Page 86 of A Tale of Ice and Ash
He heard from the servants that Niamh’s body had been taken to a communal grave and buried along with the others before he even stirred. As he could find the strength, he went to the greenhouse, plucked a dozen blue roses, and left them on the mass grave. He tried to summon a few words, but they turned rubbery in his mouth. What could he possibly have said to her?
I’m sorry. I’ll miss you. I’m so, so sorry.
He kept replaying the moment in his mind, trying to work out when the arrow struck, where it came from, wondering if he could have stopped it or shielded her or done something different, all questions Eirwen was certainly asking herself, wherever she was.
His gaze wandered down the mountain slopes, past the fields, and settled on the red wood beyond. He prayed to whatever gods looked over them that they would not be apart for long.
He remembered the first time he had ever spoken to Niamh. He’d seen her about, of course, following Eirwen everywhere, but he hadn’t given her much thought other than to sneer at Eirwen that she was too old for a nursemaid.
She blinked at him. “Maybe,” she said, “but not too old for a friend.”
He wondered if it was a veiled insult. It was difficult to tell sometimes with Eirwen.
The day in question was a few months after he’d arrived in Aberthor. Winter had finally dispersed and the gardens were starting to bloom. A picnic had been arranged on the lawn. It was still too cold for his liking, but his mother seemed happy. She was stretched out on a blanket, chatting with Olwen.
How simple things were then.
The servants came out and laid the spread in front of them, all smiling at Eirwen as she thanked them, her beam as bright as a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day. No one could possibly bethathappy, surely? Especially when talking to servants.
Eirwen tucked into a jam tart. Followed by another. Then a third.
“You’ll get fat,” Cole spat. He didn’t mind if she did, he’d never seen anything wrong with being fat, but he knew that it was an insult and he just wanted to wipe that ridiculous smile off her face because he was so sick and tired of her being so damn cheerful all the time when he couldn’t be.
Eirwen stared at him, her gaze unreadable. Finally, she held out the plate. “Would you like one?” she asked softly.
Cole groaned, and got up in a huff.
Niamh, watching from the corner, giggled. No servant had ever laughed at him before. “What areyoulaughing at?” he hissed. He could threaten to have her dismissed. It probably wouldn’t work. Eirwen was far too attached to her and she definitely held her father’s sway more than his mother did at present. He wondered how long that would last. His mother had a way of making men adore her. A tiny part of him prickled in sympathy for Eirwen, if that was the case.
“They aren’t poisoned, you know,” said Niamh, with a smile that rivalled Eirwen’s.
“What?”
“The tarts. They’re quite delicious. You may cheer up if you have one. Maybe you’re only grumpy because you’re hungry.”
Cole scowled. “I’m not grumpy.”
“My mistake.”
Cole turned back to stare at Eirwen. A couple of doves had landed on the lawn, and she was busy chatting away to them.
“Why is shelikethat?”
“Sweet? Cheerful? Friendly?”
Cole pursed his lips. “Yes,” he said. “It’s dumb. Why be like that to anyone, especially if they, if…”
Niamh nodded knowingly. “It’s just her way, Your Highness. But if you want someone to be mean to you, I’m sure we could find a volunteer…”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Am I? Oh no. Whatever shall you do?”
“What’s… what’s your name?” he asked. He hardly knew why he was asking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a servant their name. Not since he was a very young boy, before his mother told him it wasn’t appropriate to play with the servants’ children any more.
“Niamh.”
“Is that another one of the stupidly-spelt names that have much easier ways of being written?”
