The Errant Prince (5 page)

Eventually, he couldn't put it off any longer. He started out counting the buckets, but lost track around the twelfth bucket or so. Eventually the tub was filled, and Myron collapsed into his chair, tired and sweaty and sore. He could simply fall asleep and bathe in the morning; the water would still be there, since he doubted Tamsen would get rid of it when he had Myron there to do the hard work.

Tamsen stumbled into the cottage then, drawing Myron's attention before he made his decision one way or another. He was dirtier than he'd been earlier and looked as tired as Myron felt. Tamsen tossed his hat in the corner, barely looking at Myron as he headed across the room to the bed. He knelt, and Myron watched lazily as he fetched out drying cloths and a chunk of soap from a wicker basket beneath the bed.

"Do you have something clean to wear? Or would you like to borrow clothing until I get the laundry sorted tomorrow?" Tamsen asked, leveraging himself up off the floor with effort.

Myron contemplated that, but the idea of clean clothing was too appealing to pass up, even if he was annoyed with Tamsen at the moment. "I'll borrow, if you don't mind."

"Wouldn't have offered if I did," Tamsen muttered, but it lacked any real vitriol. He moved to the chest at the foot of the bed, digging through it and throwing bits of clothing on the bed next to the soap and drying cloths. "Have at. I have weeding to finish."

"Thank you," Myron said, and he supposed that settled the question of whether to bathe that night. He'd feel better clean and dressed, anyway. Tamsen waved dismissively, fetching his hat and disappearing back outside.

Myron climbed to his feet, popping outside to fetch his pack, sword, and cloak. He brought them inside, hoping Tamsen hadn't changed his mind about letting Myron stay inside. Heating the water took only a little magic—Myron swore that was the most useful spell in his limited arsenal. He stripped quickly, dropping his dirty clothing into a pile, and climbed into the tub.

The hot water felt amazing. He sank into it, yawning widely into the rising steam. The fire was purple, but as Myron watched, relaxing into the bath, it shifted toward green. Perhaps a reaction to the steam from the bath?

Myron nearly dozed off, lulled by the warmth and the quiet. It was only when he nearly slipped under the water that Myron forced himself to clean up. He soaped himself up, rinsing off and repeating the process until he felt clean.

He climbed out of the bath reluctantly and dried off, fetching the clothing Tamsen had laid out to lend him. They were much the same as the other clothes Tamsen had worn: good quality, but patched and repaired more than once. Myron dressed slowly, finding that Tamsen was a bit narrower in the hips, but otherwise the breeches were a good fit.

Myron was in the middle of binding his chest again when Tamsen returned. He was cleaner and damp again, so he'd detoured by the well. He froze in the doorway when he saw Myron.

"Sorry," Tamsen said, his voice higher than usual. He turned a bright red and disappeared almost immediately back outside.

Myron shook his head, amused despite himself. He finished binding and pulled on Tamsen's shirt, surprised to find it smelled of lavender and mint. Myron didn't bother lacing it, letting the fabric binding his chest peek out at the top. He lingered but eventually decided to put Tamsen out of his misery. Now that he was clean, he was hungry, and he wasn't rude enough to raid Tamsen's pantry without permission.

Tamsen was leaning against the back of the cottage, just outside the back door. He looked up when Myron reached the doorway, and Myron was amused to find that Tamsen's face was still pink. "I apologize. I should have—"

"I'm a soldier, your highness. If you think that's the first time anyone has accidentally seen me half-naked, you have no idea what soldiers are like," Myron said, giving Tamsen a grin. "And before you go asking, it all ties into why I'm a soldier and not a wizard."

Tamsen ran a hand over his face, but he looked decidedly less miserable. He frowned at Myron, and Myron wondered if Tamsen would ever look at him as anything other than a puzzle. Probably not, but there were plenty of other barriers there, too; it wasn't worth dwelling on. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to fit you better."

Myron blinked, startled. He hadn't expected an apology for that, let alone for Tamsen to be concerned over the fit of his clothes. "They fit well enough. Better than my smelly lot. Shall I wait out here while you bathe?"

"If you want," Tamsen said. He shrugged, as though he didn't care, but the movement was stilted, awkward, like he didn't quite mean it. He slipped past Myron into the cottage, smelling of fresh dirt, sweat, and mint.

