The Key

Chapter 2

“Then,” Prince Dan says, “you must mean the excruciatingly open secret that Sam’s already picked our future queen, and all this is to make sure he’s sure. That, and to pass out the honor of the consolation prize.”

Caspian files away the first piece of new information and inquires after the second. “Surely you can’t think so little of yourself.”

The corners of Prince Dan’s mouth angle downward for an instant before he laughs. “I didn’t mean me.”

A misstep. How bad of one? “My apologies. I was surprised by the implication.”

“No, I, uh.” Prince Dan pauses. In approaching Caspian, in wordlessly dismissing their audience, in their entire dialogue, this is the first time Prince Dan hesitates. A human smile flicks into place across his features, teeth politely concealed – no, not politely, Caspian isn’t sure what it means – and Prince Dan shakes his head for further measure. “I mean, he still has to pick who he’s kissing.”

Gambling on any feature of human culture remaining the same for seven hundred years is an act of idiocy, but the context is a strong hint. “The Last Unwed Kiss is an old tradition, though the symbolism of the recipient is extremely varied.”

“Always thought they were meant to represent everyone you were giving up for your spouse,” Prince Dan says. “Kiss the temptation goodbye and all that.”

Not for the first time in this interaction, Caspian wonders if the prince’s informality is a test, a quirk, or some bizarre social norm. Perhaps a byproduct from patrolling the kingdom and interacting with the population? Unless the Knight Prince title has grown into an empty one. If it’s merely a polite moniker to indicate the lack of magical ability, and therefore inability to ascend to the throne, then Prince Dan might be a sheltered royal after all. Caspian doubts this but still can’t be certain.

There’s too little practical information on humans. Ironically, Uriel’s networks have focused too well on the continuing demonic threat.

“Do you disagree?” Prince Dan asks when Caspian takes too long to respond.

Caspian digs deep for old gossip, things Balthazar told him centuries ago, laughing over human foolishness. “There have been incidents where the recipient of the last kiss was viewed as representing everything the intended spouse wasn’t. Meaning that to kiss a beautiful individual could be considered an insult to the attractiveness of the betrothed.”

Prince Dan laughs, though not nearly as much as Balthazar had. “Pretty insecure of them.”

“I believe the implication grew out of the practice of kissing a man upon marrying a woman, or vice versa,” Caspian explains. “These individuals were falsely viewed as being opposite in all ways.”

“So you mean if Sam’s marrying a short blonde woman, he shouldn’t kiss, say, a tall, dark-haired man.” Once more, Prince Dan turns his gaze over Caspian in his entirety.

“I mean that it would be an unnecessary qualification,” Caspian replies. “If the tall, dark-haired man represented adequate temptation toward another kind of life, that would be another matter.”

Still standing close, Prince Dan smiles with only his lips. He licks them, a quick motion, and when Caspian looks up to his eyes, he realizes he’s been caught staring. The human’s wingless body language is foreign in its subtleties, and the top half of his face is obfuscated. Caspian’s straining for social cues and hints of emotion, and Prince Dan finds him obvious in these observations. Caspian’s discomfort would already be blatant to another angel by the tight positioning of his wings, unnatural and immobile against his back, but he can hope Prince Dan will ignore them the same way Caspian ignores the horns of the prince’s mask.

Quickly mapping a conversational route to his true goal, Caspian presses forward on the first step. He brings the subject closer to the human in front of him. “Are you also searching for someone to kiss, Sir Dan?”

“Maybe,” says Prince Dan, the word stretching out like the corners of his mouth. “Whether to give up or keep, we’ll see. I have the luxury of taking my time, not like Sam’s birthday deadline. I’m in no rush.”

The next step forward. “This is one of the specifics of your position.”

“One of the perks,” Prince Dan agrees. “Right up there with the lighter crown.”

“Still, I would imagine your duties remain heavy.” Another step.

“I like the hunting,” Prince Dan says, and they have reached Caspian’s destination.

