Malcolm and Bertie are told a secret

Malcolm knocked thrice, twice, and once on Bertie’s door. It had been their secret signal, back when they were but little boys.

He heard Bertie laugh inside. “Hallo, Malcolm!”

Malcolm slipped into the small bedchamber and pulled the door closed.

Bertie had been sprawled on his bed playing with a knife, it seemed, but he sat up now.

“Well, I’m glad to see you,” he drawled. “I was that bored!”

“What’s happening, Bertie?”

Bertie frowned. “I thought something was going on! I’m stuck here in case my lady needs to send a message or what.”

“And the King left today at dawn and didn’t leave a word for me at all. Mind, it meant I could declare myself free to roam,” Malcolm grinned. “But Darius is in the stable, so I suppose he’s here. Shall we go see?”

“Just a moment – what is going on?”

“I don’t know. Where’s the sprout?”

“I don’t know,” Bertie shrugged. “With his father.”

“Where’s my cousin?”

“She locked herself in her room and didn’t come down for breakfast.”

“That’s not right.”

“I know. Usually she waits for something to make her mad before she locks herself in her room. That doesn’t often happen before breakfast.”

“Let’s go see her, first.”

“She won’t let you in,” Bertie warned, but he got up and put his knife away.

“We shall see about that,” Malcolm announced.

Bertie hung back as Malcolm knocked on Iylaine’s door. Malcolm heard the “Go away!” he expected, but it sounded more like tears than like temper.

“Listen here, Baby!” he called through the crack. “It’s only Bertie and Malcolm.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Now, Baby,” he coaxed, “we only need you for a moment. We were just fighting over which of us has the ugliest nose, and we need you to judge.”

She hesitated. “You have, Malcolm!” she called.

Malcolm could not help but turn and grin at Bertie. It was a victory, of sorts. “Suppose I break his nose for him, here outside your door. Think I would still win?”

“Oh!” Bertie cried and put a hand up before his face. “Save me, Baby! Only you can save my pretty nose!”

They heard shuffling, and then a clinking of the lock, and then the door opened. She smiled up at them, but her eyes were so tragic that Malcolm found it difficult to keep his own smile on his face.

“I never said your nose was pretty,” she said to Bertie in a thin voice. “And I didn’t think that telling you you had the ugliest nose meant that you would win, Malcolm.”

“You wanted Bertie to win?” Malcolm wailed.

She grabbed an arm of each of them and pulled them inside. “Get in here, you big stupids. You didn’t really want me to judge your noses.”

“No, but I’m still pleased you like mine best,” Malcolm said.

“I don’t!” she protested.

“Too late to deny it now, my fine Baby. But listen,” he said, and he and Bertie sat before her on the bed that had once been her father’s. “We wonder whether your pointy ears have heard anything untoward this morning?”

She flushed and sat on her own bed, her head down.

Malcolm and Bertie exchanged glances. She had heard something.

“What then, Baby?” Malcolm asked gently.

She shook her head, and he saw her little chin tremble.

“Is it about your Da?”

“No,” she quavered.

“Is it about you?”

She shook her head again.

“What, then?”

She sat unmoving.

Bertie leaned towards her and asked softly, “You don’t want to say?”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps you would rather whisper it to me?”

Malcolm turned and glared at him. He had been thinking of suggesting that himself.

Iylaine hesitated for a moment, and then she nodded, still looking at her lap, like a tiny child.

Bertie got up and sat next to her on her own bed. Malcolm saw how the depression made by his weight sent her tipping against him. She laid a hand on his arm to steady herself and push herself away from him, but she also lifted her head to his ear. She held her other hand before her mouth as she spoke, as if she did not want Malcolm to see. He tried to tell himself that it was only the habitual gesture of secret-​​whispering, but it hurt him more than anything.

She spoke only a short phrase, but Bertie’s jaw dropped in surprise, and his eyebrows bunched together in dismay. Iylaine sat back from him and looked up at him expectantly, her little face pinched and white.

“But no one shall hurt you, Baby,” Bertie said awkwardly.

At that, the dark hollows of her eyes filled and spilled over with tears, and Bertie laid an arm over her shoulder and pulled her head against his chest. He looked up at Malcolm with eyes that were dazed, and Malcolm felt he could scream in frustration.

Then Bertie seemed to remember he was there and waved him over. Malcolm leapt up and leaned his head down to Bertie’s. Bertie held a hand before his mouth in the habitual gesture of secret-​​telling, though both boys knew that Iylaine could have heard them even had they been whispering in the corridor.

“She says two more girls got raped by elves last night.”

Malcolm straightened and glanced down at the top of Iylaine’s head, but his eyes returned to Bertie’s face. The boys stared at one another, and both had eyes that were dazed. This was something beyond them.

But to Iylaine it went straight to the heart. Malcolm could hear her suppressed sobs occasionally break out against Bertie’s shirt like muffled mews.