrier of fear broken, Luca quickly warmed to the pony, whose name was Porumb. Osmund suggested a quick jaunt outside the castle. Ioana was fretful, but the cousins were united in eagerness, and the weather was fine as could be wished. It was a comfort to think that wherever Cemil was at present, he was at least not contending with the bitter cold.

He spent some time ensuring Banu and the little pony walked well together. By midafternoon, they were out on the trail beneath the open sky, just outside the wall. Luca sat on Porumb, looking about without reservation. Osmund and Banu walked a little in front, leading the docile pony, with Nicoleta and Ioana mounted nearby. A small contingent of soldiers trailed out of earshot. At last, here was their chance for relative privacy.

They made idle talk for a while. Yes, the skies looked clear. The weather was holding. How brave Luca was.

“Princess Nicoleta,” Osmund began. Might as well get this unpleasantness over with. “I’m sorry if it’s indelicately asked, but I must know. Are you at all acquainted with the Tolmish prince?”

Ioana hadn’t begun to translate, but the look Nicoleta gave him was pointed and strange. Osmund filed that away, but didn’t call her out on it, not yet. “My lady says she saw him only passingly,” said the nervous attendant. “She understands he left a note claiming urgent business. It is too bad they did not get a chance to meet properly, as fellow adherents of the faith.”

Both women spoke cautiously. Osmund cast a look behind them at the bored soldiers. Nicoleta said something else.

“My lady asks, are you devout?”

Osmund blinked at the question. “No,” he admitted at last. “I mean, not very. A little. I…” Why was he babbling like a fool? “My own relationship with religion is complicated, you might say.”

“Your faith does not cause problems in your friendship with Şehzade Cemil of the Meskato?”

Again, friendship. “No,” Osmund confirmed. “No, it doesn’t. And if you’re worried for yourself, Your Highness, don’t be. Cemil is very openminded about such things as religious differences.”

Nicoleta continued speaking through Ioana. “You have a high opinion of his character.”

Osmund blushed. They’d gotten him distracted. He had to bring things back around. “It’s only that I’ve heard that he—that Prince Osmund,” he forced himself to say, “had been beleaguring you for an audience since we arrived. I was wondering if there was truth in it.”

“My lady was unfortunately too busy to see him. It was simply bad timing, sir.”

They were holding something back. He felt it. He would’ve pressed more, but Luca made a sound to get their attention. The boy was pointing to a patch of earth on an adjacent slope. Osmund didn’t see what he was meant to see, but then, his eyesight had never been sharp like the falcon that was his family’s emblem.

Luca said a single word in Videlari, a rarity. His cousin responded.

“Prince Luca thought he saw a horse,” Ioana said for Osmund’s benefit. “My lady told him it was probably a wild deer.”

Osmund looked again, but saw no sign of any animal on the road. “Indeed,” he agreed distractedly.

Nicoleta urged her own horse on ahead. A few of her armed soldiers sped up to trail behind her. Osmund wouldn’t spur the pony any faster and risk frightening Luca. They watched her gallop on up the slope. A couple of minutes passed in silence but for the efforts of the mounts.

“Do you know about the tower, sir?”

Osmund looked to Ioana. She spoke Tolmish in a whisper, and pointed behind them at a particular disruption in the castle’s silhouette. “My lady and our prince were locked away for years in the old rookery tower. That one there.”

Even from this distance it was imposing at their backs, a monster of dilapidated stone construction, older than the rest of the citadel. He turned back to her, appalled. “You mean they were confined like prisoners?”

“Yes, just like that. Like prisoners,” she agreed, a sorrowful expression on her plain face. “Their family stewarded this castle for centuries until their late grandfather was named king. After Luca’s father died, his man locked the children away so he could rule in their stead. Our current lord Sebry liberated them, but they were damaged from the experience. My lady spent day and night with her young cousin at an age where he needed constant care and when most young ladies would be spreading their wings freely. You wondered about it before, sir. She loves him quite dearly, but she cannot much bear to be around him. Don’t think ill of her. Even this much closeness…it costs her.”

At last, the cousins’ demeanor made sense. Their strangeness. Their silence. And Luca. Sweet Luca.

Possibly the only prince to ever be less suited to the role than Osmund had been himself.

His heart twisted with regret. He’d known it all along, hadn’t he, that his vague frustration with the boy had come from some ugly internal place? Some part that tended towards cruelty, where it concerned himself?

Nicoleta rode back into view. She was commanding her knights in Videlari. “We’re returning to the castle,” said Ioana hurriedly for Osmund’s sake. “We’ll alert the soldiers and send out a rescue party.”

“Rescue party?” Osmund looked again, and this time he saw what Luca had seen. Unless his eyes deceived him, that small brown shape in the distant snow was indeed a fallen horse.

But no rider.