story - part 42 - blame - 1176 words

I am just slithering down the hall and around a corner when I nearly collide with a furious, glaring Corbin. There is something heavy and dangerous about him, that makes me drag to a halt and flinch away. Not fast enough, however; in a split second his fingers are tangled in the cloth of my shirt, he has me by the scruff of the neck. Like a troublemaking youth, like I am twenty years younger than I am.

"Escaping, are you? Ducking off so that no one knows what you have done, to get out of the palace and off to report to your mother?" Gravel in his tone, something dangerous. He gives me a hard shake, something sharp and angry. It is obviously an order, he is daring me to try to explain all of this away.

I should go limp in his grasp and allow him to hold control over this situation. I know how much he craves to be in control, and how much he hates feeling powerless. However, I am the same way, and despite myself I fight against that hand. Even though he is almost twice my size, and even though the more I thrash the tighter his fingers become.

"That is nearly a confession, Corbett. I am stronger than you, and you would be better off speaking. You are good at wiggling your way out of things with an elegant word here or there." Shaking me once, hard enough to rattle my teeth. I finally go still, sucking in several deep breaths and frowning up at him, struggling for my familiar calm.

"I hate you. You always assume the worst." Words escaping in a burst. I wriggle again, attempt to shrug away that hand, but his eyes have hardened and his fingers locked. I am thoroughly trapped, by the angry expression on his face as much as the hand on me.

"And I am always right. I was right about you, I knew you were keeping something from me." Smug, self-satisfied. He drags me to the side of the hallway as servants stare at us, clearing a path for them to slip past. It sets me off balance, I have to clutch at the wall and his arm for support.

"Maybe, but I was also keeping your one and only son alive and well. Better than he is right now, I am sure of that." Hissed out between my teeth. Instead of convincing him to let me go, this only makes his jaw set and his eyes narrow. He is looking for some kind of excuse, and he takes this as a challenge; I cut in before he can stop me, order me off out of sight.

"He arrived at lessons today so unwell that he could barely sit up. I do not know what is wrong with him, but I have tried to treat the symptoms. He is in my room, now, and I was coming to look for you." I do not know if he is even truly listening. He glances sideways to a passing servant, his eyes still sharp and angry, his fingers unyielding in the back of my shirt.

"He is asleep, but perhaps you could wake him and he could tell you the same story, if that is what you need." Sarcasm, frustration slipping into my voice. It drags his head back around, and for a long moment he looks me over, trying to decide if I really am lying. Finally reaching a decision, bobbing his head in a nod and shoving me down the hall in front of him, back toward my room.

I lead the way down the hall with his hand still at the back of my neck, a warning and a threat. There is a familiar hot feeling on my cheeks and my ears, something I recognize as the beginning of a flush, a touch of embarrassment. How does he manage to make me feel so small and so childish, certain that I have done something wrong even when I have not?

It takes me a moment to get the door open, I seem abruptly unable to work the handle, to nudge it open with my shoulder. I cannot do anything right. Finally I urge it inward and lead him into the room; Lady Calidris is still perched in a chair beside the bed, she blinks up at us as we enter. Concern is etched onto her features as she drags herself upward to bow at the King, then to turn bright eyes in my direction.

"Corbett, he is hardly breathing. Is he going to be alright?" Something small and pitiful about her tone. It is enough to surprise the King, to make him loosen his fingers, to let me slip out of them and cross to the bed. He is still hovering in the doorway as I sink down to kneel beside Tumaire, to test his pulse and his breath.

"He was not this bad when I left." I cannot keep a touch of panic out of my voice, despite my best efforts. The beat at his wrist is faint and his breathing slow. He had been doing better when I slipped out in search of the King, until I put him in her hands.

"What is wrong? What did you do to -"

"It obviously was not me, father. If you want to be some help, you should go find the physician, Sialia. She is the one who has been in charge of his health, and she is the one you should shout yourself hoarse at. I have had enough of it." Dragging myself up to stand and across the room, in search of anything that could help. Except that I do not know what is wrong, I cannot find the source of this.

There is anger again, in Corbin's eyes, but also a muted kind of confusion. Perhaps because I called him father, a word that rarely slips out of my mouth, or perhaps because I do look like I am trying to help. He shifts uncomfortably in the door for a long moment, all but grinding his teeth as he blinks down at me.

"Where are her rooms? How could I find her?" Finally reaching some kind of decision, however temporary. He clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides, weight shifting from one foot to the other as he waits for a response. I wonder if, perhaps, he cares about Tumaire exactly as much as he pretends to. More than he ever cared for me.

"She lives in my old rooms, but if she is not there, try actually putting some effort into this. Deign to speak to some of the servants, or look elsewhere. I do not know, just find her." The authority in my voice surprises even me, it actually snaps him to attention and makes him spin about in place, slip out through the door in search of the new physician. Leaving me, with Calidris, to attempt to patch together the young Prince.