Myron debated trying to fluster Tamsen more, but in the end decided discretion was the better option. Stepping outside, Myron took up Tamsen's post just outside the back door. He tilted his head up, watching the stars.

It was beautiful out here. Myron had spent most of his life in Rishaw or traveling. Even when he had downtime, he spent it at home, in Rishaw. He rarely had the opportunity to stop and enjoy the stars. Even if this wasn't exactly leave—or a break, given the way Tamsen was working him—Myron was enjoying it.

Tamsen fetched him after a bit, his skin flushed from the heat of the bath. He definitely fulfilled the 'handsome' part of being a stereotypical prince. Myron might not be able to go there, for a number of reasons, but he definitely planned to enjoy looking—and provoking Tamsen into flushing.

Dinner was another meal of leftovers: the remnants of the previous day's soup, more odds and ends of bread, and Tamsen pulled out the ale again. The meal passed quietly, though substantially less awkwardly than lunch, to Myron's relief. He was almost too tired to notice, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep once he finished eating.

"Unless you have objections, I'll teach you whatever spell you want tomorrow," Tamsen said, punctuating that with a yawn. He looked as tired at Myron felt, and Myron couldn't stop himself from echoing Tamsen's yawn.

"I'd probably set myself on fire if I tried anything tonight, as tired as I am," Myron said agreeably.

Tamsen smiled briefly, climbing to his feet. "Help me move the tub out. You can sleep in front of the fire."

Myron nodded, finishing the last of his ale. Thankfully, Tamsen was stronger than he looked, and maneuvering the still-full tub outside didn't take as much effort as Myron had feared. Tamsen fetched some of the blankets from the enormous stack on his bed and made up a pallet for Myron on the floor in front of the fire. The light of the fire dimmed as Myron settled in, and Myron was asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes.

*~*~*

Myron was woken by a crash of dishes and several choice curses. He contemplated getting up to see what havoc Tamsen had wreaked, but he was warm, comfortable, and still tired, so he let himself doze off again.

The second time he woke, sunlight was streaming through the cottage's windows, and the smell of lavender and mint was strong on the air. Myron lingered on his pallet, not wanting to get up and find out just how sore the previous day's exertions had left him.

He could hear faint noises from somewhere outside the house, though, so Myron reluctantly dragged himself up into a sitting position. He stretched his arms up and over his head, wincing. As he'd expected, the chopping had left his arms and shoulders sore. Not as sore as if he'd slept outside again, but sore enough he hoped Tamsen didn't have any strenuous tasks in mind for him.

Myron stood up awkwardly, nearly falling over in the process. Tamsen wasn't inside the cottage, Myron noted immediately, but by the sounds just outside the back door, he hadn't gone far. Myron settled his borrowed clothing into place and laced his shirt as he headed for the back door.

Tamsen was there, as Myron had surmised. His very bare back was to the door, and he was engaged in washing a stack of clothing—his own and Myron's, Myron saw when he tore his gaze from the smooth ripple of muscle as Tamsen ran some piece of clothing over a washboard.

"There's breakfast on the table," Tamsen said. He didn't turn or so much as pause, and Myron grinned despite the brusque greeting.

"Good morning to you, too," Myron said, which only earned him a rude gesture. He snickered, leaving Tamsen to the washing.

He really should have been used to Tamsen doing such things by now, but it was still something of a marvel to see a prince—a former prince?—doing laundry. Myron was sure no other member of the royal family could do their own laundry. Myron hadn't done laundry himself until after he'd joined the King's Guard, and he was more than happy to let anyone else handle it.

Breakfast was simple fare again: porridge and more apples. Myron ate heartily, starving despite eating his fill the previous evening. He drank the rest of the dirt-and-grass tea, making a fresh pot when he was done. He picked up the dishes—his and Tamsen's, leftover from earlier—and noted the missing washbasin. That had to be what Tamsen was using to wash their clothes and explained the dishes crashing together earlier. Breakfast and cleanup accomplished, Myron headed back outside. Tamsen was still washing, though he looked to be mostly finished if the laundry spread out across the grass past the garden was any indication.

"What are my orders today?" Myron asked, giving Tamsen a smile to take the heat out of the words. Tamsen scowled back, dropping the shirt he'd been working on into the wash water. He still wasn't wearing a shirt, but he'd turned to face the cottage as he worked.