Caspian c***s his head to a polite angle of interest, as if merely mildly interested. “Are your hunts as focused on demons as the measures here would indicate?” How much of their activity have the humans noticed? Is anyone in the castle aware that demons are striving to reach an object housed here? Caspian may have five nights to investigate, but the demons have all the time in the world.

“We do everything,” Prince Dan tells him, and this expression is surely one of pride. “Some of my knights are trained even better than I am. Mages, you know. Always easier to light a creature on fire with magic than matches.” And this, this might be self-deprecation. Or he could be baiting.

“We all have our own specializations,” Caspian replies, as diplomatic as he knows how to be.

“True enough,” Prince Dan says. “Though we don’t have an angel expert on staff. Any chance you’re looking for work?”

“Only to continue the work I already have, Sir Dan,” Caspian answers, planning out how to pull the conversation back to demons.

“Well, if a real angel shows up, I’m still counting on you to tell me.” Prince Dan closes one eye behind his mask, a deliberate gesture of unknown meaning.

Caspian looks at him. He turns his head enough to confirm that his feathers are still lying neutrally flat. He looks back to Prince Dan and, trusting in his facade, says, “Hello.”

The jest lands well, and the prince laughs hard and loud. He stops quickly, clearly controlling himself, but he keeps looking at Caspian with one of those smiles of the lips, teeth hidden.

“What do you specialize in, Sir Dan?”

The mirth fades. There’s a motion of the shoulders that could be pride or defensiveness. Lifted wings can be aggressiveness, but what of human shoulders?

“I’ve trained for every creature our country has seen in centuries,” Prince Dan replies, a non-answer very similar to many of Caspian’s. Unlike the prince, Caspian acknowledges the dodge and refuses to move the conversation himself. He stands attentive, listening with ears and eyes both, until Prince Dan adds, almost flippantly, “I do a lot of ghosts.”

“With His Majesty your father’s fire magic, I can see why you might be predisposed.”

It immediately becomes obvious this was the wrong thing to say.

There are too many small signs to point to merely one – too small to point at one at all – but something has changed. It’s not the posture, not truly. It’s not the unchanging distance between them. It’s a sense of welcome that is abruptly a sense of rejection. It’s the difference between a world with air and the empty void from which Caspian has only been granted a temporary escape.

“As my grandmother’s sole heir, my father the king demonstrated the rare talent to be both knight and mage in one prince,” Prince Dan states, his voice as smooth as his renewed formality. This statement is more dismissal than explanation, and Caspian has only moments to recover the unexpected boon of the prince’s knowledge.

“I expressed myself poorly,” Caspian apologizes. Rudely, he does not pull his wings forward, doesn’t curve his primaries toward the prince and display the undersides in submission. Their agitated positioning only underscores his need to correct a mistake he doesn’t understand. “I merely meant that we are often predisposed toward that which we learn first, particularly from our respected elders.”

Though the unspoken dismissal lightens from unspoken command to implied preference, Caspian’s response is still clearly not enough. Accordingly, Caspian seizes the highest compliment he can think of and applies it.

“Bringing your people peace is the most noble of callings.”

It’s verbal fumbling, and they both know it.

Prince Dan eyes him for a long moment before replying, “When you said you didn’t come here to socialize, you really meant it.”

“It is not an activity I excel at, Your Highness,” Caspian agrees.

This, for some reason, seems to be sufficient apology.

Is it the king Caspian shouldn’t speak of again, or the king’s magic? He decides not to risk either, not unless or until he needs the prince to desire him gone. It’s clearly a conversational escape hatch with ramifications, and thus cannot be used lightly, if at all.

“It might be best if we were to return to debate,” Caspian says.

“Debate?” Prince Dan echoes. His head tilts back, but his jaw doesn’t particularly jut forward.

“Do you find the Colt Reforms sufficiently effective, for example? Do they go far enough?”

Again, Prince Dan studies him for a long moment.

Again, Caspian consciously keeps his body language agitated but unrepentant, wings tense, his colors concealed.

