Prince Arno's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The next morning, Arno went back to the old grounds. The water ran clear now. But a cleared channel did not answer his real question. Why had no one reported the blockage? Averine found him crouched by the stone, dirt still under his nails from yesterday. "You slept on it," she said. "So did I. Someone should have caught this." They started with the groundskeepers. Arno found them raking leaves near the lower terrace. He asked plainly. An older man set down his rake and met his eyes. "We reported it, Your Highness. Weeks past. I wrote it myself." He described the dry channel, the dying flowers, the branches. Then he shrugged. "We handed it up. Nothing came back. So we waited. It's not our place to chase lords." Arno felt his face go hot. "You did everything right," he said. The man only nodded, like he'd heard such words before and watched them lead nowhere. Averine followed the trail with him. A written report went from the keepers to a steward, from the steward to the household office. Each person they asked pointed higher. Each had a reason. Too many papers. A busy season. The old grounds mattered little. The report had not been lost. It had been passed along and quietly set aside, over and over. They were still tracing it when Corin found them. The king's advisor moved through the arcade without hurry, dark coat crisp, eyes already reading the stack of notes in Arno's hand. Arno straightened. Corin missed nothing, and he did not waste patience on half-formed ideas. "You've spent a morning on a garden," Corin said. "On a report," Arno answered. He laid out the chain, name by careful name. Corin took the papers and read. His jaw tightened. He flipped back a page, then another. "This isn't one channel," Corin said at last. "This is every report that comes up from the grounds. The same path. The same silence." He looked up, and for once he was not watching Arno with judgment. "How many others sit unread right now?" They brought it to the king together. Calder received them on the terrace, crown catching the light. He listened as Corin spread the notes across the table. Then he turned to his son. "Tell me what you found." Arno chose his words. "I thought the fault was lazy stewards. It isn't. The keepers did their work. They reported it, correctly, on time." He pressed one finger to the oldest note. "The problem is worse than neglect. People did exactly what we asked of them, and it changed nothing. The message had nowhere to land." Calder was quiet a long moment. He picked up the keeper's report and read the plain handwriting. "Then we have been blind by design," he said. "Not one garden. The whole flow of what reaches me." He set the paper down and looked at Arno. "Find out how much I never hear. All of it."