Beatrice hurried through the streets of Mahaut behind Anryn. Her husband followed behind Gruffydd the Younger, who was carried between Ciamon Caelt and the sons of Lord Teqwyn. They were careful to keep Gruffydd`s legs high. Ciamon held the blade of Anryn`s sword, still lodged in Gruffydd`s leg, steady so that it did no further damage as they carried him.

　　This was no small feat, as the wedding crowds were still clumped in the street, and word of the duel had started to spread. The entire thing lasted just six minutes, but already, by the time they reached Gruffydd`s proper home at the outskirts of Mahaut, the mood of the crowd had grown bloodthirsty.

　　The people around them who knew about the duel didn`t know the reason for the duel. They knew about the witches at the wedding, the attempt on the prince`s life, and filled in the rest with their dark mood:

　　 "Murderers! God will punish you!"

　　"Shame on the King! They came for the feasts! Let them live!"

　　 "Is this our peace? Is this the King`s justice! Look—there! They`ve slain the Prince!"

　　 Anryn almost stopped in the road to confront those who shouted. Beatrice had to yank on his arm to keep him moving. What a terrible idea it had been to switch places with Gruffydd when he came to the city! Now the mob saw Gruffydd bloody and limp after the duel and assumed that it was Anryn who`d been hurt.

　　"Move out of the way!" Ciamon bellowed over the crowd. "This is the son of Gruffydd. We`re taking him home!"

　　Gruffydd`s real mansion was three times the size of the house he`d loaned to Beatrice and Riccardo of Sanchia. Beatrice knew that he was rich, but she was shocked at the opulence of the estate. It was a five story house made from brick and wood, with a carriage house and a quadrangle between the main gate and the house.

　　 He was holding out on us, Beatrice thought with venom as she followed Anryn onto the grounds. She let go of his hand before they came to the door, reminding herself that she was disguised as a boy. She must not cling to her husband, or be seen by Gruffydd, who would almost certainly recognize her with or without a veil.

　　 The house surged into action all around them as they came inside. Ciamon called for water and bandages. Jareth and Idris pulled Anryn aside and told him to leave before Griff`s father could come down.

　　 "I`m not going anywhere," the prince said. "I must speak to him. I have to explain&"

　　 Beatrice stood on tiptoe to whisper into Anryn`s ear: "Go to his library to wait. Look for the cipher. It will probably be in a drawer in the desk at the center of the room&"

　　 She stepped back and hoped that Jareth and Idris Teqwyn would not go with Anryn. The prince climbed the stairs. Left behind, the two sons of a lord stood awkwardly in the vestibule of the fine house, like schoolboys waiting for the teacher to tell them where to go. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

　　Beatrice also left them there and went deeper into the house. She followed the sounds of wailing until she found the room where Ciamon had carried Griff. She pushed her way past the servants who stood weeping in the doorway. The veiled maids shrank back from her, convinced that she was a man.

　　"Make yourselves useful," Beatrice scolded them. She liked the way they jumped a little when they saw her. Even a boy in Ammar commanded more respect than a grown woman. "Go to the kitchen and boil water. Bring all the liquor you can find, and clean basins for the bandages. Go!"

　　They scattered like leaves. Beatrice was alone with Ciamon while he tended Griff. She gagged a little at the sharp, coppery smell of blood. Ciamon had already removed Anryn`s sword from the dangerous wound. He was red to the elbows with his hands moving frantically around the leg, wrapping a bandage tightly around it. Gruffydd`s head lolled on the table, white as a sheet, his eyes rolled back in his head.

　　 "Can you save him?" Beatrice asked. She did not have the nerve to say it aloud—Can`t you heal him the way you did my ankle?

　　 Ciamon glanced at her, then looked back down at his hands, pressed to the wound. "If you watch the door."

　　Beatrice turned her back to him. She braced herself in the door frame, guarding against any intrusion. No one could see whatever sorcery Ciamon did to save Griff`s leg. She thought she heard a low, measured murmur. A chant.

　　The sound died away. After a moment, Ciamon said, "Why`d you come out?"

　　Beatrice turned back to face him. Ciamon sat on a low stool beside the table. Gruffydd, sprawled across it, was breathing steadily. His eyes closed. Safe, for the moment.

　　"Why did you?" Beatrice asked Ciamon. She pointed a finger at Gruffydd the Younger. "To protect him? His father is guilty of what the prince accused him of. He framed my brother. I came to fight for justice. You came to defend a lie."

　　"Pretty way of saying something ugly," Ciamon said. He held up his bloodstained hands. They trembled and his accent slipped. "Life ain`t pretty. Known this boy ten years. Ain`t lettin` him die for stupid."

　　"You think a man`s life is stupid?" Beatrice demanded. She felt something slipping away from her. Like the tide rolling out. Ciamon was older and knew more than her. He tried to take advantage of that once. She was furious at the thought that it might happen again.

　　"Dueling for honor is goddamn stupid," Ciamon said, his speech recovered. He picked up Anryn`s blood stained sword and brought it to Beatrice. He shoved it into her hands. "If this is the best your prince can manage, he`ll need to worry about a lot more than assassins. He`s& I wish that I could tell you more, but&"

　　"I already know that he`s under a curse," Beatrice said. She would not let this man know more than her about her own husband! "He told me. On our wedding night."

　　Ciamon`s eyes went wide. Beatrice bit her lip to stop herself from saying more. Watching his face, it dawned on her that what Ciamon knew about Anryn was not the same as what Beatrice knew. They were keeping two different secrets.

　　She felt the allure of his attention. She could tell that Ciamon wanted to ask a hundred questions. Beatrice resented his gaze almost as much as she craved it. Was this the only real power a woman could hope to feel in Ammar?

　　Before he could speak, the maids came back with the liquor, and more bandages. Griff had no need for them now, of course, but they couldn`t know that. Beatrice stepped back and watched as Ciamon made a show of taking the basin and sponging the blood off of Gruffydd`s legs. One more secret between them to keep.