It occurs to him that his ignorance of proper human signaling may be enough to undo any verbal progress he can make. He’s certain he’s saying things in ways he doesn’t intend.

“They’re a foundation,” Prince Dan replies eventually. “They’re a good foundation, but we’re still building, seven centuries later. A lot of people don’t realize that, and it makes things difficult.”

Attentive, Caspian c***s his head, but the prince doesn’t continue. He says nothing about current or recent demonic activity in the kingdom.

No, Prince Dan shakes his head instead and says, “Shouldn’t talk shop at Sam’s party.”

“You did me the courtesy of listening when I did,” Caspian reminds him. “Would you truly permit me to be so rude as to ignore your turn?”

“Yours is less bloody,” Prince Dan replies. It’s arguably untrue, but Caspian keeps his silence on that subject. “Much better talk for a celebration.”

“If a celebration cannot also contain dignity and honor, I see no reason to partake.”

One side of Prince Dan’s mouth rises higher than the other. “You really don’t go to many parties, then.”

“I do not,” Caspian confirms. “I’m much too busy ‘talking shop’ instead.”

“Well, I guess that’s all right,” Prince Dan says, and Caspian can’t tell if it’s a joke, permission, or empty words. They look at each other for a long moment, perhaps expecting the other to say something first. Eventually, Prince Dan simply says, “Walk with me.”

Caspian follows, uncertain of the distance expected, or even permitted. This time, passing through crowds is simple. The amount of space the other guests provide him also serves as a hint as to how close they expect him to keep to the prince.

Prince Dan leads the way to the inner courtyard. The air is warm with firelight and the number of moving bodies. It’s warm enough for late April, according to Caspian’s admittedly distant memories of this world before the Banishing. At last able to see the stars, he feels… something. Around him, the stone walls of a human castle. Before him, the patterns of human music and dance, the first more orderly and sober than the second. Whirls of color, moving hints of outlandish costumes, a vast array of expense and sparkle, but none of it is quite as remarkable as the reality of that smudge of sky.

This isn’t simply about finding the tablet before the demons can find a way to retrieve it. Not when it could reverse one side of the Banishment without releasing the other. If he fails, a host of demons will spill back into this world.

If he succeeds, he brings his people home.

It was meant to be a quick ploy. Years of effort and magic and enchantments, carved into a set of tablets, but executed within a single hour. One to banish the most powerful of the demons, using themselves as a counterweight, and one to return themselves into the world to finish off a vastly weakened foe.

It should have been an hour.

With the second tablet lost, it has been over six centuries.

He stares up at the sky, and he remembers. Height, wind. Thermals and storms and the nuisance of insects. A world existing in its own right, comprised of more than mere simulacrum born of magic. An entire world, and a sky above it.

Two silver spikes enter the bottom of his vision. The horns of the prince’s mask.

Caspian realizes he’s been standing still much too long.

He tears his eyes away from the dark sky overhead, looking much lower, though still slightly upward. Prince Dan matches his gaze readily, as if having been waiting for it for some time. He offers Caspian a fluted glass and keeps its twin for himself.

“You looked ready to fly away,” Prince Dan murmurs under the music.

The temptation is as overwhelming as it is imbecilic.

Needing a moment to rally himself, Caspian accepts the drink with quiet thanks. The stem of the glass is thin, and their fingers require some untangling after the exchange. Caspian doesn’t remember the prince leaving his side in search of refreshments, but neither does he see a servant carrying a tray of drinks anywhere nearby.

The taste is light and dry, a foreign sensation in many ways. It busies his mouth all the same, largely in making sure he doesn’t spill. Balthazar is the one who indulges in human things, like food and f*********n, not Caspian. Caspian has more traditional joys.

“Sometimes, I forget how much I enjoy fresh air,” Caspian admits. He lifts his face to the sky again and inhales deeply. “It’s lovely out here.” Few stars, no moon, and utterly beautiful even so.