"Is that why you're doing what I ask? They're not orders," Tamsen said. He angrily grabbed the wet shirt again, sending water spraying.

Myron snorted. He bit back the instinctive response—Tamsen had yet to
ask
anything. "If I followed every order you gave me, highness, I'd be halfway back to Rishaw by now. Besides, if they were orders, I wouldn't be getting spells for my trouble."

Tamsen squinted at him suspiciously, nodding after a moment of scrutiny. He seemed crankier than usual, and that was saying something given he'd been nothing but surly or irritated since Myron's arrival. Tamsen nodded toward the side of the cottage. "You could stack the wood you chopped. Over there, below the window."

"For another spell? That'll be two you owe me," Myron said. His back ached at the thought of carrying all that wood. He'd done worse, however, so he'd deal.

"I think I can handle that," Tamsen said. He hesitated, looking like he might say something more, but in the end he shook his head and went back to his washing. 

Myron walked way, trying not to read too much into that. There was plenty Tamsen might not want to say to him or tell him that had nothing to do with Myron. Still, Myron left his borrowed shirt on as he carried the wood over to the house, even when the day warmed enough for it to be uncomfortable. It only took him a few hours to stack the wood, thankfully. Myron set the last piece atop the pile before going in search of Tamsen, who had finished the washing not long after Myron had started stacking wood.

Tamsen wasn't hard to find; he was inside the cottage, fussing with one of his bookcases. It struck Myron as he entered the cottage that it was even neater than it had been earlier.

Not neater. More neutral. The clutter was missing. Most of the odds and ends that Tamsen had had around the house were gone or tucked away. The table was clear of the books and papers Tamsen had been working on, and it lacked the charm and personal touches it had had when Myron had first arrived.

Tamsen had decided to move on, then.

"So are you planning to leave today or tomorrow, your highness?" Myron asked, unable to keep all the bitterness out of his voice. He'd stupidly thought that Tamsen would respect him enough not to just run off, but apparently he'd been mistaken. Tamsen was a prince, and he'd run from his station. Obviously he respected very little.

Tamsen jumped, startled. The little glass jar he'd been holding slipped from his fingers, smashing against the floor. Tamsen swore but didn't move except to lift one hand to cover his mouth and nose against the pale green dust rising into the air. He glared at Myron, saying through his sleeve, "Stay there and don't breathe deeply."

Myron did as instructed, feeling as Tamsen's magic swirled to life, sweeping up the green powder that seemed to have gotten everywhere. Tamsen's magic pulled it all together, swirling the powder and broken glass together in a cyclone of shimmering light. He disposed of it in the fire, making the flames turn a deep, angry red before returning to their previous placid blue.

"Falcine powder," Tamsen said, which certainly explained why Tamsen looked so pale. It was extremely poisonous, though thankfully the small amount Tamsen had been exposed to wouldn't kill him. Falcine powder could be used to block seeking spells, which explained why none of the King's Wizards had been able to find Tamsen through magical means.

"You're leaving," Myron said, refusing to be diverted. Though at that, leaving didn't make much sense, despite the signs of it inside the cottage. Why do all the work on the garden, have him chop so much wood? Unless Tamsen planned to come back, but he was making it obvious if that were the case.

Tamsen made his way through the cottage and sat down heavily at the dining table. Myron moved to join him, taking the tea pot from Tamsen's shaking hands to pour him half a cup of tea. Tamsen took the cup, sloshing it but not spilling. He drank the contents in one go, and Myron filled it halfway again.

"My brother has made it clear he's not going to stop looking for me," Tamsen said, each word sounding wretchedly miserable. "I'll go back, but only to make him stop. Then I'll come back here."

"Really?" Myron asked, startled. He hadn't actually expected Tamsen to agree to return, even if it chafed to think Tamsen would run off instead.

"Really," Tamsen said. "I'll have one of the villagers look after the place for me. Probably Rafi—she's the mayor's daughter. Some of the things I have are too dangerous to just leave out, however."

"And she can't make magic fires," Myron said, connecting the dots. Tamsen was setting up the cottage for a caretaker, and was ensuring things would be set for him upon his return. He should have been happy he was getting to complete his task, but it was hard to be happy in the face of Tamsen's obvious misery. "Is there anything else I can do?"