13. Benjin

thirteen

Benjin

It had barely been a month since Benjin's last time in Revesole, but already, the streets seemed a distant dream. How had he forgotten how the once-proud buildings had begun to crumble? How dark and narrow the winding lanes were, crammed too tightly about the base of the hill as the city had haphazardly expanded around the palace? The perpetual odor of horses and garbage and sweat that hung over its cramped confines?

Instincts he hadn't needed since he entered the palace slowly returned to him, warning him which idle travelers to give a wide berth or which shadowed alleyways to avoid. Though he didn't dare openly channel his runeflame for fear of attracting the wrong sort of attention, he kept his magic close at hand, ready to unleash a blast of force at a moment's notice.

It was dangerous, forgetting himself as much as he had. He might be safe in the palace for now, spending time with the highborn in relative comfort and luxury. But that didn't mean he'd ever be one of them.

How had Dexil so completely set his past aside? With his lavish silks and jewels, the Grand Magus fit right in among the nobility. Benjin doubted he'd ever feel like he wasn't playing pretend, as if sooner or later everyone else would figure out he was a fraud and look upon him with the same sneering contempt that noblewoman had upon his first visit to the palace.

The same way the prince did…

Thinking of Haldric only brought on more confusion. Every time Benjin thought he'd finally convinced the prince to open up and let down his guard, Haldric found some way of reminding him that he was still every bit the aloof noble, so far removed from the average Ilthabardian's experience it was laughable.

Yet Benjin also couldn't deny that, beneath all his masks, Haldric had a surprisingly gentle heart. He'd seen the way the prince cared for his father. The tight grief Haldric felt over his sister and the king's deteriorating health. Glimpses of the anxiety Haldric harbored over one day assuming his father's place.

Then there'd been how Haldric had looked at Benjin their last few encounters. Annoyed and imperious, sure, but also as if he genuinely cared what Benjin thought. The consistent encouragement he'd given Benjin for his spellwork, and his reassuring words about the Summit. The phantom touch of his fingers still lingered upon Benjin's shoulder.

Benjin tightened his cloak about him despite the afternoon sun. Today was the day of the Provincial Council's long-awaited Summit, and he still felt some lingering guilt over not attending when he'd told the prince that he would. What if Haldric needed him?

Why would the prince ever need someone like me? He couldn't even stand to finish our last magic lesson together.

Softly chiding himself for his ridiculousness, Benjin picked up his pace, fingering the bag of coins hidden beneath his cloak. That was what actually mattered—providing a better life for his family. Everything else was a distraction.

Relief eased his tensed shoulders when he turned down the familiar alleyway leading to the ramshackle building where his mom rented a room.

A grizzled woman with a perpetual stoop and long, wispy gray hair answered his tentative knock, peering out suspiciously through the cracked door.

"What's this, then? Who's there?"

"It's me, Gertie." He stepped forward, pulling back his hood. "Benjin."

The old woman squinted at him, then bared her teeth in a crooked grin. "Aye, so it is. Good to see you, lad. And looking rather haler and heartier than I remember. That palace life treating you good, eh?"

His breath caught. "How do you…?"

Stepping back from the doorway, she cackled. "Not to worry, lad. I'm not the type to go spreading rumors like that around. Your mama told me what you've been up to—proud as a griffin she was."

The thought warmed him. He followed Gertie's hobbling gait into the dank hall and up a creaking set of stairs, pausing on each step so she could catch her balance.

"My mother's doing well, then?"

"Hmph. As well as can be, I reckon. Those coins of yours certainly help. Still, you know how she worries. And things haven't been all sunshine and rainbows round these parts lately. I'm sure she'll tell you more herself."

He nodded, a hint of trepidation twisting his gut when they ascended the final steps and turned down the twin of the hall below. They stopped at the third door on the left.

"You take care now." Gertie fixed him with another gap-toothed smile. "And tell your ma I expect to see her tomorrow evening for dinner."

"I will," he promised.

He watched her hobble several doors further down to her own room. Then, taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"It's open," a voice within called.

A wave of déjà vu washed over him when he stepped inside. Though the space was barely larger than his room at the palace, simple wooden partitions divided it into different areas and lent the illusion of more space than there really was.

He found his mother in what passed for the living room. A pair of beaten stools sat beside a scavenged table near a standing stove letting off heat. Her faded dress was neatly patched, and her blonde curls—a longer mirror to his own—hung loose about her face.

She glanced up from the dress she was mending. When she spotted him, her eyes widened, the fabric falling from her limp fingers. "Benjin! By the Goddess!"

"Hi, Mom."

He'd barely gotten the words out before she was surging to her feet and wrapping him in a tight embrace. Her familiar floral scent washed over him.

"Goddess' mercy, it's good to see you," she whispered. "You said you were doing well in those letters you sent, but words are a poor substitute for seeing with my own eyes."

"It's good to see you too, Mom." He was surprised to feel a tightness in his throat. Blinking, he swallowed and forced a smile. "Here, I brought something for you."

Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out the sack of coins.

His mom hesitated, biting her lip. "You know you don't need to do this. I get by just fine on my own."