“There’s a better spot over here,” Prince Dan tells him. His free hand returns to Caspian’s shoulder, guiding him, and although Caspian makes himself look where he’s going, the touch tells him he would have been led there safely even with his eyes shut.

From their new spot, farther away from the high doors leading back inside, there can be seen the faintest suggestion of light in the sky. The shrouded moon. Caspian’s eyes hunger for it.

After another long, selfish moment, he forces himself to look at the prince instead. He has four more nights, and surely one of them will have clear skies.

When he looks, Prince Dan is already looking back. Perhaps he has been the entire time.

“My apologies,” Caspian says. “I know I’m strange.”

“You’re here under Chuck’s invitation,” Prince Dan replies. “Strange is mandatory.” Clearly expecting some sort of response, he tilts his glass toward Caspian.

Uncomprehending, Caspian nevertheless mirrors the motion.

Lightly, Prince Dan taps the lips of their glasses together before drinking. Caspian drinks as well, and this is apparently acceptable.

Standing thus, off to the side, they observe the courtyard and are observed in turn. Caspian can only hope that the prince’s unexpected yet tacit approval will sway others to aid him. The night air is pleasant on his face, and his drink is almost tolerable by the time he finishes it. A servant appears nigh immediately to collect his glass and offer a new one. When Caspian declines, Prince Dan declines as well.

Before them, the dancing concludes for a moment. The gathered humans hit their hands together while the musicians see to their instruments. Seemingly as a group, they decide when they have made an appropriate amount of noise and stop. Some remain where they are, in the central circle marked by stone tiles and framed by urns of growing flowers. Others slip away to the indoors, to find other partners, or toward a long table lining the other side of the courtyard.

“What are your thoughts on dancing now?” Prince Dan asks.

“The geometric patterns were visually pleasing,” Caspian replies. He saw enough of the turns to visualize the steps from above.

Prince Dan looks at him for a long moment.

Caspian looks back. Would it be more appropriate to avert his eyes? This doesn’t appear to be a dominance display.

“You’re really not a fan, huh,” Prince Dan remarks nonsensically.

“I enjoyed watching,” Caspian assures him. The musicians finish tuning and pick up into a lively rhythm, and in a willing demonstration of that enjoyment, Caspian turns his head to view the dancers. He will be grateful for this attention and the status it bestows. Insofar as is possible, he will win this human’s favor, increasing his own access to areas of the castle. It’s a sound strategy, though the specific tactics necessary will be difficult to discern.

They stand and watch. Dancers whirl while instruments toss notes high. Partners join, separate, link arms, press hands. A stumbling pair give up entirely before staggering away toward the refreshments. Caspian sets his attention to the most blatant examples of emotion, analyzing each. The body language is easier to follow than the concealed motions of masked faces. At a frustrating pace, he learns, or perhaps he only hopes he does.

Overhead, a distraction grows. The clouds part, just enough. Although countless candles and hanging magelights illuminate the courtyard with enough light to mute the stars, the moon shines through more fully. It hangs heavy and gibbous, slowly rounding out like an egg of grace, full of glowing possibilities.

Caspian doesn’t mean to stare the way he does. When the gardens of the true world had failed to impress, he had assumed the rest of it would as well. But perhaps that was the pace of his mission spurring him on. Now, stretching a companionable silence and mentally reshaping his mission’s demands into innocuous questions, he has time to look.

Not much time, however: a toll from above, barely heard over the music and volume of speech, heralds the hour. Eleven o’clock. Time to disengage. He must secure his conversational partner for tomorrow night before losing him for the evening.

Again, he sets his mind to planning, but another distraction arises. At first so light a touch Caspian assumes it to be an insect, the contact strengthens. A feather knows a feather-light touch. It might be a fingertip. Perhaps a knuckle. The touch travels down each of his primary coverts in steady, barely present strokes. The progress goes in toward his spine, across his primary coverts, finding a few of his secondary coverts where they’re folded tight against his back. The path of that hand reverses well before reaching his scapular feathers and the down between his wings, but that contact would require a more blatant motion, namely fingers sliding under the back flap of his shirt.

No, this is light enough a touch that a costumed human would never feel it. It’s delicate. Stealthy but not furtive. This is a liberty Caspian is never meant to know the prince is taking. The prince must also be kept from knowing the depth of that liberty, and this reality holds Caspian’s tongue.

A costume, Caspian reminds himself. Whatever happens to his wings, he cannot, must not, feel it. No matter how warm, no matter how ticklish.

He decides to catch Prince Dan more innocuously, merely by turning toward the man. The touch falls from his wing at the first hint of motion, and Caspian barely catches sight of that hand swinging away to clasp behind the prince’s back.

“What do you think of dancing, Sir Dan?” As the last subject they spoke on, it’s a smoother conversational starter than immediately approaching the prince’s martial duties and information.

Prince Dan was already looking back when Caspian turned, and he angles his body toward Caspian’s in a similar manner. “I’m in favor,” Prince Dan replies.

“I hadn’t realized there was legislation on the subject.”

Prince Dan shows his teeth, but he does it somehow softly. “Wouldn’t matter. I’m not involved in legislation.”

“Might we discuss what you are involved with, tomorrow night?”

“What I’m involved with,” Prince Dan says slowly, “or who?”

“Both,” Caspian answers. He will take any information offered.

Prince Dan shows his teeth a little harder. He leans close, and the back of his hand brushes against Caspian’s. “Why wait until tomorrow?”

“I’ve kept you to myself too long,” Caspian says in what he hopes is a tone of apology.

“Sick of me already, huh?”

“I don’t take ill easily,” Caspian assures him, and this seem to be an acceptable response to the idiom.

Again, the brush of hand against hand. The motion is not accidental. “Then we could talk more tonight. I’d like to dance, but I don’t have to.”

Caspian shakes his head. He takes his cue from Prince Dan and shifts his hand, achieving a firmer touch. He holds Prince Dan’s gaze firmly while he does this, and it seems to be acceptable. “If it’s not a presumption to say, you should dance. But I’d like to secure the promise of your company for tomorrow evening.”

Prince Dan slips his fingertips against Caspian’s palm. He slides them downward, Caspian spreads his fingers, and Prince Dan threads them together, fingers woven, palm against palm. Handshakes have clearly changed over the centuries.

“Consider it secured,” Prince Dan tells him.

Caspian squeezes his hand, and Prince Dan returns the pressure.

“Thank you, Sir Dan,” Caspian says, sincere.

“My pleasure,” Prince Dan answers, and he sounds sincere as well. His thumb rubs over the side of Caspian’s index finger before he releases Caspian’s hand. He’s an extremely tactile human, and Caspian begins to better understand his desire to dance, to delight in a myriad of small touches. “Until tomorrow,” Prince Dan promises.

“Until tomorrow,” Caspian repeats. He bows slightly, stiffly, and turning his back is more difficult than he would have expected. For a brief instant, it makes the clench of his wings natural.

In the short time it takes him to reach the courtyard doorway and look back, no fewer than three people have joined Prince Dan. The prince selects one of them and they proceed to the center of the courtyard during a pause in the music. Though the mask makes it difficult to tell, it’s wholly possible Prince Dan looks up and meets Caspian’s gaze over his partner’s shoulder.

Then the dance begins. There is motion and distraction, and Caspian slips away.

Down long halls, through the entry chamber, and into the night, he keeps his steps measured. He counts his progress, timing himself against his own internal clock. There is more than enough time to spare, even navigating the hedge maze back to the portal’s location.

He stands there for nearly half an hour, waiting for it to open and looking at the sky. He formulates his report and drafts requests for aid. He needs more information on human customs, and he’ll need to improve his outfit each night if he is to fit in. He determines who to ask, who to order. While he thinks, the stars come out, and for precious minutes after, he doesn’t think at all.

Midnight tolls too soon, but he steps through all the same.