"I know, Mom." He jingled the pouch. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't do even better with more."

When she still hesitated, he sighed and pressed the pouch into her hand. "I'm serious—take it. Please. It's more than I know what to do with, and besides, they provide everything I could possibly need up there anyway."

His mother relented, pocketing the pouch even as she scowled at his words. "Proud as I am of you for landing that apprenticeship, I don't like the thought of you up there on the hill with all those unsavory lords and ladies. They're not like you or me—they don't think the same way, have the same values or priorities. You can't trust them. Remember what happened with Baroness Simea?"

Benjin tightened his jaw, recalling the baroness' beet-red face when she'd tossed them out with nary a second thought. "Of course I do. And don't worry—I'm being careful." An image of Haldric flickered before him, and he squashed it down. "I know better than to put my faith in any noble."

"That's my boy." Retaking her seat, his mother patted the stool beside her. "Now, come. Tell me all about your time up there. I want to hear everything."

Feeling another wave of welcome nostalgia, he did just that, settling in while he related his first encounter with the Grand Magus and the work he'd been doing since. Though he mentioned Prince Haldric in passing, he found himself minimizing his encounters with the prince, skipping over their lessons together. He couldn't say exactly why—only that those moments felt private in a way he didn't want to share with her.

Soon enough, afternoon had bled into evening. His mother cooked a simple vegetable stew for them, serving it with hunks of bread almost hard enough for Benjin to crack a tooth on. Sopping up the last of the broth with his bread, he leaned back on the stool with a contented sigh, patting his stomach.

"Your cooking brings back fond memories."

His mother let out a derisive snort. "You needn't pretend, Benjin. I'm sure it's nothing compared to the fancy foods they've been feeding you at the palace."

"Perhaps not. But I still have no idea how you squeeze as much flavor as you do out of the ingredients you have."

She chuckled and rose to tend to their dishes, waving him away when he tried to help. "Like they say in Vantor, necessity is the mother of invention. And even with those gallants of yours, meat is too exorbitant a luxury right now to afford. Not when the coins are better spent on firewood or saved for a rainy day."

Frowning, Benjin surveyed his mother's cramped apartment. The room had always seemed small to him but never as suffocating as it did in that moment. Perhaps the palace really was spoiling him.

Reluctantly, he stood. "I should get back."

His mother gave him a sad smile. "I figured. That master of yours got more work for you?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. Once the Summit's over, there will be a good deal of clean-up to perform, not to mention my regular deliveries. Honestly, I think you'd like Dexil if you met him. He grew up a commoner like us, and he spends practically all his free time helping others."

Her voice was doubtful when she replied. "Well, perhaps someday I will."

She walked with him to the door, then wrapped him in another tight embrace. He rested his head against her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent.

"You be careful now, you hear?" She gripped him tighter, almost clinging to him. "Things have always been rough in Revesole, but they're only getting worse. There's not enough food or work to go around, and the king's declining health is no secret. Once he goes, there's talk— dangerous talk—of what might happen next. Rumbles of something brewing. The palace might be safe now, but that doesn't mean it'll stay that way."

Tension squeezed his spine at what she was implying. Revolt. Rebellion.

"I'll be careful." He started to pull away, then hesitated. "You know, you could come with me. I'm certain if I asked, Dexil could find a room for you, maybe some work as a palace servant."

She shook her head with a snort. "After Baroness Simea? Thank you, but I'd rather take my chances out here." She jingled the coin purse he'd given her. "Besides, you help me too much as it is. I've been saving what I can from what you send. Soon enough, I should be able to afford a better place outside the city. Might have to take Gertie with me, though. Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it."

Chuckling, Benjin leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Take care, Mom. I promise, I'll be back to visit again as soon as I can."

"You'd better!"

With one last parting grin, he tugged his cloak tighter about himself and slipped out, making his own way down the hall and out the front door. Now that night had fallen, he walked the streets even more cautiously, keeping to the major roads and larger crowds.

Sure enough, he saw signs of his mother's dire warning all around him. More urchins and beggars than usual huddled in darkened alleys or crowded the street corners asking for handouts. He caught plenty of eyes sizing him up, likely deciding if he was worth the risk to rob. Thank the Goddess he'd worn his older tattered cloak and not one of the newer ones Dexil had gifted him.

Fresh anger gripped him. Why weren't the king and other nobles doing more to help their people? Revesole was in rough shape—that was plain to see. And if things were this bad here in the capital, how much worse must they be elsewhere in the provinces?

He didn't relax until he'd climbed the hill and reached the palace gates, slipping in past a pair of royal guards who recognized him, even if they did curl their lips up. Everyone here might respect the Grand Magus despite his birth, but Benjin remained nothing but a lowborn risen above his station in their eyes.

No wonder he felt like he didn't belong.

Trudging back to his quarters, he found himself desperate for rest. While it had been nice to see his mother, her parting words had left an anxious pit in his stomach. As he huddled in bed, drifting off to sleep, his tired thoughts twisted back to Haldric, some part of him actually sad that his lessons with the arrogant prince had come to an end.